Rascal was the second cat we acquired for our household, about a year after moonshadowed
and I got married. Technically he was badasher
's cat, adopted as a companion for his other cat, Max, who needed a distraction to keep from upsetting Tracy's cat, Sunny. In the end though he became ours mostly by default, and Steve left him with us when he moved out.
He was young when we got him, less than a year old and still a catten. He was also perceived by everybody as being a bit of a dim bulb. We blamed it on a fever he got a few months after we adopted him, but honestly I think it was just a case of him not being as smart as Max, who was the undisputed Alpha Cat of the household, and also being a bit mouthier than the others, which made him seem terminally confused and worried. Ex:Rascal:
Meow, meow, Meow, MEOW!Royce:
What's that, Rascal? You say Timmy fell down into the well?
He was a gentle soul though, running from, rather than attacking, our bird Sadie when she dive bombed him, and putting up with sometimes rough handling from the kids without clawing them.
Eventually Sunny passed away and we adopted Salem, and then a couple of years later we lost Max to failing kidneys. After Steve moved out Rascal and Salem lived in mutual ignorance of each other, not really interacting unless they had the bad luck to pass near each other in the hall.
When Salem began ailing, Rascal became a bit of tub, since he was consuming the dry cat food Salem didn't want to eat. After Salem had to be put to sleep in December though, he slimmed back down to his own weight, and became a great deal more cuddly, actually sitting beside of behind us on the couch when we used the laptop, instead of his usual perch on the far end on an arm.
Last week, around Wednesday, he disappeared. We found him hiding under our bed, after figuring out that he hadn't touched his food bowl at all that day. After dragging him out from under there, he seemed to be in pain, so Thursday evening I took him to the vet. He was diagnosed with a blocked urinary tract and wasn't able to pee. The poor guy's abdomen felt like he'd swallowed a baseball. One catheter treatment later he was drained out, and the vet warned me she'd seen a bit of blood in the urine, which might mean a kidney stone.
He drank water when he got home, but still wasn't eating. Friday morning I left out wet food and some fresh chicken breast to encourage him, but when we came home in the evening he still hadn't touched them, nor had he used the cat box.
By the time I brought him back to the vet Saturday morning, he hadn't eaten for almost four days and hadn't drank any water in 36 hours. The vet said it was almost certainly kidney stones, given he'd become blocked again immediately. To fix it would involve an operation that, ignoring the fact we couldn't really afford it, may have killed Rascal outright, and would have at minimum left him in a lot of pain. So I called Tracy at home and we agreed to let him go.
He stopped purring halfway through the injection.
He was a good kitty.