Polly Esther's Life

My baby kitty, Polly Esther, passed away June 3rd after 18 years of a good life, and finally, aging and refraining from eating for a few months. She may have been in pain from a tumor too.

 I knew Polly would pass away sooner or later, as we all will die eventually. I was happy that she had made it to the legal age where she could smoke and vote. Not that she should've done the former, as it's harmful to one's health, and I think she would've done a good job with the latter, voting for LimberButt McCubbins for president (look him up), and choosing whether to vote DemoCat or RepubliCat. I hope any cat that I am a human to can make it this long.

 

I have always loved cats. I had wanted a cat from the time I was five years old. I remember laying in bed with my mother one night, and I told her, "Mommy, I want a cat. And I want to name her Polly." She said, "We'll have to pray for a kitty, honey." My father hated cats at the time, and to this day cats are not his favorite animal. After praying for a while, Dad eventually said something to the effect of, "I will have nothing to do with the cat, I won't pet the cat, I won't feed the cat... but you can get a cat" etc. So in August of 2001, we adopted Polly Esther Osorio, as a 10-week-old kitten. I had just learned about Esther in the Bible, so I decided on Esther for her middle name. I did not know that "Polyester" was a fabric. Kind of genius for a six-year-old, right? I was ecstatic.

My sister and I were only small children at the time, of course, so we weren't exactly adept at treating a cat nicely. My sister received many scratches to her head, and I even snipped Polly's whiskers off at one point! Not a good way to be introduced to a family and be treated as a cat.

However, as I grew older, I learned to treat Polly very nicely, because I truly loved her and wanted her. And I became her favorite human. Sure, she had her moments of "Leave me alone, I'm the cat," but she trusted me above all other people, because she knew I was the one who loved her the most. I slept with her nearly every night. She would come purring on the bed and knead me to sleep. She first learned how to climb the ladder on my bunk bed as a child, then later jump on my regular bed as a teenager and now as an adult. I would wake up to her yowling for food, "MEOW, MEOOOW, MEEEOOOOOWWWW!" at 6 in the morning, while using the carpet as her scratching post. She would beg until she got what she wanted. I reinforced this behavior, I will admit. I spoiled Polly rotten like a queen. She was the queen.

Polly was very smart. She knew what was a cat toy and what was the real thing. She enjoyed batting twister seals around the house. But she never touched a toy mouse or a rattle. My parents bought her multiple scratching posts and even a cardboard scratching board that said, "Saves your furniture! Cats love it!" but Polly didn't buy any of it. Instead, she scratched up couches and recliners as well as entire sides of carpeted stairs. Mom wasn't very happy. By the time I moved into my apartment for grad school, Polly was 17, so she didn't do it as much. It will be good for my security deposit.

Polly hated car rides, especially to the vet. Mom would shove her into a cat carrier bag and cart her around. It was the only way Polly could ride without scratching anybody. I bought her a harness and leash to wear in the car when she moved in with me so she didn't have to be crammed in the darkness. She seemed to feel better, but she still hated being in a car. She continued to yowl all the way down Interstate 81 as I drove. Once when I was driving to visit my parents and I stopped at a gas station in Salem, I rolled the window slightly down for her as I went for a potty break. When I came back, she had shoved herself down underneath my suitcases at will. I coaxed her out, as I didn't want Polly to get smashed. She spent the rest of that car ride in the back seat on the floor.

 

This past November after she moved in with me, I started seeing large scabs on her back, as if something were irritating her. I left her at my parents' house in early December so they could take her to the vet. The vet thought it may be a food allergy, so they began changing her food. Nothing would suffice except fresh exotic rabbit food, which cost $2.50 a can! She could always tell what was fresh and what was not. When one can of food was not exactly to her liking, Mom had no choice but to throw it away and get her a new can to keep her going. Her scabs went away, but she slowly continued to slow down more and more, in her eating, and finally, in her breathing. Her body was beginning to shut down and stop functioning, as all of us will do someday. I was heartbroken and so was my family. I knew Polly had lived a full life. That is what I wanted for her, and she did it.

I will always be a cat lady. Not the crazy "I can't properly care for my 100 cats hoarder house" lady. Nope. I know that when the time is right, soon, I will adopt another cat. And I hope to give him or her the same spoiled treatment Polly got.

Don't scratch the angels up there in heaven, Polly! You are greatly missed!