Kong

My favorite photo from Kong's last month. An ultrasound was the reason for the shaved belly, her nose crusted slightly near the end, and her pupils are a bt large here, yet she still looks content.

Why “Kong?” I’ve been questioned about the name, especially for a female cat, many times over the years. I didn’t care much for the name myself when I welcomed her into my apartment fourteen years ago. And calling her sister “Estelle” didn’t strike my fancy either. They arrived with those names in 2007, assigned to them by friends of my neighbor Sandi. The couple had found a litter of four abandoned kittens along a busy street on the other side of the Mississippi River. They kept one male kitten, gave the other male to Sandi, and sent the two girlies my way.

I planned to study their personalities for a while and eventually name them more appropriately. Several weeks passed and a judgment was rendered: The names Kong and Estelle were perfect. Kong was the rambunctious attention-grabber who aggressively demanded that I accept her affection and reciprocate. Estelle was the prissy beta cat who displayed a sweet demeanor but tended to defer to her sister.

Kong turned out to be the sweetest, most loving cat I’ve ever encountered. She considered that space on my lap to be her birthright. As she approached her throne, she always announced her arrival with several murmurs (her preferred noise, rather than a distinct meow). Most of the time I invited her up gladly. She’d purr loudly, close her eyes and smile, and sooth my mood. On occasions when I tried to deny her the space, she persisted. She’d jump up despite my attempts to block, or perhaps she’d sneak around and try another angle of approach. Many times we found ourselves at an impasse, with Kong teetering on the border of the prime lap real estate, plowing her head into my outstretched hand. If I held firm and pushed her back down to ground level, she’d stand at my feet and stare up with wide eyes, proclaiming with increasingly-firm murmurs that she shall not be denied. Usually I relented, begrudgingly lifting her onto my lap and doling out the requisite affection. Queen Kong exerted her power, forcing me to profess every day how much I loved her.

Kong and Estelle sometimes played together or cuddled with each other, but as they got older, most of the time the kept to themselves. I wanted Estelle to receive her fair share of attention, but as the adage goes, squeaky cat gets the love (or something like that). If Estelle ever found opportunity to claim my lap first, it seemed to serve as reminder to Kong that my job was to pet them in unlimited doses. She’d invariably jump onto any small patch of lap she could find. She wouldn’t exactly push Estelle off, but it certainly became Estelle’s duty to defend against the encroachment. By the time they grew to a size where they couldn’t both fit comfortably, Estelle relinquished her territory immediately upon Kong’s arrival. I couldn’t be mad at Kong – She wasn’t trying to be mean. But she made it clear that she alone owned the top spot in this Queendom.

Kong in January 2017, peaceful despite having a surgical mass removal and biopsy

Over the years Kong battled various ailments. Twice she had surgeries to remove potentially-cancerous bumps, one on her back and one on her temple. It pained me to see her partially shaved and stitched up, yet she maintained her affectionate demeanor. By the time she reached 10 or 11 years old, her ability to jump onto high surfaces deteriorated. I assume arthritis was starting to hinder her mobility. The decreased activity gradually caused her already-plump girth to grow. When her teeth started going bad, she must have been in severe pain. Treatment once got delayed by a couple weeks by the start of the COVID-19 quarantine, and Kong became uncharacteristically salty with both Estelle and me. Upon finally extracting the teeth though, she instantly returned to her jovial self. Over the years Estelle also had a few teeth removed, but it sure seemed that Kong was the main one facing health issues.

By 2021, Kong had become enough overweight that I had started restricting her diet. At a routine veterinary visit, I thought the efforts were paying off since her weight had come down from its peak. However, some tests suggested that she had diabetes. There were also signs of a thyroid problem, although the diabetes was deemed to need the most immediate attention. Initially there was room for optimism. Kong still exhibited happy spirits, and it seemed that the diagnosis was early enough for treatment to effectively treat her and possibly even send the diabetes into remission. I started giving insulin shots twice daily. I fed her a special diet. Neither Kong nor Estelle was happy that I now had to keep their food bowls separate, and grazing throughout the day was no longer allowed. I had to adjust my routines to ensure I would be home in time to give the nightly insulin shot 12 hours after the morning shot. It wasn’t a huge sacrifice to make for my sweet baby Kong, except that her glucose levels remained stubbornly high. The vet instructed me to increase the insulin dosage several times over the next few months, to no avail. Whenever I brought her in for a “glucose curve” or had a glucose sensor affixed to her body to monitor the levels over a week or two, the readings were consistently far out of a healthy range. Meanwhile she lost more and more weight until I could feel ribs and other bones where there used to be muscle. She shrunk down to barely 7 pounds, down from over 11 pounds less than a half-year prior. Her water consumption sky-rocketed which naturally led to excessive urination. She started urinating outside the litter box, possibly suggesting a urinary infection. She developed a wheeze in her breath that was concerning even though I don’t believe it distressed her. We were referred to a specialty vet that performed further tests and determined that she had Cushing’s disease. While not exactly related to the diabetes, it was purported to impede the insulin from regulating her blood glucose. We put her on some new daily pills to treat the Cushing’s disease, but besides it being a struggle to get her to swallow them, they apparently caused nausea, so we tried some anti-nausea pill in addition to that.

In early October, a new glucose sensor was affixed to Kong. For the first time, glucose levels had risen so high that the sensor reading said “out of range.” The vet advised me to increase the dosage for the Cushing’s medication, but the following day presented a new dilemma. The sensor suddenly delivered a “glucose reading is unavailable” message, yet it then displayed a graph saying the levels were suddenly off-the-charts too low. The error message plus the drastic nature of this swing made me inclined to entirely discount the apparent low reading, yet in the remote chance this was in fact the case, administering insulin could be deadly. Plus, I had just given an increased dosage of the Cushing’s meds, so was it possible that had caused her glucose to plummet? I contacted the emergency vet after-hours, and the on-call doctor hesitantly advised me to give her the evening insulin shot anyway. Upon reiterating my concerns though, she put another doctor on the phone who advised that I hold off (which I did).

The following morning, Kong lay on the floor, looking scrawny except a distended belly. She was uninterested in any food at all. I took her to the emergency vet, where they administered fluids and insulin. Throughout the previous months I believed that Kong was still a happy kitty, but I suddenly sensed the tide turning in an ugly direction. After leaving her in the emergency vet care for 24 hours, I felt it time to make a painful decision. I acknowledged that I couldn’t ask the vet on duty that day to predict the future, but I requested an honest best-case scenario of how this could possibly turn out well. The response included too many phrases such as “first we could try…” and “then if that works, maybe we could try…”

It was time to say goodbye to the sweetest cat I’ve ever known. For whatever good days Kong could possibly have ahead, it seemed inevitable that they would be interspersed with unpleasantness. Her primary reason for existence was to enjoy life, giving and receiving love. I couldn’t stand the thought of her waning days being tarnished with pervasive discomfort and vet visits.

On October 10, the morning after her overnight stay, Kong was brought to me in a small room at the emergency vet facility. She purred upon seeing me but appeared disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings and various IV needles and bandages on her body. I was offered however much time I needed to say goodbye. I hugged and kissed her for a few minutes, but I didn’t wait long to summon the vet to return. Kong had given me faithful and loving companionship for 14 years, almost entirely in the comfort of my small former apartment and more recently in my condo. It didn’t serve Kong well to prolong our time in this strange little room. The cocktail of drugs was pumped into her bloodstream, upon which she stood up from my lap, stumbled a bit, and then collapsed. I kissed my sweet baby Kong for the last time.

For whatever reason, my emotions have dulled in adulthood. I hadn’t cried in over 12 years, but on this day and on numerous occasions since, the tears flowed. I’m confident that it was the right call to let Kong leave this world at that time, but that doesn’t change how much I still miss her loving presence.

Some years ago I developed a hunch that Kong might be the first of my two kitties to pass. I often wondered how Estelle might react upon no longer feeling overshadowed by her sister. Now I’m getting my answer. In the six weeks since losing Kong, Estelle has stepped grandly into her role as the primary kitty. She’s developed her voice… literally. Her meows have become more frequent and loud, sometimes obnoxiously so. She just chatters nonstop for stretches of time. Most of the time I’m not convinced she has any clue what she’s even asking for, but it doesn’t stop her from demanding. I think she just wants to talk in a way that perhaps she’s never felt at liberty to talk before. In the background of her proclamations I hear a purr that is also stronger than anything I’ve historically heard from her. Her meows may be loud and unpretty to my human ears, but her throaty purr and her kitty smile convey contentment. For fourteen years Estelle was not accustomed to enjoying undivided attention. I think she’s now getting used to it. She’s starting to jump on to surfaces and occupy spaces that only Kong used to claim. In the past, Kong was the one who consistently jumped into bed at night with me and Estelle would only join intermittently. Now Estelle reliably sleeps every night beside me. Hers is the purr that I now wake to in the morning.

Estelle just got her senior check-up at the vet and was found to be in good health. I tell her how silly she looks when she meows, and her upper left fang looks so unbalanced since the right fang got extracted four years ago. I had forgotten that she was missing that tooth for a while, but now she talks so much that I can’t help but notice it. That’s the only observable sign of her “senior” status, so I’ll consider us fortunate. As much as I miss sweet Kong, I’m thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to see Estelle come out of her shell and emerge as a beautiful, adoring cat in her own right. For however much time we have left together, I’ll continue giving Estelle a double-dose of affection and be grateful to appreciate her companionship in return.