Confession: I Love My Ancient Cat, But I'll Be Relieved When She Dies

My cat, Penny Lane, is pretty special. I got her right before college graduation and transitioned into adulthood with her at my side or on my lap. My very first professional job was a full-time freelance, work-from-home position, and she spent almost all my working hours nestled near me — I loved the warmth and companionship she provided in lieu of coworkers, a boyfriend, or even a close friend nearby. When I traveled for work and left her with my parents, it wasn't at all unusual for me to call and chat to my cat on speaker phone. Penny Lane was my bestie.

When I partnered up, she came with me. He even took over litter box duties! For a few years, the three of us coexisted harmoniously. And then I had a baby.

"Just one." She's all I need. But boy, oh boy, has she grown into a cuddly gal — meaning it's hard to find a moment to myself these days between the needs of my partner and my kid. If you're a mom, you know the struggle. I am always touched out. Admittedly, I already feel terrible for my furry friend, who gets the loose ends of my attention.

Oftentimes, when my 6-year-old is distracted, Penny will slink in from her hiding spot under the bed. She'll leap up and settle on my lap on the couch or against my hip when I'm in bed. For a few moments, we get to peacefully coexist again.

That is until her furless sister stampedes into our space, asking for snacks or just wanting attention. Inevitably, Penny leaps up and bolts for cover. No red flags here, really. My daughter is exceptionally gentle with the cat (we started her early), but their relationship is still tenuous at best. At the end of the day, Penny is old and tired, while Mathilda is big and loud.

Many times, her loudness is a lot... even for me. So, when I get her distracted or in bed? When I finally have my bubble all to myself? I want it to stay that way. By 6 or 7 p.m., I'm totally touched out. I don't want a kiss on the forehead from my guy. I don't want to be accidentally headbutted by a kindergartener. And I most certainly don't want an errant claw hooking into my stomach or the weight of the cat weighing down the blanket and pulling it off my cold shoulders.

I love Penny so much. But, sometimes, I sit with my hands tucked under my legs, whispering desperately, "Please just lay down or leave me alone."

Then there's the whole litter box situation. With the added insanity of a kid, our current home renovation, and a million other things, we aren't as anal-retentive about cleaning it as we used to be. So, many a night, I barely settle in before the litter box smell overtakes my nose.

In a matter of moments, I'm fully awake again. Cleaning the box. Mad at my partner for not doing it. Annoyed by the amount of daily tasks that now fall on my shoulders. Doing all of it as quietly as possible so as not to wake everyone else in the house. And you know quietness and anger just don't blend.

Penny has always had a sensitive tummy, too. We have her on the best food for her tummy troubles, but she still gets sick a few times a week. My feet always find the barf. Usually when we're late to school. Or I just got out of the shower. Or my back is already aching. The squish. The work it takes to clean my foot and the carpet. The smell that lingers in my nose for hours after the fact. It's the kind of thing that can ruin a day.

I love my furbaby, truly, and I take appropriate care of her. This spoiled thing recently got a new kitty bed and cat tree at the request of her frenemy, my daughter Mathilda. But I also recognize that, sadly, we are not in a place in our lives where having a pet — any pet — makes sense.

While I would never subject her to the trauma of rehoming, I know we won't be in a rush to replace her when she inevitably dies one day. I know that when Penny has passed, she will be our last pet for quite a while. And knowing that means I can't help but recognize the sense of relief that will come when this part of our lives is over.

I will absolutely mourn Penny. She will be buried beside the only other pet I've ever had: the cat that came before her. But then I will toss her litter box. I will vacuum up the neverending spray of cat litter and broom up the cat food she seems to throw everywhere at dinnertime. I will get my carpets cleaned, and I will wear socks confidently around my house again.

In the evenings, between Mathilda's bedtime and mine, I will not end up with a claw in my stomach or cold shoulders. I will go to bed at night and stay in bed. And I will sleep without feeling guilty for not being as cuddly as I once was or as obsessive about the litter box as I used to be.

I love Penny. I will miss Penny. But I will not miss the responsibility, the constant questioning of whether I'm doing enough, or the worry that my once-happy cat feels replaced by her weird, loud sister. I think that's OK? Don't tell me if I'm wrong, though. I'm living with enough guilt already.

Deirdre Kaye is a freelance writer and mother to one very smart, sweet deviled egg. She enjoys taking three months to finish a book, planning all the tiny details of road trips she’ll never take, and decorating her craftsman bungalow. In addition to Scary Mommy, her writing can be found on Bridal Guide, Yahoo, HuffPo, TheDad, and Cleveland Scene.