Chronicles of the Virus Day 32. Nuxca.
Our Matrionuxca has gone into the long night.
She was a little orange and white cat born in our house fifteen years ago, grandkitten of the first cat we ever had. We found Cleopatra, her grandmother, by the edge of the road coming home from Vilagarcía one night, when we were still engaged. There were cars parked, and people milling around. A car had gone off the road, nobody was hurt. The driver had swerved to avoid hitting a kitten. We found that kitten, who duly bit my husband on the thumb as thanks for the rescue. She came home with us.
In her later years, she had Pirracas, who then had Matrionuxca one year. Our daughter gave her the name, which she took from a book she had recently read. From Matrionuxca, (pronounced Matrionushka, with a long u) she got many knicks; Nuxca, Nuxcaya, Catiushka, Nuxkis, Lushca Fushca. From the beginning, she would tell her siblings what to do. Over the years, she took the reins of the cat household. She kept the others in line, particularly Tigresa, who has since died, and Macarena, just a year younger. The only one she actively became friends with was Antón. Though she tried to rebuff him when he was a kitten, he became her friend. They would sleep together many days, by the stove. He would wash her head until she raised her hand and told him to stop.
She had her moments. When younger, she would sit on the balustrade with her feet on the wooden ball at the bottom of the stairs. She would look up the balustrade, lightly run up the shiny wood and reach the top. Then, she would grab the rail with her arms and legs, and slide back down to the bottom. She would do that once or twice, her personal slide.
Whenever I talked on the phone and she was awake, she would come and talk, too. I would go into another room to try to hear the person on the other end, and she would follow, adding her two cents to the conversation. Perhaps she found it strange that I was talking to myself with something on my ear and wanted to make sure I was alright.
She had a strange way of washing her tail. Very conscientiously, she would pass her tongue from the bottom all the way to the tip, stopping along the way to bite it at certain points. When she got to the end, she would take it up in her hand and hold it while she washed the very tip. All she needed was a thumb.
She caught her share of mice under the steps. The space under our stairs has a door to it and we store things there. There are two holes into the wall, where the builders left a hole, if we ever wanted to install a washing machine, so that we could easily put in the drain pipe. The other hole was to bring in an electrical line for a switch to turn off the well motor. From time to time, we have mice in the wall, especially in winter, and sometimes they would poke their noses through those holes. Nuxca would hear them and come running, asking us to open the door, which we would. Sometimes, she would wait with infinite patience and be rewarded with a twitching brown nose and beady eyes. That was the end of a curious mouse.
She loved to jump on my husband's back and just lie there, content. Whenever he bent over, she would calculate the jump and, there she would be. She would turn around to find her particular spot along the middle of his back and lie down and purr. She would also sometimes drape herself over my neck, though she preferred my husband. When she was younger, she would try to wash him as if he were a cat. For some reason, she felt he always needed washing, even after taking a shower.
She eventually grew accustomed to all the cats in the house, except Romualdo. Romi is a barn cat that had an accident last year with a car, had to have surgery, and a time of healing. He spent that time in the house, and has gradually become a house cat. But Nuxca put down the rules. He had to stay upstairs, and out of her way. Every time she saw him downstairs, she would charge him and he would run for his life. She would not tolerate any stranger in her kingdom.
But, over the past month, he has been coming downstairs more often. At the beginning, Nuxca would put the eye on him, he would see her, and he would skedaddle upstairs. Sometimes she would follow. But, of late, she has tolerated him. Because she had other things on her mind.
Three years ago, she was vomiting almost every day, and it was extremely smelly. I took her to the vet and discovered she had a cancerous tumor in her small intestine, near her stomach. She had it removed, but had a bad time under the general anesthetic. The invasive procedure was almost too much for her twelve years. Yet, she survived, came home, and quickly became her old self.
Except that, from that time onward, she would always jump in my lap whenever I sat down. She would even try to get into my students' laps if she could get away with it. It was as if she had become conscious of her age, and sought out company and warmth. I had no problem with that, unless she used her claws. Sometimes, sitting at the kitchen table in the evenings, eating peanuts, she would come and sit right in front of my face. So, I would have to lean back and she would climb into my lap, turn around, and curl up.
Last August, I found a bump on her chest. I took her to the vet again. It was removed, and the surgery was much less invasive. But it was a sign that all was not well. Last month, she began to lose weight, yet devoured her food and was always asking for more. Then, she vomited, though not with the frequency of three years ago, nor was it the same. But it was too late. This time, the cancer didn't let its effects be noticed until there was nothing to do.
She passed yesterday evening. I knew for some time that it would have to happen, but it doesn't hurt less for that knowledge. The house is quiet now, and Romi roams freely downstairs, with only the warning eye of Macarena on him. Antón sleeps alone on the next chair. And I miss my little orange and white Nuxca on my lap.
Life continues. For the rest of us.
She was a little orange and white cat born in our house fifteen years ago, grandkitten of the first cat we ever had. We found Cleopatra, her grandmother, by the edge of the road coming home from Vilagarcía one night, when we were still engaged. There were cars parked, and people milling around. A car had gone off the road, nobody was hurt. The driver had swerved to avoid hitting a kitten. We found that kitten, who duly bit my husband on the thumb as thanks for the rescue. She came home with us.
In her later years, she had Pirracas, who then had Matrionuxca one year. Our daughter gave her the name, which she took from a book she had recently read. From Matrionuxca, (pronounced Matrionushka, with a long u) she got many knicks; Nuxca, Nuxcaya, Catiushka, Nuxkis, Lushca Fushca. From the beginning, she would tell her siblings what to do. Over the years, she took the reins of the cat household. She kept the others in line, particularly Tigresa, who has since died, and Macarena, just a year younger. The only one she actively became friends with was Antón. Though she tried to rebuff him when he was a kitten, he became her friend. They would sleep together many days, by the stove. He would wash her head until she raised her hand and told him to stop.
She had her moments. When younger, she would sit on the balustrade with her feet on the wooden ball at the bottom of the stairs. She would look up the balustrade, lightly run up the shiny wood and reach the top. Then, she would grab the rail with her arms and legs, and slide back down to the bottom. She would do that once or twice, her personal slide. Whenever I talked on the phone and she was awake, she would come and talk, too. I would go into another room to try to hear the person on the other end, and she would follow, adding her two cents to the conversation. Perhaps she found it strange that I was talking to myself with something on my ear and wanted to make sure I was alright.
She had a strange way of washing her tail. Very conscientiously, she would pass her tongue from the bottom all the way to the tip, stopping along the way to bite it at certain points. When she got to the end, she would take it up in her hand and hold it while she washed the very tip. All she needed was a thumb.
She caught her share of mice under the steps. The space under our stairs has a door to it and we store things there. There are two holes into the wall, where the builders left a hole, if we ever wanted to install a washing machine, so that we could easily put in the drain pipe. The other hole was to bring in an electrical line for a switch to turn off the well motor. From time to time, we have mice in the wall, especially in winter, and sometimes they would poke their noses through those holes. Nuxca would hear them and come running, asking us to open the door, which we would. Sometimes, she would wait with infinite patience and be rewarded with a twitching brown nose and beady eyes. That was the end of a curious mouse.
She loved to jump on my husband's back and just lie there, content. Whenever he bent over, she would calculate the jump and, there she would be. She would turn around to find her particular spot along the middle of his back and lie down and purr. She would also sometimes drape herself over my neck, though she preferred my husband. When she was younger, she would try to wash him as if he were a cat. For some reason, she felt he always needed washing, even after taking a shower.
She eventually grew accustomed to all the cats in the house, except Romualdo. Romi is a barn cat that had an accident last year with a car, had to have surgery, and a time of healing. He spent that time in the house, and has gradually become a house cat. But Nuxca put down the rules. He had to stay upstairs, and out of her way. Every time she saw him downstairs, she would charge him and he would run for his life. She would not tolerate any stranger in her kingdom.
But, over the past month, he has been coming downstairs more often. At the beginning, Nuxca would put the eye on him, he would see her, and he would skedaddle upstairs. Sometimes she would follow. But, of late, she has tolerated him. Because she had other things on her mind.
Three years ago, she was vomiting almost every day, and it was extremely smelly. I took her to the vet and discovered she had a cancerous tumor in her small intestine, near her stomach. She had it removed, but had a bad time under the general anesthetic. The invasive procedure was almost too much for her twelve years. Yet, she survived, came home, and quickly became her old self.
Except that, from that time onward, she would always jump in my lap whenever I sat down. She would even try to get into my students' laps if she could get away with it. It was as if she had become conscious of her age, and sought out company and warmth. I had no problem with that, unless she used her claws. Sometimes, sitting at the kitchen table in the evenings, eating peanuts, she would come and sit right in front of my face. So, I would have to lean back and she would climb into my lap, turn around, and curl up.
Last August, I found a bump on her chest. I took her to the vet again. It was removed, and the surgery was much less invasive. But it was a sign that all was not well. Last month, she began to lose weight, yet devoured her food and was always asking for more. Then, she vomited, though not with the frequency of three years ago, nor was it the same. But it was too late. This time, the cancer didn't let its effects be noticed until there was nothing to do.
She passed yesterday evening. I knew for some time that it would have to happen, but it doesn't hurt less for that knowledge. The house is quiet now, and Romi roams freely downstairs, with only the warning eye of Macarena on him. Antón sleeps alone on the next chair. And I miss my little orange and white Nuxca on my lap.
Life continues. For the rest of us.
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