Momo’s last full day, August 10 2025. He was a beautiful, affectionate (to me alone, his last years), fluffy boy.
Momo died August 11, almost certainly of intestinal cancer, possibly small-cell lymphoma. He was euthanized at home after a week of not eating and getting weaker, during which I loved him thoroughly and let him do whatever he wanted, which wasn’t much. For a cat with an inaudible purr who was an asshole much of his life, he sure purred and cuddled at the end.
I buried Momo in my friend’s personal pet cemetery in his woods south-west of Champaign county.
Momo, Lola, Harley
The gray stone marks Momo’s grave; the smaller striped stone commemorates Lola, who had to be cremated because no one was in town to help bury her; and the plaque rests above Cori’s late cat Harley.
August 8, 2025. Momo was growing too weak to keep George at a further distance.
Momo is survived by George the kitten. I plan to adopt another kitten or young cat so George can have a playmate; he was always wanting to play with Momo, who probably would have come around had he not been dying. And then I hope there’s no more cat drama here for a long time, because this year of loss has been awful.
August 7. Momo later enjoyed sitting on this sweet note by a friend’s kid.At least Momo got to enjoy the new cat tree before he passed.Another snuggle August 7. I had just been bawling my eyes out. I’m grateful I spent so much time with Momo at the end, heartbreak and all.
My heart broke and I grieved, as did my surviving cat Momo. He stopped eating for a few days, making me think his own end was coming soon. He had already almost died this Spring — like Lola had, he has Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) and is sustained by Prednisone which shortens lifespan. Also he lost his only feline companion, whom he loved. Momo resumed eating for a few days; not much, but he wasn’t moving around much either, with no Lola to chase, play with, or hump. Then he stopped eating again.
I thought, When Momo kicks the bucket I will get all the rugs washed and deep clean the house. I cried many hours a day, but at least could look forward to some order in the future.
Meanwhile, a friend posted a video of her older cat playing with a younger foster cat. That inspired me to apply at the same cat foster organization she used. I didn’t hear back from them that week, or the next. My friend pinged them and didn’t hear back either.
While I was being frustrated by this situation, someone posted on a local listerv that a friend’s recently-adopted kitten needed a new home. The kitten was not being accepted by her senior cat, and things were so bad he was due to return to the Humane Society. A few days later, on a long bike ride, I responded. The next morning:
kitten
A few hours later:
oxytocin machine
This was exactly 20 days after Lola’s extremely sad departure.
Momo was, predictably, not pleased. But at least he wasn’t trying to kill the newcomer, unlike the kitten’s previous feline host. Hours of low growling and hissing (by Momo) ensued, when he wasn’t hiding in his hidey-room.
Momo continues to mostly hide. I bring him his Prednisone-medicated food, and water, and shut the door so he’s not bothered. Momo is quite pissed off.
Withholding affection
However, he is eating. Every day. So that’s good.
This afternoon, while the kitten was fast asleep in the living room, I coaxed Momo out from his hidey room. He cautiously entered my bedroom, walked up to my laundry basket, and, before I understood what was happening, defecated and urinated in it. I grabbed him and headed for the litterbox, but he wriggled out of my arms and ran back under his hidey bed, leaving a trail of urine.
A message of displeasure
And you know what? I’m not even upset. I cleaned the floor, flushed the feces, started the laundry, placed a separate litter box in his hidey-room, and took a shower. Momo is entitled to be pissed. He’s eating more with an enemy around, growing stronger. I suspect in some days or weeks the newcomer will be upgraded to frenemy, and then perhaps friend. I don’t know how much time Momo has left, but I’d rather it were spent engaged with life instead of shutting down.
That goes for me too. I am bewildered by how much better I feel with this little guy running around my house. Also bewildering is feeling joy and grief at the same time. I miss Lola terribly, even while falling in love with this kitten.
The rugs won’t get cleaned for years, or maybe ever. That’s okay. This is the first time I’ve felt joy since at least last year, probably longer ago than that. I’ll take it.
A rare moment of not running around like a maniacYawn
Last week I said goodbye to my wonderful cat Lola. She was an unceasing fount of affection for close to 14 years, 13 spent with me. Everyone loved her, and she loved everyone, until her last year when she got significantly less sociable. She also got IBD, idiopathic cystitis, and who knows what else that made her stop using the litter box, piss blood, and spend most of her time sleeping on the floor. I miss her terribly. She was one of the greats.
Lola is survived by Momo, who is a couple years younger but also has IBD and is on Prednisone, which shortens lifespan. (What are the odds every animal in my household has IBD? I suspect the cats got Covid when I was down with it for 6 weeks. I developed Crohn’s disease afterwards, and various other organs of mine are falling to immune disorder as time goes on, so maybe similar happened to my poor kitties.)
My furnace went out yesterday, the coldest of the year. A tech came and got it back on. 3 hours after he left it went out again. He’s coming back this morning, but I faced the night — coldest of the year, -3°F with windchill below -20° — with space heaters and a few open taps to keep the pipes from freezing and bursting, and multiple electric blankets for me and the cats. I was freezing and shaking when I went to bed at 1am; I awoke at 5:30 to cloying dry heat, because the furnace mysteriously turned itself on in the wee hours. Got up, turned the thermostat back down to the usual 65°, have no idea if it will turn on again or plummet into the 50’s or below as it did last night.
Also had a bitter argument with a friend, a real disappointing horror.
Just a shitty terrifying night all around, so I drew a picture.
11:22pm last night, with electric blankets and cats and no furnace, worrying about the pipes.
Of course I and other cartoonists claimed that our lives are just like this, although I specified that my “arm candy” was different. Mark apparently wanted to know how, so now there’s this.
