Portia was always a mean cat. I adopted her in 1997 when she was only 8 weeks old and I was single, unattached and desperately lonely. We shared a wonderful year together – just the two of us. I was traveling a lot for work at the time and she was always a welcome companion to come home to. In 1998 I moved to Texas and that is when the first hint of problems came to the surface. She didn’t like Texas. She was angry with me that I made the decision to move us without considering her feelings on the matter. Shortly after we moved she began scratching the furniture. We tried therapy but she was cold and after she completely scratched the upholstery off the couch I de-clawed her. I don’t think we ever really healed after that breach.

I met David and she felt betrayed. She didn’t like having this interloper in our home. She didn’t understand why I felt the need to have this other person. She hissed at him, she swiped at him and she made it very clear she did not like him. David and I married and she made her disdain of the situation known by peeing NEXT to the litter box, but not IN it. David and I got another cat thinking that if she had her own companion she would be happier and not so dependent on me.

Cosmo seemed to make her happy and we had a couple of good years where we were all able to coexist in happiness and peace. Unfortunately this period of relative happiness was short-lived. Lucy was born and Portia seemed to resign herself to the idea that I was never going to be JUST hers ever again. She was angry and declared all out war. The litter box suddenly became an optional item. We bought bigger litter boxes, we changed litter, we changed locations, we bought extra litter boxes, we tried electric boxes, we cleaned it every day, but nothing seemed to work. We replaced the carpet.

Portia just turned 11 years old. The last time we were at the vet they said her teeth weren’t looking good and they expected them to start falling out. She was continuing to rage her war against us and the litter box and we’ll need to replace the carpet AGAIN. And so finally, after 11 years, Portia and I separated. I made the final and painful decision to put her to sleep, which is weirdly euphemistic for killing my pet.

I’m sad. I’m guilt-ridden. I’m relieved. Because although I loved Portia and I have wonderful memories of snuggling with her at night, she was always a one-person cat. She hated David. She hated the kids and I think as she got older she hated living with us. I’ve never felt more like an adult than I do today.