The oldest kitty in the world (w/ a couple of pics)

WilliamPitt

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Wed Aug-25-10 10:51 AM
Original message

The oldest kitty in the world (w/ a couple of pics)

Edited on Wed Aug-25-10 11:09 AM by WilliamPitt

I was 18 years old, a senior in high school and looking down the barrel of college, when my mom decided we needed another cat. Our house had dealt with a rampaging bout of feline leukemia that had heartbreakingly cleared the house of cats, the last having died a year or so before, so it was time, and it felt safe. She went out to get a cat, and came home with a tiny brown flying monkey.

It was an Abysinnian, a beautiful tan shorthair with bright yellow eyes, and the thing could fly. It was able to jump from the floor to the molding above the door in a single bound, it ran like the wind, and in the nature of the breed, it loved water. I would be in the shower, and *splash*, there was kitty. The fellow we got it from said it was male, and since I was in the grips of a mad bout of jazz fever, I named him Miles.

Our previous cats were all indoor/outdoor, which I believe was the main reason why they developed leukemia (from other cats out there), so we assiduously kept Miles inside. One day during the last part of my Junior year of college, Miles got out. He came back the next day...and a few months later, he had five kittens. When we realized she was pregnant, we built her a little nest upstairs. The day came, and my mom and I sat at the kitchen table smoking like a couple of chimneys...I swear to God, we were a caricature of the expectant dad in the waiting room. Suddenly we hear this little "Mew!" and there in the kitchen was Miles, in labor, looking at us as if to say, "What the f--k are you doing down here?!" She insisted we be with her, so we led her back upstairs, and I rubbed her back as she gave birth. The third of her five is in the second picture below.

Oops. Miles kept "his" name, because it was too late, but from then on, whenever anyone said "Good boy" to her, I had to explain the...um...error of her name.

Miles has stayed with my mom ever since. When she moved to New Hampshire, Miles went with her, a tiny purring companion who could always run and jump like an Olympic athlete. She was, quite completely, the most perfect lap cat in history. She'd jump into your lap and stare up at you with those yellow eyes as if to say, "Well? Get to scratchin'!" In the fall, she would blend in with the leaves on the ground and simply disappear...until you heard the moles in their death throes out in the yard. Oh yes, she was a mighty hunter, and remains so to this day; the last time I saw her, just two weeks ago, she was hopping down the back stairs of my mom's place with a mouse in her mouth.

I'm almost 39 now, and Miles is knocking on the door of 21. My mom wrote yesterday to tell me Miles' kidneys are failing, and she has a tumor in her mouth. The vet made her comfortable, and she seems to be doing OK for now, but it is all too clear that the end is coming for her. I was on the fly when I got my mom's message; I had to run a bunch of moving-oriented errands, hit the grocery store, write an article, proof some others, make dinner, and then hit my night job. I got home from work around 4am, sat on the couch, thought about Miles...and promptly burst into tears.

This time of year is nuts for my wife and I, and with moving in a week to boot. But I'm going to try to sneak a day trip to New Hampshire as soon as I can, to say one last goodbye to the oldest kitty in the world. I'll bet my boots she'll have a mouse in her mouth when I get there.

Good kitty.

Miles at a spry 17 (with Tinker in the background)

Miles in the foreground (the kitty looking at the camera is one of her sons, who lived to 16 himself)