Showing posts with label Kitties. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kitties. Show all posts

Saturday, June 7, 2008

This may be why I'm so tired tonight.

It's hard to believe I received the formal offer letter just five days ago. It seems like a much longer time than that has passed, and it also seems hard to believe that there are still three weeks to go. Until I got the formal offer I refused to write anything down, plan-wise, lest I jinx it. But I was keeping a mental list of things which needed to be done, a list that turns out to have been quite detailed and long because when I actually wrote it down, it took up two pages.

I've jumped right into it, paranoid about leaving things till the last minute. Here's what I've done in the last five days:

1.) Made appointments for the cats to get current on their rabies shots and get micro-chipped.

2.) Bought the cats safety collars (break-away) for the trip so they can wear their rabies tags and new ID tags, which I also got. Because micro-chipping alone isn't enough to assuage Mama Cat's paranoia about one of them getting lost along the way.

3.) Bought the cats carriers for the trip. Minx, Morsel and Thundercat all get along well, and will ride together in the gigantic Sof-Krate I bought for them. It's actually a soft-sided dog crate for larger breed dogs, but will nicely accomodate three cats with room to move about and lie down. Miss Lilly, since she is a calico and therefore does not play well with others gets her own crate, also large enough to move around a little. Each cage will hold small food and water dishes. I also found the coolest corner litter pans, meant for ferret cages, which will fit in each. Not, of course, that they will be used but it seemed only polite to provide them. Actually, they may use them -- when Baby Boy was first diagnosed with dilated cardiomyopathy he spent some time in an oxygen cage, kindly donated by a friend. It's basically a large dog cage, sealed in with plastic sheeting with a hole for a hose that runs to an oxygen concentrator. I used to put a small pan of litter in there for him, and he'd just put his hindquarters in and use it.

4.) Made arrangements to return said oxygen cage to said friend. She, like myself, is now caring for a second heart kitty, but like my Lilly, her cat is still asymptomatic as well. So it's been in my storage space for two years. Back it goes!

5.) Researched the route to Albuquerque, and found pet friendly hotels for the cats ... okay, there seems to be a cat-related trend going on here. Anyway, while a lot of hotels are pet friendly, we're somewhat restricted because "pet-friendly" usually means "friendly to one or two cats" and I have four. So it's places like Econolodge and Motel 6 and other places which have exterior corridors which make it easier to sneak in additional cats.

6.) Got my car lubed, oiled, filtered, had the belts checked, tired balanced and rotated (they're new-ish), the alignment checked, and the A/C recharged. If you live in eastern Massachusetts, go to Hogan Tire for your automotive needs, specifically the North Beverly location. They rock. It needs one more thing, a new catalytic converter -- though I could in theory let this go -- which gets done next Friday.

7.) Called my bank and worked out when to get new accounts and all that -- they have a branch in Albuquerque, so no problems there.

8.) Packed up my kitchen, sorted for "keep" and "yard sale."

9.) Packed up my living room knickknack thingies.

10.) Cleaned out one of my storage spaces, sorted things for "keep" and "yard sale."

11.) Sorted out my 400+ books, got rid of most that I will not be keeping via donation.

12.) With my mother's help (thanks Mom!) took my bed apart and brought it outside for whoever might want it. It's an old wooden platform bed, which would fetch nothing at a yard sale, and this basically emptied out the bedroom, which we cleaned. This way, I can store all the yard sale stuff in there which gives me a lot more room. I put the mattress on my futon, so I'll be sleeping in the living room from now on. I also disassembled and threw out the old cat tree. Which someone picked up right away. Even though it was raining that day and even though it's four years old and the sisal has mostly been ripped away. But I did vacuum off the worst of the cat hair before I chucked it.

13.) Got the yard sale permit. They're free, but in a small town with minimal serious crime, the police actually do check to make sure you have the permit and will shut you down if you don't have it.

14.) Brought home some boxes from work and two bags of foam packing peanuts which, fortuitously, were in said boxes.

15.) Started training the three students in the lab to do all those assays and cells stuff I do now.

16.) Brought some stuff to Mom's for temporary (really, I promise) storage. Actually, much of it was hers to start with. She'll send it along after we move into our new apartment.

17.) Got a new apartment. Actually, Dancing in Socks Guy did this. His current apartment is a smallish one bedroom, which we might have gotten away with if it had just been us. But, there are of course the six cats to consider, so we wanted a two bedroom. Luckily, thanks to the end-of-semester student exodus, there is a ton of stuff available at the moment, but we really wanted to stay in the area he's in now. It's literally right across the street from the university and less than two miles from where I'll be working. This could have waited till I got there, but school starts up again in August, which means things start getting rented in July. Luckily, a two-bedroom in the complex where he is now opened up which made it so easy -- he's already a tenant there, so there was no fuss, just a small transfer fee. Sweet! Of course, this means we spend three days driving across the country, have one day to recover and then have to move to a new place. But it's literally fifty feet from where he lives now, and his friends will help. They'll have to because I'll be at work that day. Not a full day, just HR stuff. Oh, darn.

18.) I also got my signed offer letter and non-disclosure agreements signed and mailed to the new job.

19.) I also resigned my per diem home-health aide job. I was actually working Sunday nights for them, on a pretty regular basis, which I guess makes it more of a part-time job. My last day for them is the fifteenth. I will miss them, they're a great agency.

20.) Got a copy of my birth certificate -- actually, Mom did (thanks again, Mom!). Although she did ask, "Will they let me get a copy of your certificate?" To which I answered, "Did you give birth to me?" I lose my birth certificates all the time, mainly because replacing it has never been a big deal since I live ten miles from where I was born. This is about to change.

21.) Found my social security card and the title to my car! I filed away the loan maturity stuff the finance company mailed me when I paid off my car, and couldn't remember if the title was in there, an issue because I'll need it when I change my registration, and getting a copy of a car title in Massachusetts is a uniquely challenging experience. But there it was.

All that. In five days. And there's still so much more to do!

Elle

Saturday, April 12, 2008

God Speed, Baby

Sad news :( A friend of mine lost her kitty this morning.

Baby had been sick for quite some time. He was battling heart disease, along with another condition and recently developed chronic renal failure as well. Today it became obvious that the end was near, and gentle hands helped Baby transition from this world to the next. I'm certain my Baby Boy was there to greet Baby and show him around.

I should mention that even though he had some very serious, chronic conditions, Baby felt great and this was due to the loving, dedicated care he received from his mama, Vickie. Vickie did everything she could to ensure that Baby lived life as a normal cat, and that he never knew he was sick speaks volumes about her efforts.

The one flaw in any cat is that they just don't live long enough, and even the longest feline life is just too bloody short. Baby's time on Earth is over now, but I don't doubt either that Vickie will get her crown in Heaven for all she did for him, or that Baby will be the one to give it to her.

Because the Creator who entrusted this special cat to her care on Earth will no doubt reward her for her loving dedication with Baby's companionship throughout Eternity.

Elle

Thursday, March 20, 2008

It's not sarcoma!

The vet called with Gwennie's cytology results. It's not sarcoma!

Which I was pretty sure it wasn't, but for all my high-falutin' use of big science words and that terminal degree, I am neither a cytologist nor a vet. Still, it does nothing to curb my delusions of being either that I was right -- it's an eosinophilic plaque.

Eosinophils are white blood cells which tend to be quite active in allergic reactions. They also have granules which stain a lovely pink, making this particular white blood cell really easy to identify. I mean, I took histology a million years ago as an undergraduate and even this many years later I could tell what they were straight away.

See, Dr. S., I really was paying attention in class!

Anyway, cats are prone to weird eosinophilic reactions for no other reason than they're cats and cats are weird. As much as I love them, as much as I'm owned by them, I'm the first to say it, cats are weird. We're going to keep her on the salve she was given yesterday, and Mom is going to start her on some organic cat food. Because Mom somehow got her hands on the Kevin Trudeau book and thinks organics are the cure for all ills. I don't completely agree with that, but there's no doubt that a low-allergen food is definitely not going to hurt Gwennie, so what the heck.

I wasn't that worried about it being a skin cancer -- Gwennie is a dark-haired, indoor-only cat, and skin cancers tend to affect light-haired outdoor cats, and usually shows up on ears and noses anyway -- but there was always that remote chance. Thank goodness it wasn't.

Elle

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

*Sniffle*

I defy anyone to watch this and not get at least a *little* choked up!




I saw this a while ago on another blog, and, I swear, I just cried for days over it. I'm such a sucker for animals of any kinds, and since my own life is ruled by four miniature lions, it really resonated with me. Cats, regardless of their size, never forget their "people." It's one of the reasons I get (nearly) homicidal with rage when I hear about people abandoning their cats for minor reasons. Or any pet. There's a special place in hell for people like that.

Elle

Friday, February 22, 2008

Courtesy of Dancing in Socks Guy's best friend

Don't hate me, but you're going to have the music from this stuck in your head forever. But you won't mind it :)




Elle

Thursday, February 21, 2008

America's Next Top Kitty Model

OMG!!! I love this!!!




As much as I love all my kitties, I have to admit that of the four, only one would make the cut as America's next top kitty model. Thundercat is too jowly, plus he'd sleep through the shoot. Morsel is a beautiful orange tabby, but he's scared of his own shadow. Something as minor as a paper page falling over in the kitchen is enough to send him running under my bed. Minx technically isn't even a cat, she's a minx (a very rare creature which looks like a cat, but doesn't act like one). Only my lovely Lilly, a long-haired calico, would make the grade. But Lilly has an ... attitude. If she were a human model she'd make Naomi Campbell blanch. But we love her anyway.

So, yeah, I have to agree here ... Donut would never make it as a kitty model. But what a great name for a cat!


Elle

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Feline Biographies: Thundercat


Official Name: Thundercat
Nicknames: Big Boy, Big Guy, Mama's Sweet Boy, Thunderboy, Mama's Only Normal Cat, Sweetie Pants, Large Man, Sweetiekins, Grandpa Cat, Fraidy Cat
Age: Exact age unknown, assumed to be about 7-10 years old
Likes: Sleeping, eating, cuddling with the other cats and Mama Cat
Dislikes: I am much too polite and considerate to inconvenience you with any sort of dislikes. Whatever you want is fine with me.

Dear Thundercat,

I met you nearly six years ago. My dog had just died, and my then-cat, Baby Boy, was going crazy with loneliness. I thought about getting another dog, but decided, for a variety of reasons, that another cat would be a better fit. So, I called up our local humane society, and asked about available cats.

This group didn't have a dedicated shelter building at the time, so all of the cats lived in foster homes (the dogs were either fostered or stayed at the local pound, although they were not ever euthanized). They gave me a list of names and numbers to call, and I started dialing. The first lady I called was adamant that the cat she was fostering had to be allowed to go outdoors, something I am opposed to, so that was a no go. The next lady had a big male cat, exact age unknown, who could really use a home as soon as possible, could I come by tomorrow? I said sure, I'll come check him out.

The next afternoon, I pulled up by her house and as soon as I opened the car door, I could smell why you needed a home. I was greeted at the door by Well Meaning Lady and her multiple dogs, cats and ferrets. I asked Well Meaning Lady which of the cats was you, and she said, "Oh, he's down cellar."

I assumed that meant you were just down there playing. But, as we descended the cellar stairs I realized that she meant you lived down there. In a large wire cage. All by yourself.

As I looked at you, gaping in disbelief at what I saw, Well Meaning Lady filled me in on your history. You were found on the side of a road, ten months before, huddled under a tree against the rain. A good Samaratin saw you, thought that you didn't look like a feral cat, figured you must be lost, scooped you up and brought you to her vet. Who, coincidentally, happens to be my vet, Dr. Best Vet Ever. Dr. Best Vet Ever does a lot of pro bono work for the local humane group, so they kept you for a few days while a foster home was found (and named you 'Buffalo Bill' since you were such a big boy) and from there you went to Well Meaning Lady's, where you had been ever since.

No one ever came looking for you, so it was assumed you were either dumped or no one cared enough to find you. Given your non-wandering nature, I'm thinking it was the former and may whoever did that to you get all they deserve out of life. Well Meaning Lady certainly kept you safe, but for reasons I don't understand, felt you needed to be isolated from the other animals in her house, which I later learned was not a general policy of the humane group. You first stayed in an upstairs room by yourself, but were later moved to the cellar.

Maybe it was your size, Big Guy. You were a large cat to start with, your original record at Dr. Best Vet Ever's record your weight at 15 lbs when you were brought in. Months in a cage for 23 hours a day didn't help that any, since you weighed a whopping 18 lbs when I took you to the vet a few days later for a complete checkup. Hence, your new name, Thundercat -- I could hear you walking around.

Well Meaning Lady seemed a little apprehensive about you -- when I went to scratch your head through the wire she said, "Oh, be careful!" This may be why you were caged like that -- she'd convinced herself that your size meant you were dangerous. I didn't know what I was looking for in a cat, other than one who needed a home, and you certainly filled that requirement. So, I said I'd take you. Well Meaning Lady further proved her fear of you by trying to tip you out of the cage and into my cat carrier. I just reached in and picked you up, at which point she yelped, "Be careful! Watch out! Don't let him scratch you!"

It was clear she didn't know you at all.

I got you in the carrier with no trouble at all, hauled you back upstairs, got your vaccination records etc., wrote out a check for the adoption fee and took you home. Before I left, Well Meaning Lady imparted one more factoid about you -- you never purred. "Well, no shit, Well Meaning Lady," I thought as I left her house. "If you lived in a cage all by yourself, you wouldn't purr either."

You didn't utter a single meow as I drove home. I brought you inside, opened the carrier and took you out. You huddled on the floor as Baby Boy came over and ... started hissing. As I expected. You bolted to my bedroom and hid under the bed. Also as I expected. I put food and water under the bed for you, and moved the new litterbox in there too. You spent the first few days under there, where I would come in periodically and pull you out so I could pet you and give you love. Baby Boy went around hissing and spitting. But, on the third day I came home from work and found the two of you knotted together on the bed, giving each other a bath.



You were fast friends after that, always together. How you two loved each other! You warmed up to him a lot faster than you warmed up to me. Oh, you were quiet and polite, and never objected to me cleaning your ears or handling you, but you never approached me voluntarily. At night, when Baby Boy would jump on the bed and settle down next to me, you stayed out on the couch. You also continued to never purr, even with Baby Boy. I didn't mind -- I knew that humans in the past hadn't been especially good to you, and all your experiences up till then had taught you to be wary of us. But I also knew you were a smart cat and eventually you would figure out that you didn't need to be afraid of me. That someday you'd realize that I loved you and would always take care of you.

Some six months after you came to live with us, you did realize this. One morning you didn't run to your food bowl. You looked a little off that morning, and when you refused to eat again that night, I knew you were sick. I 'forced' some water into you (meaning you sat there and let me open your mouth while I dripped some water in) and took you to Dr. Best Vet Ever the next morning. You had a very high fever, probably from a virus, he told me. He wanted to hospitalize you so they could bring it down with subcutaneous fluid boluses, something I was capable of doing at home, but not as often as you would need. So, in you went. As they carried you back, your little face had a stiff, scared expression. What was happening?

You stayed there for three days, and I came and visited you in the mornings before work and at night when I got home. You were a little surprised to see me that first night, but that, Sweet Man, is why I was there. I knew you'd think you'd just been abandoned again, and I wanted you to realize that wasn't so, that you would be coming home. Which you did, fully recovered, for a joyous reunion with Baby Boy.



A few weeks later you had a regularly scheduled well-cat checkup, where you also had a dental exam. Unfortunately, you had a rotten molar, which needed extracting, so a day or so later you went back for the day. Again, as they took you out back you had that same, stiff, scared expression. All went well, and I picked you up that afternoon and brought you home. That night, as I was lying in bed reading, you jumped up, nosed my book aside, settled yourself on my chest ... and started to purr.

I nearly cried. What was it, Sweet Boy, that made you feel safe enough to finally purr? Was it that twice in a row I'd left you somewhere ... and came back for you? Did you finally realize that I would always come back?

Whatever it was, you have purred ever since. We've been through a lot since then, Big Guy, and I couldn't have gotten through it without you. When Baby Boy got sick, you nursed him. You groomed him when he was too weak to do it himself, you let him eat first when he had no real appetite, quite as if you knew that any distraction at all would turn him off food totally. One horrible night, the night the Red Sox won the 2004 World Series, he was quite bad. So weak, so apathetic, and hypothermic. He was on the couch next to me, under a blanket, and you got in there with him and wrapped yourself around him, comforting him and keeping him warm. We finally found ways to help him, and he came back to 'normal,' clinically, but you played a huge role in that, Large Man.

When little Minx came into the family, you helped even more. She was just a few weeks old and filled with the typical minnikin (that's a baby minx) energy. Baby Boy was getting better by then, but it was a while before he could keep up with her and in the interim, you took over as her nanny. You are not a very playful cat, Sweetiekins, you much prefer to nap in a sunny spot. But more than once I saw you engage her in play so she'd leave Baby Boy alone to get some rest. You also taught her all a cat should know about litterboxes and grooming and the like.



You cuddled and napped with her as well. Even now that she is a grown-up Minx, you still do this. In fact, you and Minx are sacked out together on my bed as I write this.



Too soon, the day came when it was time for us to let Baby Boy go. I wrapped him in a blanket, and you jumped on the bed, came over and licked his face. So did Minx. You both knew. And when I came home, clutching that same blanket and crying, you came up to me on the couch and got in my lap. You gently licked my hands as if to say, it'll be okay. We'll get through this. You didn't leave my side that whole weekend, knowing as you did that it was your turn to help me. And you did, my sweet, sweet boy. You have no idea how much you helped comfort me.

And you continue to help. Morsel came into our lives, quite unexpectedly, just four days after Baby Boy died. He was even tinier than Minx had been, maybe five or six weeks old. I wasn't expecting either you or Minx to give him a rousing reception, but I should have known better. When I took him out of the carrier, you both sniffed him, and accepted him straight off. Below is a picture of you and Morsel, taken Morsel's first day, no, first hour here.



I mean, seriously. What other cat does that?



And now we have Lilly, too. Through it all, you have been my rock, Sweet Man. I often call you my 'only normal cat' because, in a house with two cats and a minx who have extremely colorful personalities, and exhibit rather unusual behaviors (eating lettuce, chewing cardboard) and naughtiness (the orange tiger variety), you are the only one who acts like a typical cat and doesn't do anything even remotely naughty. You eat, you sleep, you cuddle and purr. In some ways, this could act against you. In a house where little Morsel falls to the ground and curls in a ball on command to a "Why are you so cute?!?". and Minx trills her mimimimmiMI!!!!! and attacks a cardboard box and Lilly flaunts her supermodel calico self, a quiet, non-assuming personality such as yourself could so easily go unnoticed.

But I notice you, Fat Man, though at 14 lbs you are no longer a fat cat. I notice your sweetness, your consideration, your gratitude when I open another can of cat food just for you because you didn't like the first one I opened. I know how much you love cuddling with me at night, and how you know that I save half the pillow for you. And very often at night, while I am stroking your sleek fur, so gorgeous in its gleaming blackness and snowy whiteness and unusual patterning, you purr your sweet purr while I tell you your life story:

Once upon a time, on a cold and rainy day, a lady was driving down the road. She looked over and saw a big black and white cat under a tree, soaking wet. "He must be lost!" she said, and she picked him up and brought him to Dr. Best Vet Ever, where she knew they would help him. He stayed there for a few days, and got a new name, Buffalo Bill. Then the Humane Group found him a temporary home, while they looked for his people -- they never found them, so the big black and white cat stayed at Well Meaning Lady's for a long time. Oh, he was safe and he had the basics any cat needs, but he was so lonely. Then, one day, he heard strange footsteps and a strange voice overheard. Then he saw a new face and before he knew it, he was in a brand new house with a brand new name, Thundercat. A house where there was everything he needed and more. Warm in the winter, cool in the summer. Good food, fresh water. Toys to play with, and the occasional treats in the form of chicken livers and catnip. Brother and sister cats to play with. Plenty of comfortable places to sleep. And someone to love him.



I love you, Big Guy. I promise to always try to be the guardian you deserve. Thank you for understanding when I fall short of that, as I sometimes do, and loving me just the same. Thank you for being my kitty.

Love,

Mama Cat

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Requiem for a Cat


Dear Baby Boy,

Just a little over two years ago I held you in my arms while gentle hands eased you from this world to the next. It's a tribute to how very loved you were that everyone -- literally everyone -- at the vet's was in tears that day. We knew that day was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.

For nearly two years you'd been living with dilated cardiomyopathy. Feline cardiomyopathy, unfortunately, is quite common but you had one of the more unusual forms of the disease. Many heart kitties have the hypertrophic form, where the walls of the heart thicken. You had the dilated form, where they thin. I knew our time together was limited the night I rushed you to the vet, the night when you suddenly started having problems breathing, and Dr. Best Vet Ever told me he thought you were in heart failure. He told me it could be managed, but I knew, and he knew I knew, that 'managed' meant at best a few months.

But that didn't happen, sweet man. You lived a lot longer than anyone thought you would, longer than even some of the best veterinarians thought you could. And more importantly, you lived as a normal cat for much of that time. We don't know how this happened to you, there are various causes for feline cardiomyopathies. The vets at Tufts Veterinary School thought the most likely cause was a virus, since your heart was normal at a well-cat vet visit just six months before you got sick. But, it could have been genetic. Whatever it was, it didn't really matter to me because the end result was going to be the same. My beloved Baby Boy was going to die.

You came into my life nearly seven years ago. I had just lost another cat, my lovely Grey Kitty, unexpectedly and I was a mess. One of my lab techs, who happened to live in the same town, told me about a stray who was living around an apartment house near me, a house where a friend of hers lived. This stray, she said, was desperate to get into a house, and was being fed by at least six people, none of whom could adopt him for various reasons. Maybe it was too soon for me to get another cat, but ...

In some ways it was too soon, but the thought of a stray cat, any stray cat living in the open at the mercy of traffic and the foxes and coyotes which abound around here was too much. So, I walked up the street, found you sleeping under a lilac bush, verified with some of the residents of the apartment house that you were the stray in question, scooped you up and brought you home.

Thank God for that impulse. You were a joy and a delight. Every single night you curled up on the bed next to me, and every morning you woke me up by purring loudly and often wetly in my ear to let me know the cat needed to be fed. You played with your many toys, and you played with the dog and her many toys. You cuddled and you teased. You never met a stranger. You were, my sweet man, the perfect cat -- that combination of loving snuggliness and playful felinity.

When the dog died (it's been a bad few years for pets around here) you were so lonely. Within a week it was obvious that for our combined sanity, I needed to get you a pet. I thought about getting another dog, but due to the fact that I worked a lot and the fact that my dog was a rare soul herself who was just fine being left alone for 8+ hours a day, so long as there was a cat around for companionship and someone to come in to walk her in the middle of the day, the likes of which would be hard to find in another canine, I decided to get another cat instead.

That's how we got Thundercat. When I brought him home from his miserable foster home (another post entirely), you were less than thrilled. He spent the first three days under the bed, while you spent those three days hissing at him and generally acting pissed at the world. But, sweet boy, I've had cats all my life and I knew that with a little time you'd both get over it and at least coexist. And I was right. On day four I came home from work and found the two of you knotted together on my bed, giving each other a bath. You were fast friends after that.



You loved your brother cat so much, and he loved you too. You played together, even though Thundercat was shy at first, due to his sad history. You groomed each other and snuggled together on the couch. And after you got sick, Thundercat appointed himself your nurse. In the first, early, awful days when you were so sick and weak, he groomed you when you didn't have the energy to clean yourself. Before we got your meds and supplements worked out, when you were barely eating, he let you go to the food dish first, as if he knew it took very little to turn you off eating altogether, and that his presence would distract you from the one or two mouthfuls you would take.

One of the most painful things about your illness, which came just three years after I adopted you, and only two years after I adopted Thundercat, was how your inveitable death would affect our big boy. He loved you so much. Then came the night when my brother called me, a little after midnight, to tell me he'd found a flea-ridden kitten in a snowbank, and he was worried because he'd bathed it and it looked like it was bleeding and could I come over and check it out ...

As I drove over to J's house I tried to convince myself that I was not going to be taking that kitten home. You were so sick then, little guy, that night had been particularly bad, and the last thing you needed was excitement in the form of a kitten. But when I got there, and saw the scrawny little creature that was our Minx, I couldn't resist. J had said he'd keep her until the morning, and take her to a shelter. He's not a pet person the way I am, despite being raised in the same house with all those pets, and felt he couldn't give a pet his full attention anyway, but couldn't leave her out in the cold and snow. He was worried because she was bleeding from all the flea bites, and figured his crazy cat lady sister would 1.) know what to do about it and 2.) drive ten miles in the middle of the night to check it out.

Of course I ended up bringing her home, cursing my stupidity all the way back with that kitten cuddled inside my coat. But it was Thundercat I was thinking of, Baby Boy. It looked, frankly, like you wouldn't be with us too much longer and I wanted Thundercat to have a friend when you passed on. As it happened, that kitten was the best thing I could have done for both of you. She distracted you from your illness, gave you something to think about besides how bad you were feeling. Your innate curiosity rose to the forefront and you took to your new little sister right away. So did Thundercat, who now added 'nanny' to his list of duties. Thundercat is not an especially playful cat, but several times I watched him deliberately engage Minx in play so she'd leave you alone.


A month or two later, not so long after Dr. Best Vet Ever told me I needed to seriously consider euthanizing you, you made a miraculous turn around. I started you on co-enzyme q10, taurine and L-carnitine as well as B vitamins, supplements I learned about through a wonderful support group I'd joined, the Yahoo Feline Heart Group, and this in combination with the meds that Dr. Best Vet Ever and Tufts Veterinary School came up with for you made you feel so much better. Medically, your heart was the mess it always was, clinically, you were normal. You ate like a horse, you ran, you enjoyed your new cat tree (you'd make a running leap, five feet in the air to the top of it all the time, this with practically no heart function at all!), you napped in your cat bed and on the windowsills, you played and cuddled with your brother and sister. You were your old self.




We lived in this grace for fifteen months, sweet boy. I still knew you were going to die, I'd accepted that, but I was then, and continue to be now, so grateful that I had all this extra time with you. Everything I'd done, every penny I spent was so worth it just to have this time with my Baby Boy. Even the twice-daily ordeal of getting your meds and supplements into you was worth it -- how you hated that! But to my mind, the ten minutes of not-so-great time per day was more than compensated for by the other twenty-three hours and fifty minutes of good. I think you felt the same way. You were even more attached to me during the last year of your life than you had been before -- you used to get on my lap and throw yourself over my left shoulder so I could stroke your back and tell you how much I loved you. You literally could do anything you wanted (except skip the meds, sorry, little guy), everything a cat could want, you had because I knew that each day could be our last.

The end came swiftly, and in the way I thought it might. Despite the fact that clinically, behaviorally, you seemed normal, your poor little heart was failing. And because your heart was failing, so, inexorably, were all your other organs. I'd guessed that because of the chronic under-perfusion of your liver and kidneys and so on, you would eventually go into systemic organ failure, and sadly, I was right. On Thanksgiving Day, you showed the symptoms of acute kidney failure. The next day, I sent you on to your next home, with messages for all my other babies who waited for you there.

This was a sad decision, but not agonizing, the way it was when you were first sick. Back then, back when everyone was telling me I 'needed to think' about euthanasia, I just couldn't do it. Which was strange for me, Baby Boy. All evidence pointed towards that being the humane choice, the right choice, a choice I had sadly made many times before with different pets ... but something in me said no. It's not time. And, as it happened, I was right to wait.

And, as it happened, it was right to send you on when I did. You knew it was time, too. That afternoon, as we were lying on my bed, I asked you, "Is it time, sweet boy?" and you turned your head and looked at me. I saw then, in your eyes, that you were ready. That you trusted me to help you with the last thing we needed to do in this journey. I wrapped you in your blankie, and the other cats came and said good bye. I walked outside with you, walked you around the yard so you could see the trees and the birds one last time from the outside (you were a strictly indoor cat). Then we drove to the vet's, and it says a lot about how ready you were that you didn't even need to be put in the carrier for this last trip. You just lay there, cuddled in your blankie, not even trying to move. And there, in the same exam room where I first learned you were sick, you lay peacefully in my arms, not resisting at all while you transitioned from this world to the next.

Despite knowing that this was the right thing to do, and despite a generally peaceful feeling about it, I was still quite obviously a sobbing mess that weekend. But, just four days later, Morsel came into our lives. More on that later, but ... if that wasn't you materializing back on earth as a little orange kitten, then it was you from heaven directing the most perfect cat possible into our lives.

I think of you every day, Sweet Boy, literally. For many years I have made it a practice to review my day -- not prayers, exactly, more of a shout-out to the universe -- and each night I have said good night to you, along with my other beloved dead, human and otherwise. I learned so much from you, and from our journey together. It was because of you that I ended up adopting our lovely Lilly, who also has a form of cardiomyopathy. It seemed a shame to waste all that specialized knowledge I'd gained while helping you, and I'd learned that I had it in me to love and cherish a pet even knowing that the time I would have with that pet was going to be painfully short. And because of you, a cat who was considered unadoptable is living out whatever time she has as a cherished and pampered princess in the home you loved so much.

We love you, Baby Boy. And wherever you are right now, I know you love us too.

Mama Cat

Friday, December 14, 2007

I laughed my a** off at this!

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=5426456

OMG.

Elle

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Three of my kitties love each other ...



... and the fourth hands out beatings to the other three on principle. Because she's a calico, damn it!

Top pic, from the left -- Thundercat, Morsel and Minx, all cuddled on the couch, wuving on each other as they usually do. Bottom picture, the incomparably lovely Lilly, plotting the torment of the other cats from her Secret Underground Fortress of Evil (my closet).

Three out of four isn't bad.

Elle