Felix

Another story about people abandoning unwanted cats and kittens in the country prompted this column about a cat I know.

A friend has a small furry house pet (felis catus) that she calls Felix. Measured in human years, Felix is nearing sixteen, which for a cat has to be approaching 80 cat years. That’s a lot of years of mouse chasing, even for a house cat.

When I first met Felix he was 3 years old, trim and extremely active. Felix was master of the house he shared, although sometimes begrudgingly, with “Helen” (the names have been changed to protect the author). Even though Felix had been de-clawed and ‘fixed’ he was a fierce combatant and I enjoyed tussling with him.

As we humans are wont to do with pets, Felix has been anthropomorphized into a member of the family. We talk to him, asking what food he would like for his snack, whether he wants to go for a walk or go outside in his fenced yard to bother the squirrels. Helen even asks which radio station he wants to listen to while she is at work, insisting that the cat prefers FOX over the CBC.

Felix gets a birthday present every year and I confess to dropping off a package of fresh catnip for him each Christmas. But I did not realize how far we had slid into the cat-person fantasy until Felix became ill.

Felix actually went to London for a CAT scan and that is not a pun. The dear old fellow has some sort of wasting disease that is slowly crippling him. The vet prescribed Felix some pills that look disturbingly like my arthritis medication, saying it would make Felix comfortable in his remaining days. Helen says Felix’s mind is fine and he still enjoys watching the chickadees when she lifts him up to the window. Felix meows when he has to use his litter box and Helen carries him downstairs in a sling.

As long as Felix is enjoying his favourite TV shows (Road Runner cartoons and the Golf Channel) and the birds, Helen is happy to look after him. Felix can no longer keep himself as clean as he would like to, so he gets a daily brushing and cat wash with a special cloth.

Personally, I’m not so sure that Felix really wants to be around in this condition. Again we anthropomorphize, putting our values on a cat. What really bothers me is that someday I may be Felix’s condition.

I may catch some disease or just get old and feeble, but in either case – unable to look after myself. Do I want to be wheeled in front of TV set to watch some inane show that somebody thinks I will like; be lifted onto a toilet; slung into a tub and fed pills and potions to keep me alive? I look at Felix and say no.

How many people have you talked to who have had parents or loved ones go through what I describe as institutionalized slow death and who say they wish it was not the way to spend their last days? Some of us have anthropomorphized our gods and think that suicide or euthanasia are wrong because of centuries old folklore.

Some are simply afraid to die, but a lot of people I know just want to leave this world on their own time schedule. Not on the schedule of a doctor who can keep our heart beating even if the mind is gone, or a religious person who thinks his or her god has numbered our days and we ought not to interfere.

Perhaps we are like Felix and at the mercy of those who love us.

Personally, I would take my friend Felix to the vet for one last needle. Too bad ‘Felix’ cannot do the same for me.

Just don’t abandon me out on a country road on a dark and stormy night.