IN MEMORIAM: GREY MOLLY

 

The little grey in the lilies at the base of the Locust tree.

It is great sorrow that C and I announce the death of Grey Molly on December 27, 2022 at the age of 19. She is the last of the three cats who lived with us for the past 12 years.

Molls was a Chartreux/Tiger mix. Her mother, who was living with a breeder south of Paris, escaped one night and had a brief liaison with one of the local lads. The owner was none too pleased as he was in the pure breed business. A friend of C's heard he had kittens for sale and C got Molls as a companion for Tomi. Growing up in Montrouge, a southern Parisian suburb, Molls was known in the neighborhood as a very curious, mischievous scamp who loved to visit. Window screens aren't prevalent in France as they are here and Molls  took full advantage of this. Once, a young couple who lived in the same courtyard of residences as C, called to say that had caught Molls sampling their marinara sauce (on the stove!) and was licking their plated butter. She often visited another couple while the husband was shaving. She terrorized their koi pond and they ended up installing netting over it to prevent Molls from dipping her paw in for a morning snack. Molls also was a thief and one of her favorite things to steal were gloves which she deposited with great pride back home. Despite her shenanigans, the neighbors were tolerant and held no malice towards Molls or her Mom. 

In 2009, C moved to Michigan with three cats: Tomi, Molls and her son Minnaloushe who C helped mid-wife. Alas, Minn, a great wanderer who sometimes was gone for days at a time, was killed in traffic less than 5 months of moving to our new home in 2010. Bin was with us then, literally coming with the house for he had been living rough after being abandoned by people up the street. Good next-door neighbor Benny put out food for him and that kept him alive. Bin was not well-embraced by the rest. Tomi, who had established herself as the alpha seemingly despised him and great fights broke out between them. Molls pretty much tolerated him but got in a few right hooks now and then. Bin, being the tenacious and gregarious sort that he was, hung in there and became well loved by us. Eventually, some sort of detente was established and the three co-existed in relative harmony.

We lived in a duplex in East Lansing after C came over and had begun her professorship at MSU. Tomi, being a skitty-kitty, was absolutely freaked out by my presence. She would be upstairs with C but upon hearing my morning toilet flush, would scramble downstairs for safety. Molls was reserved and a bit stroppy. Minn was friendly. 

I hadn't been around cats since Michele died and I moved our cat Oscar to the boarding stables who had bought one of our horses. I had to sell the house and I knew trying to keep him inside all day in an apartment was not going to work. He lived the rest of his days there as champion mouser and instructor to younger barn cats. 

Molls quickly showed the qualities that were well known and admired about her breed: a stone-cold killer. I remember my first encounter with this one afternoon arriving home from work to find a CSI crime scene of sheer brutality. Blood splatters, bits of unrecognizable half-eaten flesh, drag marks and what was left of the corpse. All that was missing were the numbered evidence triangles. Oscar had not been a big hunter and did most of his work outside. With Molls, I came to realize that she was a whole different breed-one that had truly retained more of her wildness than others. "This is what we do" she would say with her large, unblinking yellow eyes. 

For the most part over the years, we were on cordial terms except when we took her to the vet (I AM BEING VIOLATED) or when I (with C's help restraining her) administered her monthly flea med (YOU ARE VIOLATING ME). She was indiscriminate in issuing The Claw to any offender.  Bin was my BFF in those days and Molls was closer to C. Bin and Molls had a morning routine (sometimes with fisticuffs) over who would get laptime from Mom who was struggling to use her laptop. However, once the other two had died, Moll's personality shifted and her main persona was that of the dowager queen, Madame. We wondered if the other two had gotten on her nerves-Tomi was a high-strung PIA and Bin was this (sniff) undignified, provincial male. Now, as the one-and-only top cat, she mellowed. Molls and I became better acquainted and soon, most afternoons, Molls would join me and hang out on the couch for a scritch session. It seemed  some agreement had been reached: she would be granted certain wild attributes without strenuous objection and in return, she allowed me to touch her. Up to this point, this had largely been C's domain.

Molls ready for a session after a bad day, see 9/12/22 post

Cats are endlessly entertaining and in response, we created many tales about them. They were Los Tres Amigos.

 Molls loved boxes.

She enjoyed a good book.

One of her personas: Madam Maruska, sun yoga instructor

Madame demonstrating the Balasana pose

In late November of this year, she was off her feed again and we took her into the vet who found a lump in her lower belly. She advised that we take her to get an ultra-sound. The techs found multiple cancerous masses. With her being 19 years old and having no idea if any were treatable, we decided to let nature take its course and spare her the pain and scariness of surgery and recovery. This was December 1. She ate little but was still out and about. Madame still hung out with me on the couch but it was soon clear that this was going to be an ordeal. Yet, she didn't cry in pain or seem in discomfort. Just was slowly fading away.

Catching some warm sun on her old bones.

 

 

By Christmas, she was light as a feather and unable to jump up on the couch. I carried her and put her on a blanket in while we gathered Christmas morning in front of the fireplace. She was purring and bunting my hand when I rubbed her chin.

On December 27, I had slept in late-8am. C had been up at 6am. Molls was lying on her side across from the Christmas tree and to me, it was obvious that the time was near. C fetched her a blanket for her head and covered her with another.

We both gave her gentle strokes and Molls soon died. It was as if she had held on for all three of us together for the last time. She left on her terms, which we wanted to afford her this decision, however painful to us, honoring her wildness, without us arbitrarily doing this for her. 

An hour later, we were at the vet's bringing her body to be cremated. A peculiar thing happened: the credit card that I used for this service disappeared. We couldn't find it, the vet's staff couldn't either. That evening by the fireplace I came up with my final Moll's tale: she was a hidden Ra (felines that had been given special powers by the Aliens, that are passed down the genetic lines) and during her journey to the quiet place of transition that Bin had described, her younger, mischievous self played her final trick and made the credit card vanish. That made us smile.

So ends the era of Los Tres Amigos, our beautiful trio of cats who gave us years of the pleasure of their companionship and I hope, they were able to give and receive love and friendship in the manner of their species.

Best of luck on the recycle, Madame. I wish you a loving and happy family who will love you as much as we did. 

Fare thee well, my darling little grey.

꩜