Memories on Memorial Day Weekend

Daylight I must wait for the sunrise/I must think of a new life/And I mustn’t give in/
When the dawn comes/Tonight will be a memory too/And a new day will begin…”

Lyrics from “Memory” by Andrew Lloyd Webber, from the musical Cats

I was just about to embellish my picket fence entry gate with American flags in honor of Memorial Day when the rain started coming down.  I’d thought the rainy weather forecast for today was off since by 5:00 the rain had not come; rather, it just showed up late.  Let’s hope that the weather forecast for tomorrow, Memorial Day, allegedly being party cloudy is spot-on. I must get the flags out, my small contribution for loads of gratitude for all the brave soldiers who’ve fought for our country over many, many years in numerous wars.  I can’t imagine what they’ve gone through, and my heart goes out to all survivors suffering from post-traumatic stress, and to the loved ones of those we’ve lost in combat.

Memorial Day also gravitates my thoughts to a more personal level of loss; to my loved ones, human family members, feline family members, and dear friends who are no longer here on this earth.  My thoughts are with you all, especially this weekend.  

Here’s a little pictorial memorial of my kitty angels:

Topper and Froggie

Miss Bella

Frankie who lived to be 18

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Punkie who lived to be 20

And my two feline soulmates from The Blue Bell Foundation for Cats…

Smokey, who had a blind left eye from a tussle with a raccoon before he came to live at Blue Bell. I absolutely adored this rugged bad-ass-with-a-big-heart of a cat.

Abbey, “assisting” me with notes from a conference call. One of the most precious and beloved kitties in my life, despite that I only saw her once a week for a couple hours for a couple of years. Connections run deep and strong with animals, just like in humans.

I miss you all dearly and deeply.  Happy Memorial Day!

The Motherhood of Cats

Over the last few days, as I’ve read and heard “Happy Mother’s Day” sentiments, I think about how I missed that boat. I didn’t even think about wanting kids until I was in my late thirties. At that time, I had a boyfriend who didn’t want kids. Preferring a relationship to procreation, I accepted his no kids policy and never felt like I was missing out. Since the age of twenty-six, I’d been the caretaker or “mother” of cats, which must have satisfied the desire to mother children of the human kind.

Punkie at about nine months

 

Baby Frankie

But, when I was about forty-five, I felt a stronger yearning to have children—talk about being a late bloomer. I even entertained adopting…for about five minutes. That yearning dissipated quickly when I came to the conclusion that I had just enough energy to take care of three cats and myself.

Punkie

Topper and Lex always into mischief together.

I’ve been the mother of two or three cats for the past thirty years. Mothering cats (or dogs, goats, horses…whatever your furbaby) is much like mothering human kids. Not that I know from first-hand experience, but I do know that the same qualities in mothering human children apply to our animal children. We are here to protect, love and nurture these precious sentient beings. I’m a fierce protector of my kitties; I love them deeply, and apply discipline when needed (Boys—MY chair…for just five minutes…pawleeez).

I’ve mothered cats from kittenhood; nurtured their growth into old age and into their moment of passing—a responsibility and duty I take seriously.

Three cat night… From the top: Topper, Lexington and Bobcat.

 

Lexington and Cat Lady

Over the years, many people have expressed amazement when meeting my cats at their friendly and peaceful dispositions. All six cats have (or had) very different personalities and backgrounds. It’s how they’ve been raised, I say.

Miss Bella

Topper

Bobcat

Happy Mother’s Day to All!

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.