I’m sad. Meowria Therese, Empress of Austria (née Tank) passed away.
Yesterday at 5:45 PM (give or take a moment, forgive me, I wasn’t wearing a watch), Meowria took her last breath & with it, her last purr. The entire time she was the vet, she purred. Or growled. She did both, evenly, equally, everpresently.
Two days ago, she lost control of her bladder–unusual, her track record of using the litter box is nearly flawless (befitting of a lady). She had mammarian cancer & her lungs were full of fluid. She couldn’t breath. She could barely lift her head. She went from being boisterous, loud, bossy, loving overnight to weak, to barely holding on.
I wish we had known sooner.
The vet gave her three injections. For a long half hour, she slowly calmed, she got comfortable in the vet’s office. She leaned her head on my hand. She purred. She wouldn’t stop purring. She fell into a deep sleep after the second shot. The third found a vein, and her purred, strained breaths came fewer & shallower until there was barely a rumble. And then, she was gone.
I don’t think I’ve stopped crying. Evelyn too. Her husband had tears in his eyes. Her oldest son wailed from the living room. The world feels emptier without our Empress, with the majesty of her butters & her cuddles.
She was almost 11 years old. She was too young to leave us. I’ll miss her, greatly.
The Beginning
Meowria was born on March 11, 2011, the littlest & last of a litter of three. She was an exuberant, mouthy, bossy, boisterous kitten who loved to sneak attack from the bathtub, and loved wrestling her brothers to clean them
My mom only wanted to keep one of the kittens & take the other two the humane society, so we adopted one–her. She hated moving to a new home, separated from her brothers, and hissed & growled at the other cats. She growled all the time, when eating, when sleeping, when awake. Meg nicknamed her Tank, a name that stuck for most of her life.
She grew into that name. Being the runt, she thought food would run out and the bottom of the bowl was the goal. She quickly grew up to be delightfully chonky. She loved cuddles with the other cats, laying on my chest or my lap, and pinning my hand down to clean it.
When I had left for army training the first year we had her, I was gone for two weeks. When I came back, she shunned me. Shunned me in the way a cat would, always being in the same room as me but making it a show of how hard she was ignoring me. It didn’t last.
The Queen of Chonk
When we divorced, Meowria came with me. She was the lady of the house, and other than terrorized by the other cat–Bruce–she loved my sole company & grew to adore my child as she grew up. She waited in the window to find me coming home, would run down the stairs to greet me, and would wait for me to be on the couch for naps or bed for cuddles.
A writing friend, Sarah, suggested the name Meowria Therese, Empress of Austria. I couldn’t imagine a better, more fitting name for her.
She struggled with asthma & had seasonal kitten alopecia. Her winter top coat wouldn’t come in, and her summer top coat would come in thinner every year.
She always had a tendency to talk back. If she was in my office chair and I’d ask her to move, she’d tell me, in her own way, “No.” If I pet her, she would chirp loudly. Her purrs were always strong, loud, vibrant.
Her Last Year
I lost my apartment on October 31, 2020 & was forced to move into my mom. Bruce and Meowria tensions were at an all time high, and Lilli didn’t want a third cat in the house. I asked Evelyn if she could take in Meowria, and Evelyn was delighted.
Meowria quickly embedded herself into their lives, falling in love with her husband (who then became Meowria’s husband.) She was fond of their eldest child, wary of the new baby, but was always loved. She had a bed by the window, tasty mushies everyday, and relative peace.
Until.
Yeah.
I know she didn’t want to go. She was fighting, in a way, struggling to keep herself there, with us. I didn’t want her to go either. But her body was shutting down. Fight as she might, it was too late. We were too late, but we didn’t know.
I wish we knew sooner. Was her asthma an early sign? Her alopecia? The vets didn’t seem too concerned, and her health was stable. It all happened so fast, and she made no complaint, made no attempt to shy away and hide as sick cats are wont.
I didn’t just lose her. Evelyn & her family did too.
She was too young to leave us. She’ll be missed. I’ll miss her. We’ll all miss her.