Remembering Rudy: A reflection on life
The beloved cat taught me to appreciate life's moments
In this week’s newsletter:
Rudy, life and death
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The Bookshelf
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Editor’s note: Seven years ago, my 20-year-old cat, Rudy, passed away at home. In seven years, I’ve lost more pets: Jade, my “earth mama” kitty, and Lemon, my beloved black lab. I’ve been unable to get a dog since she died because I mourned so.
Most recently, there have been human deaths. My beautiful sister, Karen, and my husband’s aunt, Judy. 2024 also saw the passing of many wonderful celebrities, too. It’s a part of life, I know.
But a Facebook friend’s recent post of her cat reminded me of Rudy, so I wanted to share this essay with you (originally published on Medium): It was more than Rudy’s death that made me write the post. It was what his life symbolized.
I used to joke that Rudy would outlive all of us, but in the end, his little heart just gave out. Rudy had been experiencing some of the things that pets do when aging: loss of hearing, impaired vision, some cognitive losses as if he wasn’t sure where he was all the time.
Witnessing these symptoms has been tough. He has been with me through nearly a third of my life. I’ve had a lot of pets over the years, but Rudy was a special case because:
He was the longest living animal I have had;
While I have seen many animals put to sleep because of illnesses, Rudy was my first pet to die of natural causes, with me, at home. It made me feel my own mortality deeply.
He’d been pacing around the house, a sign of disorientation, and other possible causes. He must have logged 20,000 steps a day or more. BTW, the name Rudy is short for ballet dancer Rudolph Nureyev, because of the graceful way he walked. While I always enjoyed watching him gracefully step, I knew this pacing wasn’t normal.
Just like many elderly humans, senior cats — ages approximately 10 and up — often experience gradual memory loss, which as a result brings upon disorientation and confusion. If your precious pet feels out of his element, he may express it by wandering and pacing back and forth around a room with no apparent destination. Take note of your cat’s traveling patterns. If you notice that he seems to be aimlessly moving about your home all day, it may simply be because he doesn’t really recognize where he is anymore. — pets.the nest.com
Rudy had been to the vet several times this year because he stopped eating and seemed to be disinterested in food, but his bloodwork was fine, his kidneys were fine. His heartbeat was rapid, but the vet mentioned that due to his advanced age, nothing seemed really out of character for a 20-year-old cat.
I would bring him home and feed him soft cat food through a large syringe. After a couple of days, he’d begin eating again. And that’s why his death was so unexpected: he ate a big dinner and seemed interested in food.
Sometime around 8 p.m. he began stumbling, and stuck his tongue out in what appeared to be him trying to vomit. But actually, it might have been a combination of that and gasping for air at the same time.
I looked up at my husband, Tim, and said, “I think this might be it.”
I picked Rudy up and tried to hold him but he didn’t want to be held. I put him down on the floor and he fell over. His legs flayed around, his eyes were wide and his mouth open. He took one violent gasp and became quiet.
During his transition, the other pets seemed very interested in him, sniffing him and staying close to him until I shooed them away. I didn’t want him crowded. Perhaps that was their way of saying goodbye, or perhaps they smelled imminent death.
Eyes welling with tears, I bent over and rubbed his fur. He wasn’t dead yet but slipped away in minutes. I felt for breathing or a heartbeat. His body was limp, like a rag doll.
I sobbed. My husband tried to comfort me but for a short time, I was inconsolable. I just stood there, looking at him lying on the floor. For some crazy reason, I wanted to make sure that he was, indeed dead. I had some horror-filled thought that I might bury him alive.
Tim left the room and came back with a box. I said I wanted to wrap him in a towel before placing him in the box. By then it was dark, and I had to consider what to do next. I foolishly asked Tim if we could leave him out in the box until the morning, but he said that would not be a good idea. I just wasn’t thinking.
We decided to put him on ice until the next day, so I gently double wrapped him in towels and put him in a plastic bag. Then we put him in the garage freezer.
The next morning, being an early adopter of the internet, I did what anyone would do. I googled:
“pet burial in Norman, Oklahoma”
I really wanted to find out if it was legal to bury him on our property. Among many results returned, was “How to Bury a Cat.”
The informative but simplistic wikihow website correctly suggested I check with the city. I called the city’s Action Center line but no one answered, and I didn’t want to leave a message.
A former reporter, I looked at the city’s code of ordinances and could only find Sec. 21–204. — Disposal: Dead animals.
No person shall deposit or otherwise place for collection by the Sanitation Department any carcass or portion of any animal, bird, or reptile.
Check. I wasn’t planning to. But I still had to figure out where to bury him.
Rudy was a real part of the family, always being one of two or three pets. This current family consisted of two other cats, Jade and Gato, and Lemon, a black Labrador Retriever.
I got him in 1998 in Kansas City, Kan. We lived in a small neighborhood with many stray animals. Every spring there were new litters and I joked they all found their way to my house. I ended up adopting many of them, taking some to no-kill shelters or finding homes for them.
He was a little matted fluff ball with a LOUD voice. So loud, I couldn’t leave him on the front porch. His delicate walk, with one paw runwaylike in front of the other, made me think of the way Russian ballet dancer Rudolph Nureyev danced. So I named him Rudy.
I was in a rocky marriage at the time. My aging parents were ill. The next year I would see the death of my mother to COPD. Three years later, a divorce. And four years after that, the loss of my father to stomach cancer and Alzheimer’s. Post-divorce dating ensued and I found some nice guys and bunch of knuckleheads.
Through it all, I had my furbabies. Rudy was there, along with a few of the other strays I had picked up.
Four cities, three jobs and seven homes later, Rudy was still there.
At 20, Rudy wasn’t the oldest documented living housecat, but he had a good, long run. His passing makes me feel my own mortality. So much of my life has passed, with him. How many years do I have left? How many of my remaining pets will pass before me? Do I, like Queen Elizabeth and her corgis, stop bringing up pets because I know they will outlive me?
All I know is that I gave Rudy the best life that I could. RIP, my sweet one.
Your sister in Christ,
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Yvette Walker is a journalist, educator and the founder of Positively Joy Ministries. Her ministry supports this blog, a podcast, publishing her many books and opportunities to share the message of joy.
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