Tag Archives: Rainbow Bridge

Learning Living Loving

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“It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again”

Lyrics from “Times Like These” by the Foo Fighters

I awoke on Sunday, January 15th feeling a little restless, but wasn’t sure why.  I’d slept well, Samantha was curled up in a blanket-lined basket a few feet from the bed and it was Sunday—a day of doing what I pleased. Why did I feel heavy-hearted? I made coffee, settled into the cozy chair with the organic French Roast in my favorite owl mug and watched the dark predawn sky become light gray through the French windows. It was still lightly raining. Samantha was sprawled out by the small round ottoman on which my feet rested. I chuckled as I watched her watching me. She was so happy, and so at peace.

Then it occurred to me: January 15th was the two-year anniversary of Bobcat’s passing. I mentally time traveled back to that day in 2021, his last day with me, two weeks before my cancer surgery. He was a major source of strength for me during my cancer battle, never leaving my lap, or my side.

Bobcat comforted me and kept me smiling, even laughing during some of the darkest moments. I recall wondering how I was going to manage without him; dreading coming home from the hospital several days after surgery to an empty cottage.

I lit a candle in Bobcat’s honor, said out loud that I loved and missed him, hoping that he could somehow hear me from Heaven then brushed off the heavy feeling as I got on with my morning. As I washed the breakfast dishes, the song “Times Like These” by the Foo Fighters came to mind. The chorus looped through my thoughts while I placed the clean, wet dishes onto the dish-drying rack. Now I needed to hear the song–for real, not just in my head. I asked Alexa to play it and I watched, on YouTube, an emotional Dave Grohl belt it out through tears during the tribute to Taylor Hawkins concert.

Music can bring light to situations. My cancer battle, the loss of Bobcat, although tough and heartbreaking, those times made me learn to live again. Then Samantha Jo came into my life, and I learned to love again, and Samantha gave me reason to give, and give again.

Watch/listen to “Times Like These” sung by Live Lounge Allstars (BBC Radio 1 Stay Home Live Lounge), a moving  performance of 24 musicians  during the COVID lockdown, which raised funds for various charities.

 

Bobcat’s Goodbye

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As I became conscious before opening my eyes, I instinctively reached for Bobcat.  He was not in bed sleeping next to me. He must be standing guard at the front door or reclining by his scratching post, I thought. I anticipated that any moment I would hear him clawing at the scratcher or the click-clack sound of claws on the hardwood floor.

Within seconds of those thoughts, in my pre-dawn haze, I remembered that Bobcat was no longer with me.  Just the day before he’d joined his best buddies, Topper and Lexington in Heaven.  Over the course of three days after an advanced kidney failure diagnosis resulting from diabetes, Bobcat slowly started to succumb to the inevitable. Before he got any closer to suffering, I called Home Pet Euthanasia of Southern California.  On Friday afternoon, January 15th, Bobcat’s spirit was peacefully set free from his dying body.

Lexington and Topper

For the first time in thirty-three years, I’m without felines in my household.  I’m a cat lady with no cats.  Having had two or three cat companions in my life for all these years, and now, being completely alone is jarring to my soul.  

Three Cat Night. From the top: Topper, Lexington and Bobcat.

Mornings are the hardest without Bobcat.  I miss his good morning greetings of head-butts and “kisses” on my forehead and cheeks.

Early this morning I walked out to the old picket fence enclosing the yard to take in a stunning view of the full moon nestled in storm clouds.  While moon gazing, I thought of Bobcat.  He would have been standing right there next to me in the lemon clovers if he were still here. 

Magical Moon

Not wanting tears to ruin my view of the beautiful scene in the sky, I stifled them.  But as I walked back towards the cottage, tears started to slowly run down my face.  Tears of sadness, yet, I smiled thinking that Bobcat’s precious spirit was with his compadres, Topper and Lexington, flying in the clouds and saying an enthusiastic “Hi Mommy!” to me from the moon.

I was in the midst of writing an entirely different story before I became a cat lady with no cats.  I wondered how I would continue writing about my life with cats—sans cats.  My mom and cat lady friend Gail both reminded me that I’m still a cat lady and have stories to tell.  So I will continue my stories about Bobcat and other cats who were, or are still in my life.  And once I’m past the grief of mourning; once I’m rid of cancer and I’m back to my lively self, I will have more stories to tell about a new feline family member…or two.

Photograph courtesy of Rachel Ault

To my precious Bobcat (who also responded to nicknames Bobby Cat, Bobba, Bobba Cat and Bibbidi-Bobbidi as called by friend Laura who thought him to be quite magical), thank you for your unwavering love, companionship, and for being a strong healing source in my life throughout my dealings with cancer.

 

I will miss you forever.

XOXO

Topper’s Presence

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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.