So long, Miss Emma ~ January, 1999

David Heiller

Miss Emma seemed to go downhill right before our eyes. For all of her 16 years, she had been a big, healthy cat.

Even in her old age, she was robust. Her stomach fur dragged on the floor. I used to joke that we dusted our furniture by spraying End Dust on her stomach and chasing her around the house.

Miss Emma, doing the cat-gig.

She looked like a healthy old grandma, the kind that wears an apron and makes cookies and reads books to kids sitting on her lap. Emma had a big lap.

Then just like that, about three weeks ago, she looked old and frail. Her bones stuck out. She wouldn’t move or even meow when we walked by her on the dining room floor. She liked to lie in a special spot about two feet from the wood stove.

It’s just old age, I told my wife, Cindy. After all, Emma was 16 years old. That^’s the equivalent of a 76-year-old woman.

Cindy didn’t agree. She felt that something was wrong with Emma, so she took her to our veterinarian, Daina Rosen, in Moose Lake.

Daina did some tests and found out that Emma had a bad heart. Daina couldn’t even count her pulse; her heart was racing so fast. Her kidneys were barely working either.

Miss Emma in the "missing-sock-basket".
She was named Miss Emma because she had Emma-rald eyes.

Daina didn’t say we should put Emma 'to sleep', but it became obvious to us after a few days that that was the best option. We didn’t want our cat to suffer, to not be able to use a cat box or walk around the house, and she was close to that point.

We didn’t want to intervene with intravenous feeding and lots of pills, just to buy her a few months of life. Those were options that Daina presented, in a neutral way. That didn’t make sense. She’s just a cat, one side of me said.

But, what a cat. She was so patient with the kids when they were young. She welcomed them both into our house. When they got too aggres­sive with her, she would give them a little scratch. Nothing serious. Just a warning, and one that they heeded. She was like a mother in that way, which might have been an instinct that she never got to display because she was spayed.

Miss Emma and Malika in the maple tree. 
They were pals like that.

She was a great mouser. One day I woke up to find three mice laid out in front of the wood-stove, like a hunter might display the squirrels he shot. That diminished in her later years. She went into hunting retirement. That didn’t bother us. She had earned it.

She hunted outside too, but we didn’t like that, because we feed birds and it didn’t seem fair to the birds that we were fattening them up for Miss Emma. So we started keeping her inside as she got older, or when a lot of birds were at the feeder.

Emma was very cautious. That’s probably why she lived so long. It would take her a long time to warm up to a new dog in the house. She liked Binti, a dog that we had for 12 years. They were good pals. We tried getting another cat a couple times and Emma refused to have anything to do with them. We finally gave up trying, and gave in to Emma’s desire to be the sole cat.

She liked people too, although she wouldn’t be called the friendliest cat that ever lived. She was too cautious and alert for that. But she would often lay on our bed with us at night, or curl up on our stomach if we were lucky enough to catch a nap. Then it was a real cat nap.

David and Noah and Miss Emma, hanging out.

There isn’t any simpler pleasure in life than having a cat purr next to you. Even though I had bad allergies from Emma, it was worth it to have her with us.

Cindy and I talked about what to do with Emma. We called Daina back and asked a few more questions and told her that we thought we should have her put to sleep. Daina thought that was a good idea. She hadn’t wanted to say that right away. She didn’t want to influence us. But she said there was a lot of wisdom in doing that.

Daina was so gentle. I didn’t realize that vet­erinarians had a bed side manner, but she did. She understood how hard this was. She ex­plained how she would put Emma to sleep by injecting an overdose of anesthesia into her heart using a hypodermic needle. It wouldn’t hurt much, she said. That made me feel good.

We took Emma to Daina’s office on January 14. Emma lay quietly on the table. No way would she have done that when she was healthy. It was like she was resolved to her fate.

Cindy and I knelt by her and petted her when Daina put the needle through her side. Emma didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed open, but they slowly lost their focus. Then they closed slightly. Daina checked her heart a couple times with a stethoscope, and told us when it had stopped.

We petted Miss Emma for a few minutes. I’m not ashamed to say some tears were shed. It’s hard to lose a pet. I hope I never become too hard-hearted not to feel that. It’s an honor to be present when an old friend dies.

Daina gave us a hug. She said she would keep Emma until spring, when the weather is nice and we can bury her next to Binti, our old dog and her old friend.