I can’t imagine anyone who knows me hasn’t heard about Mochi. She was our fluffy little ball of fuck you. She never made it to 7 pounds, but she was 6 pounds and change of nothing but attitude.
The day I went to pick her up, I threw a rod in my engine. It was a warning. A warning I chose to ignore.
Mochi hated everyone. She once bit me 18 times, sending me to the doctor for antibiotics. She was 17 years old when we adopted her. She was blind due to ongoing hypertension, she had bad hips, an enlarged heart, and was subject to multiple infections. When we adopted her she had a UTI and upper respiratory infection. She was confined to our den (aka Mochiland) because she peed and pooped where ever the urge hit her. She frequently peed her bed and then happily slept in it. The only thing she loved in this world was her stinky little bed. She HATED it when I washed her bed, and had to be convinced that I was really returning her own bed to her once it was clean. And she would go on poop strikes – her personal best was 12 days without pooping.
The last half of her life with us, her head started tilting, and her nose became the repository of huge amounts of snot. We got that under control with antibiotics, but that caused her to drool copiously. It was always, patch, patch, patch when it came to Mochi’s health.
She took almost as many drugs as this fat old lady does. High blood pressure (1/2 pill twice daily); Pepcid AC (for the mouth ulcers she was subject to – ¼ tab once a day); Subcutaneous fluids (2-3 times a week, and in the end daily); whatever antibiotic she was on (1/2 pill twice daily); anti-nausea medication (to deal with the drooling -1/2 pill a day); probiotic (to offset what the antibiotic was doing to her gut flora – 1 capsule daily).
She probably had some kind of growth going on in her head because her head started tilting, but we never found out because she could not have survived the general anesthetic needed to do a CAT scan (yes, cats can get CAT scans).
And through it all, I LOVED her. Unconditionally.
I loved picking her up and snuggling her for as long as she would tolerate it. I loved hearing her snore away the day in her stinky little bed. I loved her when she’d eat her dry cat food one dainty piece at a time. I loved her when she’d let me put a needle in her back to do her sub-Qs with no fuss, but she’d hiss and growl when I picked her up to go back to Mochiland.
She was my baby. My old, bitchy, hateful, baby.
And now she’s gone.
We had her for 1 year and 3 months.
And I still look over where her bed used to be. And it still hurts my heart a little bit each time I get up and realize that I don’t have to go feed, pill, and clean up pee pads every morning; and when I realize I can go straight to bed without having to feed, pill and clean up pee pads in the evening.
I know that putting her to sleep was the right choice. It was such a difficult choice to make, but when the x-rays showed her little chest and abdomen were totally filled with fluid, I knew the vet was right. I went through all the stages of grieving right there sitting in that examination room.
And Mochi’s passing couldn’t have been more peaceful. She fell asleep in my arms and never even woke up when they administered the final drugs. Her last act on this earth was to pee on me. (So appropriate, so Mochi.)
And I told myself I wouldn’t cry anymore. And that was a lie. I know I will cry as much as I need to.
And yesterday, when I went to pick up her ashes at the vets and I felt how light the little wooden box was, it made me cry. And I’m crying now.
RIP Mochi, my fluffy little ball of fuck you.
Though she be but little, she is fierce.