Topper’s Presence

I greeted the New Year with a palpable emptiness in my heart and in my home. It seemed so much quieter and more still somehow, despite Lexington and Bobcat on the sofa in the living room. How is it that an eight-pound cat, who just in September was a sturdy thirteen pounds, could have such a big personality and presence? Topper left us on December 30, 2017 to explore the other side of this life—Heaven, the Other Side; wherever our spirit goes when our body can no longer hold it.

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In October Topper was diagnosed with advanced stage gastrointestinal lymphoma. He had started loosing weight, vomiting and his eating dwindled from hearty to a few licks and bites, even though he still seemed interested in the feline pate I was serving. During the first vet visit I had blood work done, which didn’t reveal anything unusual. But after meds to treat the symptoms didn’t do much, I took him in again for an ex-ray, which also revealed nothing menacing. He seemed to be in good health. Two weeks after that, I noticed him thinner and awoke at 2:00 a.m. just in time to catch him vomiting blood. My heart broke as I heard a voice in my head that screamed, “CANCER!” I pulled him next to me in bed after cleaning the mess; barely slept and took him to the animal hospital at 7:30 in the morning, leaving him with staff until the vet got in.

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I arrived at work with having only four hours sleep, without having taken a shower, wearing no make-up, jeans and a t-shirt. I shut my office door and avoided co-workers. Thanks to a major adrenaline rush from the stress, I was hyper alert and managed to accomplish a lot considering the grave condition that my Topper was in. The vet called with a dark scenario—Topper’s liver was shutting down, he was in bad shape and cancer was the suspect. That afternoon an ultrasound revealed the suspected demon—advanced cancer. Topper was stabilized and given a long-acting steroid, anti-nausea meds and an antibiotic. The plan was to keep him comfortable and to see how he would manage on the steroid.

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Two days later he still wasn’t eating much and was quiet and listless. I stopped into Coast Pet Supply, despondent and sad as I told Topper’s condition to Francisco who was on duty at the register and who recommended hemp oil to quell the nausea and reduce inflammation. I gave Topper a dose at 4:30 in the afternoon and a couple hours later, he came out from hiding in the bathroom and seemed alert. He meowed at me. “Sweetie, are you actually hungry?” I inquired. “Meeeow,” he replied, and promptly gobbled down more food than I’d seen him eat in a month.

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I believe the hemp oil was very instrumental in giving him a decent quality of life until late December, when his body started to shut down. After a second trip to the vet on a Wednesday to remove fluid from his tummy; having twice the amount of fluid removed from two weeks prior, he lost interest in food and in all activities. His face was drawn and he was thinner than a week prior. On Saturday morning I called the animal hospital to let them know it was “time.” My vet was on vacation, but a vet tech recommended an in-home euthanasia service, Home Pet Euthanasia of Southern California.

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Me and Topper on Christmas night 2017.

Topper passed sweetly and peacefully on the sofa, nestled in my arms and wrapped in an afghan knitted by my mom. Lexington and Bobcat lounged on the floor and watched as I kissed Topper’s head and said, “Good-bye Love Bug…”

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In loving memory of Topper who came into my life as a nine-month old kitten in May of 2007, full of spunk and spirit. I love him deeply and miss him dearly.

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Sidebar:Dr. Julie of Home Pet Euthanasia was serene and kind, making a compassionate transition for Topper.  He was treated with such respect and dignity down to the delivery of his ashes directly to my home, which were contained in a beautiful wood box with a carving of branches from the Tree of Life on the lid.  Although the moment of his departure was extremely painful, I found such peace, relief and joy (yes–hard to believe) in the way that “Top Cat” was able to make his exit.

Fridays with Abbey

As a new resident to Laguna Beach back in 2004, I would often do a double take whenever I drove past a little blue and white cottage nestled at the base of the Canyon. Winding my way along Laguna Canyon Road, I would slow down to catch a glimpse of cats lounging by the windows or roaming the enclosed patio. A sign by the side of the road read: The Blue Bell Foundation for Cats. Was it a home for wayward cats—or even better, a home for crazy cat ladies and their cats?

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Fast forward to 2013 after my cat lady curiosity got the best of me, I took a tour of the cat cottage and learned that Blue Bell is a sanctuary for cats whose human companions can no longer care for them, such as when they pass away, a common circumstance for most of the kitties who come to live there. After my tour and spending time with Trixie, Domino and Teddy, a few among the 50 feline residents, I completed a volunteer application.

On my first day as a cat cuddler, I went into the small kitchen off the foyer to wash my hands when a gray ball of fluff standing by my feet caught my attention. I looked down to see giant yellow eyes gazing up at me through pastel gray and peach toned fur. A silent meow came out of her mouth as though she wanted to say, “Welcome!” but it didn’t quite make it past her whiskers.

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“This is Abbey,” said Stephanie, the cat caregiver as she picked up Abbey and gently handed her to me. Abbey snuggled into the crook of my neck, resting her paws on my shoulder. I was instantly smitten with what appeared to be a kitten, although Abbey was not a youngster at the age of 19.

Every Friday that I spent time with Abbey I became more enamored. How could I not fall for a sweet-faced Persian who purposefully marched over to the glass door separating the foyer from the main room when she saw me arrive? I couldn’t complete the sign-in sheet fast enough. Abbey would paw at the door until I opened it then greeted me with a soft, raspy meow. I would tell her about my week as I carried her around. I would eventually put her down so I could visit with the others, but got “evil eye” from Abbey across the room until I walked back over to sit next to her. She would settle in next to me, content to have me all to herself once again.

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One day I had to be on a conference call with a client during the same time as my volunteer shift. I had two choices: a) not go to Blue Bell, or, b) go, and take my work with me.   Of course, I opted for the latter. Abbey, I learned that day was quite industrious as she assisted me in organizing my notes after the call.

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About two years into my volunteer gig, Abbey’s health began to decline and she required more veterinary care. She would bounce back, yet I could see her slowing down. One particular visit I helped the cat caretaker shave a small matt off of Abbey’s tummy, which she tolerated with stoic patience. After we were done, I kissed Abbey’s head, and said good-bye.

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That was the last time I saw Abbey. The following Friday morning, her time had come to leave us.

I have new feline friends at Blue Bell and adore them all. But, as with certain people, we make special, strong connections with certain animals. Among the strongest of my animal connections was with Abbey.

In memory of Abbey, 1994 – May 29, 2015

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Cat Lady’s Easter in the Canyon

Spring has sprung, and after a winter of working long hours and hibernating from the rain, I’ve taken heed to the call of the Great Outdoors.

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My deck, once again, is serving as a second living room for the cat crew and me. It’s also where I enjoyed an Easter get-together with friends Lori and Bob after a morning hike.

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I was looking forward to Easter service at Laguna Presbyterian Church…but my desire to get out and smell the blooming wildflowers, and the need to get my muscles moving and some energy circulating lead me to an outdoor service of my very own on top of a ridge in Laguna Canyon.

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As I revered the view and inhaled the scent of sage scrub and wild flowers, I thanked God for the rain that brought lush foliage back to the canyon, and for the abounding beauty that it rendered. It was just me, the song birds and two majestic hawks circling above—no choir, no story of Jesus’ resurrection, yet I felt very close to the Almighty at that moment, and am certain that Jesus understood my impromptu change in plans.

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Meanwhile, back at the cottage (well, okay, condo but to me it’s a cottage), Lexington and Topper were gearing-up for our Easter Sunday celebration.

“Lex, what’s up with these rabbits?  They don’t move.  How d’ya chase rabbits that don’t move?”

“They’re fake–ya know, decorations.  We’re supposed to think they’re cute.”

Seriously?  I thought we were the cute ones.”

“At least she didn’t make YOU wear the bunny ears.”

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And Bobcat…well, he was just hangin’ around the deck…looking for mice images in shadows.