We inherited Purrl (fully, “The Black Purrl”) just over four years ago when she arrived as an elegant 11-year-old (full story). She easily made her way into our household over that time — never being lovey-dovey with Neko and Kunoichi, the other cats, but always ready (and willing (and demanding)) to plop into a lap, eat any greenery she could get to, get a drink from a sink, come sit in bed at our feet (or between our pillows), or climb to the highest point on the kitty tree and take a nap.
She was always a featherweight, and in the last year or so she’s had some health problems, including some liver disease, that made her a bit skinnier — but never slowed her down, made her less ornery to other kitties getting in her personal space, or kept her from jumping wherever she damn pleased.
Before we left to take James to college, she started having a few mouth problems, a bit of drooling — we assumed a dental issue and made an appointment for after we returned. When we went in, though, the word was more dire, and went with the now-visible swelling in her jaw: bone cancer, already well progressed and spreading quickly.
It’s not been a constant distress for her, but its made eating progressively more difficult and uncomfortable, so, to take care before her life did become a constant pain, we put her to sleep this afternoon.
Even if that now puts us at human:cat parity in the house, she will be missed. For a stand-offish cat with strangers, with friends she could be a major purrbox far beyond what you would expect from her tiny frame. And she was limber and quick to the end in going after her treats.
She was a good kitty, and we were privileged to be able to share our home with her for these last years.
2018-09 Farewell to Purrl
24 new photos · Album by Dave Hill
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