Modest Goddess

Our cat Elvis has mercifully died, leading me to wonder if I might have supernatural powers. Early this year, I asked God to preserve Hillary in the early primaries, and he did. This month, after cleaning up a liquid puddle of cat poo from the floor for about the 700th time, I asked God for Elvis to die before the new year. And sure enough, Elvis woke up on Dec. 31 extremely ill -- vomiting and unable to walk -- and the vet pronounced him unsave-able. He was put down that morning.

Elvis was a unique cat, not only in his advanced age (17) but also in his destructiveness. He was declawed early on because he shredded Big Big Man's furniture, and late in his life, got the habit of urinating on beds, couches, pillows, shoes, rugs -- anything he could dig the remainders of his claws into. Purses and diaper bags could not be left on the floor. Closet and bedroom doors had to remain shut at all times. The living room was closed off and our area rugs taken up.

He also occasionally hawked up a hairball or some undigested parts of a meal. And the poo ... oh, the poo. It came several times a day, never failed to stink up the entire house and was not always in the litterbox. Towards the end, Elvis couldn't take care of himself well, and he sometimes tracked waste around the house, onto the leather couch, for example, or left smears on our bedspread.

It was only getting worse when I made my wish. I could no longer handle spending 20 minutes every day wiping down a floor with damp paper towels and bleach solution or scooping litter.

And yet, we didn't want to put him down while he still had some fight in him. We took him to the vet at least a dozen times in the past year, where he was prescribed eight different medications for his thyroid and the poo problem. Some of the ones for the poo worked for a short time. Still, Elvis kept chugging along, eating, drinking and crapping, giving and asking for love. The night before he died, he hopped onto the bed and climbed on Big Big Man's chest, walking up his body until his nose was in his face -- his same routine every night for years. When I got home, Elvis was curled up next to Big Big Man -- on my pillow. Did I mention that I'm also allergic to cats?

Elvis had a tough childhood. He was accidentally abandoned by a careless pet sitter in his youth and left to fend for himself on the streets of Tucson in 110-degree heat for two weeks, and the experience changed him forever from a hunka burnin' love to the hyper-skittish cat who wouldn't even remain in the same room with me until I'd been around for six months. And then, in his old age, which lingered on and on, he lost his dignity, his ability to groom himself. We couldn't just throw him away. How could we do that when we ourselves hope someone will treat us with care and compassion when we're old and gross?

We're petless now for the first time in at least a dozen years. And we're taking a break. I'd love another dog, a mild middle-aged pal ... but Elvis was enough cat for a lifetime.