In human years, Thelma is somewhere in the neighborhood of 101. Yup, Jen and Oni’s ball of fluff is a centenarian.
WAY back in the Cambridge days, this wee fuzzy furball was a bithday gift to Jen's sister Erin. Poor Thelma was always a bit introverted and temperamental and totally didn't appreciate our wild parties . She wasn't so keen on the crowded nature of the digs either. On occasion, she'd become mondo agitated and attack Oni’s shoes…while they were on his feet. It appeared she was part Tasmanian Devil.
After one gathering, where the last guests had to exit via the back stairs (our girl was doing her devil cat predator schtick by the front door), Erin and Jen took her to a cat shrink. Cat whisperer? This one wasn’t worth the cabbage.
At some point, we began leaving the doors open between Jen, Oni, Erin, PJ and their other roommate’s (who’s name I’ve forgotten) third floor flat and ours on the second. Thelma and Rosie would rattle down the stairs. Rosie camped in my painting studio chair while Thelma hid on the top shelf of my closet. Ahhhh, peace and relative quiet. How she got all the way up there remains a mystery on par with Stonehenge and the moai statues of Easter Island.
After we moved down here to Valhalla, our fluffy grey menace calmed way the fuck down. Not only did she stop the assaults on Oni’s footwear, she actually decided that he was her human above all others. When Erin and PJ moved out, Thelma decided to stay. Her sister Rosie was here. This was her man’s home. She was NOT leaving!
Made sense to us all. She was finally, pretty much, a chilled out, happy babe. Later, when Skitter moved in, Thelma entered her second kitten-hood. The two of them would tear ass around the house – up the stairs and down, faster than tilt-a-whirl buckets on a heavy meth bender.
And then our girl began slowing up. Of course – happens to us all. Over this last week she’s, health-wise, slid way, way downhill. J&O took her to the cat ER (these exist – who knew?!) the other night. At this point we’re waiting for results from the myriad tests they ran. Given Thelma’s advanced age the outlook's not so good. Results should be in today. Either she gets magic pills and lives to sucker me for a zillion more treats OR she moves on to Kitty Kat Shangri-La.
This shit blows 45 sized smelly-ass, ugly chunks. Cats should live forever and be splendiferously healthy all that time too. Coco agrees.