On Wednesday afternoon, November 24, 2021, after living with us for over twelve years, Elektra died at home, surrounded by everyone she knew and loved, and with the assistance of two shots from the vet. Her death was not unexpected but like so many deaths, it was incomprehensible. One second she was with us and the next she was gone.
The past five or six months were tough for her (and us). At the beginning of the summer, she seemed fine, although the vet warned us at an annual checkup that her kidneys were shrinking, an indicator of chronic kidney disease. In July, we noticed a discharge from her ear, which turned out to be caused by an inoperable tumor -- likely malignant -- that had blocked her ear canal. Around the same time, she began losing weight, another symptom of kidney failure (and cancer). We gave her an appetite stimulant, which initially helped: she returned to eight pounds for maybe a month or two, but by September, she had slipped closer to seven. Earlier this month, we started giving her subcutaneous fluids, but the tumor was interfering with her balance and she was having trouble walking. She carried her head at an angle. The left side of her face became paralyzed, leaving her unable to eat. By the end, she weighed hardly anything at all.
Elektra in September, resting in the catnip and the oregano.
We -- meaning Stephen and I and our other two cats, Zephyr and Clio -- spent a lot of time with each other beginning in March of 2020, when we entered a lockdown from which I, at least, have barely emerged. We were a pod of house cats, basically. Since August, when Stephen went back to work (which unlike me he can't do remotely), the balance has shifted even more toward the feline side of the equation. It's been a relatively privileged and peaceful way to live, one that has made me ask myself why I would ever want to go back to 'normal' if it means exposing myself more than necessary to a society that seems increasingly fractured, self-destructive, and dangerous. Lately I’ve found myself agreeing with those who maintain that the truest expression of homosexuality is to reject the prevailing social order.
But that’s a question I’ll have to answer without Elektra. About a month ago, I was shocked to realize that we had reached the point where, as far as Elektra was concerned, death had moved out of abstraction and into a daily reality. Soon, Elektra would not be here. (One of the ways I tried to cope with this transition was to write a song for her.) While the grief I felt about losing Elektra was palpable -- at any given moment, my throat constricted and my eyes tightened as tears welled and sometimes spilled -- I also realized that this grief was part of a larger, more amorphous grief I felt about so many things at this juncture of 2021. Some of it is cultural and political -- related to the things our country has done and not done -- and some of it is personal, related to some of the things I have done and not done.
On our last afternoon together, as Elektra rested next to me on the bed, I felt like we were on a life raft, drifting on an ocean of grief. But I wanted to remember these hours; how, even with one eye shut and her once-plush coat rough and begraggled, she still looked at me with a kind of tender scrutiny and determination; or how, when she was stretched out on her heating pad and I gently petted her side, she flexed her paw a few times, the way cats do when something feels good; and how she never lost her dignity, which is something I hope to say when my last afternoon arrives.
Time -- as it had done for the past two years -- seemed to move very quickly, which I attributed to a number of factors: the pandemic; the way global warming has pushed the beginning of fall back a few months; me being old enough to see death on the horizon and, as a gay person without children in a neoliberal/market-driven society, to worry about its practical dimensions.
But as these different forms of grief opened up in me, it was also a relief, or at least a distraction, to be Elektra's caretaker. We did what we could to keep Elektra comfortable. We cleaned out her ear every night; we gave her medication and fluids; in the final week, we carried her up and down the stairs; we gave her a heating pad to stay warm. She had moments of frustration and confusion, but I don't think she was ever in pain.
The other cats were considerate and perhaps compassionate, staying close to Elektra as the days and finally hours dwindled away.
Stephen met Elektra on May 12, 2009, when she appeared on the top of one of our garden walls. At the time, Stephen was having lunch with a friend, and Elektra meowed at them for something to eat. Unlike most of the strays we encounter in the backyard, Elektra was not feral. She also looked miserable. Initially we planned to foster her, but after spending time with her, we brought her home.
Stephen named her Elektra. We learned that she had been chipped, but that her previous owner claimed to have returned her to a shelter; how she ended up on our block will always be a mystery. Her exact age was also a mystery. She might have have been three or four years old, or she might have been three or four centuries old.
We were immediately impressed by Elektra's intelligence, which (with apologies to our other cats) seemed to put her on a different scale.
Elektra wasn't exactly aloof or antisocial (except perhaps philosophically, in the manner of many cats), but she managed to convey to the boys (all four of us) that she sometimes needed her space, and that we would be well advised to listen when she spoke. There was something maternal about her; she seemed serious about life, not one to engage in childish games or petty fights. Occasionally, we could cajole Elektra into a group activity, such as this training session for synchronized napping with Dante and Zephyr. We were all younger then; we joked around a lot. Elektra indulged us.
But this picture is a more accurate depiction of the hierarchy. At that time, we lived in an apartment with views of the George Washington Bridge and the flocks of pigeons that perched on the ledges and circled the sky. Like everyone else, Elektra spent a lot of time looking out the windows.
Elektra's brand of contemplative, no-bullshit energy made her a minor celebrity on my Tumblr, where she starred in countless post-lolcat/#CLOTU* memes, some of which I’ve reproduced below.
*Cat Ladies of Tumblr Unite
New Year's Resolution for 2010.
Iconography of #caturday.
It felt strange revisiting these images, which seemed to resonate with the spirit of a time when the internet was a lot more fun than it is now. I don’t want to sound too nostalgic: even as we lived through it, we understood that this era of the internet -- the paleoblogolithic -- was about to be swallowed by social media. (Another source of grief.)
Elektra was also on hand to celebrate the arrival of my debut novel and my literary career, which as foreshadowed in this photograph was soon delivered into a kind of purgatory or coma from which I hope one day to arise. Or not: things that once seemed important to me have shifted with the passage of time.
When in early 2011 we moved into our house, Elektra did not hesitate to ascend to the role of queen for this new territory. But as regal as she could be, she was never haughty. She was the top mouser of our three cats. One November, we noticed signs of mice in the pantry off the garden; within hours of installing Elektra on site (normally she couldn't access this part of the house), she had caught the culprits (who were released into an abandoned lot on the block). That said, she did prefer a pristine litter box; as soon as I cleaned it out, which I did many times a day, she could be counted on to use it.
"I will catch any mouse, no questions asked. In return, you will provide a clean litter box and white roses." -- Elektra, 2012
Elektra's kingdom extended into the garden, where she was equally industrious.
She patrolled the grounds.
She was serious about her work.
When Clio arrived in 2015, Elektra enlisted her in the long-running battle against flying snakes.
With Zephyr, Elektra and Clio also started an indie-rock band.
I will always think of Elektra when I look at this spot in the garden.
It's going to be hard not to have her here, guiding and advising us on all matters, practical and spiritual. But I will never forget her. She will always be an inspiration.
On our last night together, I rested my hand on her side. As I drifted in and out of sleep, it seemed that she was hovering, somehow a part of me and just beyond reach, a deity in whom I could now believe.
Elektra: ??? -- November 24, 2021. If there's Another Side, we will see you there.
I adored Elektra.
For over ten years I looked forward to the wonderful photos and stories you often posted of her. This tribute to her had me crying almost as much as I did when I lost my own cat, Momo, to lymphoma this past spring.
Thank you for sharing her with us. My heart goes out to you and Stephen.
Good bye Elektra. May you always protect us from flying snakes.
Posted by: carole czoernie | 11/24/2021 at 02:07 PM
I am so sorry for your loss. This was a beautiful tribute.
Posted by: Sarah | 11/24/2021 at 02:11 PM