Almost like Hamlet: Kot's version

Choice. We make choices every day, and almost every minute. Sometimes we don't notice the results of our choices, and sometimes they are life-changing. Once, more than a year ago, I chose a cat. And a series of choices began, like Hamlet's "to be or not to be," or in my case, to live or die. Not for me - for the cat.

Choice number one

One autumn day in 2024, I realized that I was ready to adopt a cat. Yes, exactly ready, because a cat is not a dog. It is an animal that in most cases does what it wants. And after a while, you realize that it's not your cat that lives in you, but you in it.

So, I chose an animal on Facebook - a five-year-old Devon Rex cat, which was taken out of breeding. From the photo, some kind of cosmic creature looked at me: thick curly brown fur, green eyes, a small muzzle and big ears, and a long, curled tail. (By the way, he can thank you with that tail, but more often he can show his displeasure<span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>(send it away)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>).

This is how the new owner saw the cat for the first time. PHOTO courtesy of the author

I agreed with the owner that I would be able to pick him up in about a month. But on day X, she called and warned me that the cat was in a bad condition after castration: he had lost weight, his fur was falling off, and he was inactive. However, since I was already on my way to pick him up, I agreed to take him as is.

Choice number two

After some time, at home, the cat (yes, I gave him such an unusual name, although according to the documents he is Tigra, but I could not call the creature that way) lost even more weight. I went to the hospital, the veterinarian prescribed a bunch of medications, but in a few days Keith turned yellow. I got a kind of bald and yellow creature instead of the cat in the photo. At the same time, he even played sometimes.

This is how he came to his new home. PHOTO courtesy of the author

For a week, the doctors kept him under an intravenous drip every day, but said that his condition was unlikely to get better and advised him to go to another clinic.

The new veterinarian, after examining Kot, passed a verdict: either put him to sleep now, or put him to sleep after a long and expensive treatment, or he would die.

All the time - about three months - that these trips to the doctors lasted, I believed that I could cure him. But after that I gave up and promised Kot<span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>(threatened)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> that if he died, I would bury him naked and yellow in the frozen ground (it was the end of January 2025) and not even put on a sweater.

Choice number three

Since, according to the doctors, Kot had no chance of survival, I gave up and left him alone. I stopped taking him to the vets, shoving pills into him (which was not very easy, by the way - he resisted it as much as he could) and poking him with needles.

But it was my choice, not his. He decided otherwise.

Not my choice.

After a while, Keith became more active: he played longer, slept less. A couple of weeks later, after the doctors' verdict, I noticed that he was not so yellow - his body was a normal color, although he was still bald. And closer to March, he started to grow fur. And by summer, it was again the same space creature from the photo: thick curly brown fur with green eyes, a small muzzle and big ears. I've already told you about the tail - it's the one that Cat uses to "talk".

The cat then and now. PHOTO courtesy of the author

Today, Kit is active, playful, but respectful. He is not going to die.

What is the moral of this story? Probably that we, as Homo sapiens, attach great importance to our actions, which sometimes complicates our lives. And animals just live.

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