MSI Press Blog

  In last week's Caturday post, I shared our death watch over Happy Cat . At 11:52 pm, I updated the watch. At that time, we lost Happy Cat. He had been dozing on the bed beside my paraplegic daughter, Fawn. Suddenly, he urgently scrambled to get into her arms. Then, with two big, agonizing gulps of air and a shudder, he crossed the Rainbow Bridge while cuddled in Fawn's arms. We hope he is now cavorting with his pals Snyezhka,  Bobolink ,  Intrepid , and  Murjan  who crossed before him. Happy Cat taught us some important in his last days, some important for cats and some important as well for humans: Near the very end, cats sense when they are going to die, and they prepare by looking for dark places. Happy Cat would go into cubbies that he was never interested in before. (It's a tip-off for owners.)  Near the end, owners sometimes are allowed a sense that their journey to the Rainbow Bridge is reaching its goal. I felt an otherworldly presence the day bef...

Bobolink's last loving and painful minutes, nestled against owner, Luna .   Integrating New Cats When Older Cats Are Dying Integrating new cats into an established cat family is always a delicate dance, but it becomes even more complex when one of the older cats is nearing the end of life. The emotions in the household shift—grief, vigilance, and quiet respect settle in—and the dynamics between the cats can change in ways that are subtle, profound, or both. In most cases, the cat who is dying has been part of the family for many years, often serving as a social anchor. The newcomers, in addition to finding their place among the living members, must navigate the emotional space left by the one who is leaving. Snyezhka, Happy Cat, and the Distance of Newcomers When Snyezhka was dying from breast, liver, and lung cancer, it wasn’t the new cats who stepped in to care for her—it was Happy Cat, her longtime companion and the beta heart of the household. Happy Cat washed her when she coul...

  Simone: The Gamma Queen At 18 years old—well beyond the typical 10–15 year lifespan of Himalayans—Simone is not just surviving; she’s sovereign. In human years, she’s a centenarian, and she wears her age like a velvet robe: soft, regal, and quietly commanding. Simone is a classic Gamma: independent yet affectionate, serene yet perceptive. She loves attention but never demands it. Combing her long fur brings forth deep, quiet purrs—like a low chant from a feline monastery. Though arthritis and blindness have softened her physical presence, they’ve only deepened her emotional one. Her eyes, once brilliant blue, now clouded, still hold the memory of every gaze exchanged over nearly two decades. Her throne is a sleep number bed—higher than most, and perfectly suited to her new role as a tree cat. Once a bush cat who preferred low, hidden spaces, Simone now reigns from above, protected and elevated. During the day, she climbs three soft stairs to reach her perch, where cloth pads h...