My wife Monika took this picture of our lovely cat Mokka last night. Today, we followed the vet’s advice and had her put to sleep forever. She hadn’t been able to eat for days, and yesterday the vet diagnosed a pancreatic tumor.
Mokka must have felt quite sick and been in pain. But that didn’t keep her from seeking and giving affection until her last hour. Until one or two weeks ago, she was quite active. I thought we’d have her around for several more years. I’m quite angry at the universe right now.
It began in the animal shelter
We got Mokka and her pal Smolle from the animal shelter in the autumn of 2012. Someone had handed in both cats together under shady circumstances. The animal shelter estimated their age to five years. (Smolle is still in perfect health.)
Quite a character
It is amazing how much personality such a small animal can have. In the beginning, I could hardly tell our two new black cats apart. About two years later, I could virtually read my cats’ thoughts, and they could read mine.
Mokka had some very distinctive habits:
- When I returned home, she was frantic with joy and always jumped on that particular table where I could best pet her.
- She had lots of nuanced sounds, but she did not meow. Instead, she did some elaborate curring; sometimes demanding, sometimes asking, sometimes just expressing satisfaction. And she had a special sound for when she saw birds, something like “eh-eh-eh-eh”. And she purred like a champion.
- She loved sitting on my wife’s lap or on mine, and the greatest thing for her was having a laptop put on top of her. Boy, did she love to prop up that laptop.
- She loved to sit on our file server – a floor heating specifically designed for cats (see foto).
- We didn’t let our cats outside (the traffic is too dangerous), but we let them into the big staircase of the three-family house in which we lived. She loved to inspect every corner, having cobwebs in her face when she returned to the flat. And she loved to visit our neighbours, who in turn enjoyed her visits.
- She was smaller than our tomcat Smolle, and occasionally he chased her. But she jumped and climbed better than the chubby male. Sooner or later she would find an elevated position where she had “airspace sovereignty” and could strike down on him.
We won’t forget her anytime soon. I may never forget her beautiful, inquiring eyes searching my face, and I will miss that joyful greeting when I come home.
Addendum, September 16, 2018: What is left of Mokka are our memories of her. And her ashes, which reside in a grapefruit-sized urn in our garden. Mokka loved watching that garden from the flat – so many birds and squirrels! – so it seemed fitting for her to come to rest there.