Zorro died peacefully yesterday, June 9, as I sadly held him. I didn't want to be there because my heart was broken. Zorro had been sick for a week. His blood test confirmed thyroid disease but he was not tolerating the medication and it had to be stopped. He lost 30% of his weight in seven days and had stopped going outside. He was jaundiced. I decided that any more treatment would be distasteful for this brave guy, and we let him go.
We buried Zorro in the back garden near the huge lilac bush that he loved to nap under in the summer. We placed the cremains of his mother and brothers and sisters with him. He was the last remaining member of the family. All of the others had died at various ages of EGC. We planted a snowball bush with them to mark their graves. Zorro’s doctor told me that the average lifespan of a cat is 13 years. Zorro would have been 16 in August. It still was not enough time for him or me. I have chosen several photographs of his life to share and remember Zorro with.
Zorro was a fierce hunter. Never birds, only rodents, although he did stalk turkeys and chickens. He always skinned his mice before he ate them — an odd habit, I always thought. His entire being required him to be outside, even in the winter. We always had a difficult time getting him inside the house after dark (because of coyotes), but he would eventually learn to return home at dusk and nap until dawn, when he would trot out the door with his tail high. When he lived in New Hampshire, Zorro's favorite prey was chipmunks. He would bring them home alive, and after praising Zorro's prowess to him, we would rescue and release the chipmunk.