Estelle

Estelle just relaxing and looking cute, June 2022.

Hurricane Francine just hit the gulf coast yesterday as a category two storm. I wish good-as-possible outcomes and recovery for residents west of New Orleans who got hit the hardest. Public schools in New Orleans are losing the last three days of school this week while we wait for full (or at least adequate) restoration of power and internet and sewerage systems in the city, but I’m counting my good fortunes that New Orleans got spared the worst.

That relief and gratitude comes in contrast to the personal sadness of saying goodbye to my sweet baby Estelle. At 17+ years old, she gave me signs for at least the past month that her happy days were behind her. Waiting out the storm for the past couple days allowed me time and opportunity to see that more clearly. A pet’s sole reason for existence is to enjoy life while receiving (and ideally giving back) affection to the people who care for them. Kong passed away from diabetes and kidney ailment soon after our last major hurricane, Ida, three years ago in 2021. I’ve never regretted my decision to say goodbye to Kong at the time that I did, and I could only hope to navigate Estelle’s end of life with similarly sound judgment.

I can’t expect a cat to verbalize her discomfort in words, but the moans Estelle let out recently gave me notice. It was tough, because for her whole life, even a young and happy Estelle would often moan and whine as much as she would overtly meow! At first I considered her latest verbalizations as just her familiar way of speaking to me, but over time they sounded slightly more mournful. Her emaciated body offered more signs that she was nearing her final days. She was never a large cat, maybe nine pounds at her peak. But now at barely five pounds with countable ribs and an overall bony structure, she clearly struggled to lift herself off the ground. No matter how delicately I pet her, she often leaned away from being touched. Her pupils had become persistently enlarged and a reddish discharge leaked from her eyes in recent weeks. I don’t know how much of her physical decline was due to the thyroid and kidney disease we’ve been trying to maintain for the past few years versus standard signs of old age in felines, but there was something in her posture now that suggested persistent discomfort. Once in a while she would purr, and I wanted to believe she was still reaping some moments of joy from life. Maybe she was, but I’m also aware that purring can be a subtle behavior that doesn’t always suggest contentment.

Estelle spent most of her hours in the past month on the tile kitchen floor. I don’t want to pretend that she had any concept of death, yet she looked like she was just waiting for the end. She had stopped grooming, but she hadn’t yet devolved to complete unkemptness. She still managed to feed herself and use the litterbox without incident, but she vomited more frequently and drooled as she let her head rest listlessly on the floor.

On the one hand, I wanted undeniable, unambiguous indicators that it was time to let her go. On the other hand, I worried that the occurrence of such signs would indicate that I’d let her suffer too long. Over the past two hurricane days, I realized that the compilation of symptoms were clearly telling me that I was doing Estelle no favors by prolonging her current conditions. I’d rather let Estelle enjoy 17.5 mostly-good years rather than 17.5 good years with some extra miserable weeks or months tacked on in the end.

Today while seated in my recliner I lifted Estelle onto my lap. Somewhat surprisingly, she was willing to stay and allow some very light petting. Lately, whenever I would bring her to my chair she would get off and return to the kitchen floor. I didn’t understand why she felt that the hard tiles were more fitting surface, but I didn’t take it personally. In the three years since Kong passed away, Estelle had gladly occupied the space beside me in bed at night. But that also ended a few months ago among the initial signs of her final decline. At some point today I finally removed her from my lap and placed her on the chair, intending to return to her after briefly visiting the bathroom and kitchen. A few moments later I heard a thud. I looked over and saw her lying on the floor below the footrest. She was alert, but she just lay there in her fallen pose until I scooped her up and brought her to her favored spot in the kitchen floor. Unsteady on her feet, she allowed herself to sink to the floor.

I had already mostly made up my mind about what was best for her, but perhaps this incident offered the clearest sign I could expect. I decided to trust my instinct and compassion for the cat I’ve raised and loved for almost the entire time I’ve lived in New Orleans. Estelle had a good life, and it was time to let her go. My vet had returned to the office post-hurricane, so I brought Estelle in for the very last time.

~ ~ ~

Kong and Estelle were born in early 2007. Some friends of my neighbor-at-the-time Sandi had found this litter of four kittens on the side of a road on the other side of the Mississippi River. They kept one, Sandi kept one, and I reluctantly agreed to adopt the remaining two. Hurricane Katrina had ravaged the gulf coast less than two years prior, and I was hesitant to make any life decisions that would make it harder to quickly pick up and leave this region if circumstances called for it. But of course I fell in love with these beautiful kittens. Before long, Kong established herself as the dominant personality. Kong was undeniably… even aggressively affectionate. I loved Estelle, but I unapologetically described Kong as the sweetest cat I’ve ever known. For many years I openly admitted that Kong was my favorite.

I often wondered how Estelle would have developed if she didn’t have to play second-fiddle to her sister. Even in the rare moments that Estelle took initiative to jump onto my lap or join me in bed, Kong typically encroached. I would always try to make room to accommodate both, but Estelle always jumped off in deference to her sister.

As heartbroken as I was by Kong’s passing in 2021, for some years I had foreseen an upside in the event that Estelle might outlive her sister. I wondered if, given the chance, Estelle might welcome the role as primary feline companion. And sure enough, she did!

I had initially intended to change the names that these two kitties had been given by the people who rescued them from the side of the road. But eventually I realized that “Kong” was a fitting name for my wacky, lovable orange girl. And “Estelle” was also very apt for the dainty, somewhat fussy tortoiseshell. When she became the sole cat of the house, my little princess started to act more like a queen. She rather suddenly found her voice. She meowed and murmured loudly and more frequently. Sometimes is seemed like she was just yelling for no other reason than to look up at me and say, “Acknowledge me!” I called her “little duck” when her voice took on a quacking sound. I often heard a throaty purr underlying her other vocalizations. One of my favorite antics was when, upon yelling at me, she would curiously stretch out one of her back legs parallel to the ground.

Little Ms. Estelle had become a thoroughly lovable and adorable cat in her own right. Rather than dwell on any guilt I felt for not realizing this back when she was relegated to the beta cat role, I just enjoyed developing a love for her that was as strong as that I felt for Kong. Both Estelle and I enjoyed her new elevated status in the household!

As much as Estelle enjoyed heading a one-cat condo for almost a year, in September 2022 Bill the Kitten joined our lives. Wow, how neglectful of me for not having documented his presence here. I knew that two-month-old and a senior within a 760-square-foot condo wouldn’t likely make an ideal match, but we don’t always get the luxury of opting for ideal circumstances. As much as I didn’t want to hamper his youthful exuberance, I felt obliged to establish the rules that Estelle was to be treated with reverence! Of course I can’t pretend to precisely sculpt the perceptions the exist in the mind of a kitten, but over time we at least mostly got to a point where Bill respected that Estelle was not interested in playing with him or being the subject of his playful pounces. I’m grateful that young Bill has let Estelle grow old and spend her final days in relative peace.

Just several hours removed from saying goodbye to my sweet baby Estelle, I’m trying to focus on the gratitude I have for the 17 and a half years that she’s provided me with wonderful companionship here in New Orleans. This morning I was heartbroken and I expect there will be more waves of sadness, but right now I’m also relieved to know that any distress she may have suffered in her waning days has now ended. She provided me so much joy, and I will treasure Ms. Estelle’s years in my life dearly.