Goodbye, Mog

Last night, Mog died. She lived for just over eleven weeks, and my daughters saw her take her first breath and her last. For the final few minutes of her life, those breaths were terrible, desperate, and quick. They caused mini convulsions. I told my daughters that they didn't have to watch them, that I would comfort Mog for them, but they wouldn't relinquish their vigil. During Mog's short life, my kids demonstrated just how responsible they could be when choosing to care for others, and in a time of great despair, they acted bravely while demonstrating a commitment to doing what had to be done. Through eyes blurred by tears and a fear of losing something they had nurtured and grown to love, they made one kitten's final moments as comfortable as possible.

Mog was one of six kittens born to a sray cat we refer to as The Mom Cat. TMC, a tuxedoed feline, has an unfortunate mustache that resembles the one worn by a certain 20th century German tyrant, but she has mothered her young with a patience and affection never show by  that similarly mustachioed human.

 TMC and Mog have a little cuddle time

Mog was a part of TMC's second litter. Her first litter had been born about six months earlier, a litter of seven. Two of those cats are currently strays, and we see them roaming the neighborhood from time to time. Another kitten from that litter was  hit by a car before it was two months old. The other four all found homes, but the people who gave those kittens homes took them from their mother when they were only four weeks old. To avoid all these problems, my family--and my kids, who are homeschooled, in particular--decided to take TMC in and allow her to give birth in our home. Homeschool science at its best.

TMC gave birth in my daughter's closet, where the kittens stayed for about the first three weeks of their life, until TMC moved them to the walk-in closet I share with my wife. The birth went well, and my children remember that Mog, the only kitten with white paws, was the fourth born. She was also the runt, but one feisty runt.

She was the first of the new litter to scale and escape the barrier we had set up to keep the kittens in our closet, she explored the rest of our apartment more fervently than her siblings when the kittens played outside our closet, and she fought valiantly while nursing for a spot that would allow her comfortable access to her teat of choice. She also loved playing with people, wrestling with her siblings, cuddling with her mom or each person in our family. Most important to me, though, she did not whine as much as her brothers.

Mog about to snack

During this entire kitten experience, my daughters cleaned litter boxes and handled each of the kittens each day. They also made sure that mom and the kittens received all of the food and water they needed, even during a frightening 24-hour period during when we thought that TMC had either been hit by a car or had abandoned her kittens.

A few days after giving birth, TMC began spending a few moments each day outside, getting a deserved break from her kittens and roaming her old stomping grounds. (She also spent time with the kittens from her previous litter.) One morning, shortly after she began taking breaks outside, she did not return home. We kept checking every hour for her, but she was never waiting by our building's door for us to let her in. She had never spent more than 90 minutes away from her kittens, and after not seeing her for four hours, we knew we had to help the kittens survive. I went to a local cat shop and bought some powdered goat's milk and syringes, and we began feeding all six kittens every two hours. We also used wet tissues after each feeding to stimulate the kitten's urinating and pooping. (We did not follow the mom's lead and lick the area. Using a wet tissue made me uncomfortable enough.)

For the next 24 hours, we fed the kittens and stimulated their bowels. During the night, I let my kids sleep and took over feeding duties. When you're exhausted and feeding five kittens that look just alike, you must focus deeply to ensure each kitten gets the nutrition it needs. During these night feedings I noticed that Mog took milk from a syringe more easily than her litter mates, and it was then that I began to think that if we did end up keeping a kitten, this was the kitten we needed to keep.

How could she not be the choice?

The next afternoon, we discovered that TMC had walked into an open storage room on our compound and a worker, not knowing that she had entered the room, inadvertently locked her in.  Luckily, a security employee heard her meowing and alerted us to where she was. (Everyone on our compound knew that we were looking for her.) Upon gaining her freedom, TMC made a mad dash to our apartment, her milk engorged mammaries swaying from side to side and making it difficult for her to move in a straight line, and ate and drank and spent the next 24 hours with her kittens, leaving only to eat, drink, and visit the litter box.

Two kittens needed to go to their new family when they were seven weeks old; otherwise all of the kittens were with their mother for at least eight weeks, which is tough on a house that went from zero pets to seven in just a few hours. All six kittens also found good homes. In fact, everything seemed to be going well with this experience, and even the Christmas tree withstood Mog's apparent love of climbing.

But yesterday, everything changed. Mog didn't bounce around as much as usual, and she began vomiting  and having diarrhea just after noon. At 6:30 yesterday evening, my older daughter called the vet and we agreed  to monitor Mog until the morning, when the Canadian vet would be in the office. If she were still having trouble then, we would bring her in. Otherwise, the vet gave us instructions for how to care for Mog in the meantime. Unfortunately, there are no 24-hour vet clinics in Chengdu because after supper Mog's health began deteriorating rapidly. My daughters acted quickly and persistently and as a team as they tried to nurse Mog as the vet had prescribed. The gave her warm towels and blankets and tried to keep her warm and make her comfortable. She just never responded positively to any of the treatment. At midnight, Mog became listless. But my girls never stopped caring for her. Through their tears and their fear of what might come about, they fought for her. They never gave up on her, and I had never been a prouder father.

We had a post mortem done earlier today because we wanted to know how a cat could go from bounding around the house to dead in 24 hours. My wife and I thought about distemper because today would have been the day for Mog to get her immunizations. But Mog didn't have distemper. The vet reported that she contracted some "freak, acute bacterial infection" that overwhelmed her quickly. Of course, we're left with the big What If. What if we had taken her to the vet rather than just monitoring her? But we don't even take our children to the doctor for vomiting and diarrhea until they have been doing it for 24 hours. I have to believe this was a freak infection. The other choice is unbearable.

The kids cry off and on, as do my wife and I, and we have spent a good amount of time today consoling each other. The kids are left with legitimate questions that I can't answer. They took care of six kittens and their mother. They helped find homes for five kittens. We made sure the mother was spayed. But why did we only get 11 weeks with Mog? It's not right, it's not just, and it's not fair, and unfortunately, I cannot rationalize this for my children. But I can help them see that it's always best to do what's right and that eleven good weeks, even with the loss at the end, is better than no weeks and no loss. I can help them see the benefits of taking the hard right over the easy wrong and that loving and caring and action are always better than indifference and inaction. First, though, they just need to know it's okay to be sad.

Thank you for reading.

Goodbye, Mog

Comments

[Darcy]

My heart goes out to you and your family. Rest in peace, sweet Mog.

[Richard L-V]

Thank you, Darcy, for your kind words.