Black and White Sunday

I have been thinking about my first three cats a lot lately. These were the trio of kittens I adopted when they were a mere 8-weeks old. They spent their lives with me, enriching mine as we all grew together. It has been 6 years since Sam passed, 2 since Muffin passed and Crash left me almost a year ago. Still, I miss all of them so much.

I thought today I would celebrate these three amazing cats when they were in the prime of their lives.  These photos were taken around 2005 or 2006, placing them at about 10 years old. Looking pretty good for Geriatric Cats. 🙂

They may be gone from this world but they will always live in my heart. We never truly get over the loss of a pet- we learn to accept the loss, the pain, the hollow space they occupied. We accept it and we move forward with our life. We fill the areas around the loss with new animals to love (because that is only right). I wear the scars on my heart from these three with pride, because it means I loved and was loved.

 From L-R:  Crash, Muffin (Top Right),  Uncle Sam (Bottom Right)

Twenty Years on: Strolling down Memory Lane

On July 2, 1995 a litter of 9 kittens was born. At some point the kittens lost their mother and were taken in by the owner of a pet supply store.  I was young, just 11 years old. I had been promised two kittens when my parent’s cat passed away, and I was there to get my two kittens. When my family and I got word there were kittens, there were only 3 kittens left. They were sleeping all piled up together, a row of fluff balls. The first kitten she picked up was a white and brown tabby boy, the middle kitten was a dark brown tabby boy, the third kitten was a white and gray girl. I wanted a girl kitten so I could name her Muffin. So the girl kitten was mine right away. We had previously had a brown tabby cat, so we all decided right away that the brown tabby kitten was coming home with us. But that first kitten. He was adorable. And it was heart breaking to think of leaving him alone as we took his brother and sister home with us. I knew I would always wonder what happened to that last kitten.  After lots of convincing from my dad and I, my mom finally broke down and allowed me to take the third kitten home. That may have been the best thing my parents ever did for me.

That third kitten became my Crash Man. My best friend. My protector from real and imaginary dangers.  I remember when we brought them home. Three kittens in a giant cardboard box. They were mewing and digging at the box, trying to knock it over and get out. I remember that I have never been more excited about anything in the world than I was the day we brought those three kittens home. I remember we let them out of the box when we got in the house and they all tumbled out. Soon they were running around the house while we sat around thinking of names. I tried to argue for naming the brown  tabby Muffin, but my mom wouldn’t have it . Muffin is a girl’s name she said. So my little Muffin got her name with hardly any effort. Crash, well he ran head first into a table leg, stopped, looked confused then shook his head and continued running. So Crash got his name; a name which he continued to live up to for many years. We named the tiny brown tabby Uncle Sam because they were born around the Fourth of July, and we wanted something for the holiday; he later just became Sam or Sammy.

Me with a pile of kittens!

I was lucky enough to grow up with my three kittens, who became my three cats. They filled my life with so much joy and shaped the path of my life in ways I am still discovering.  Sadly, my Sammy died unexpectedly on April 10, 2009. We think it was a heart attack. Muffin died on New Year’s Eve 2013 after a short but horrible battle with cancer. Sadly, I had to euthanize my sweet, Crash last Tuesday-June 23. I haven’t been able to write about it before now because it is too painful.

Crash was my best friend. I have never had a relationship with anyone-human or cat-like the one I had with Crash. He saved me from myself during the worst of my depression so many years ago. He protected me from the scary snake pit in Indiana Jones. He vomited in front of the boy I liked in high school who was so not good enough for me. Crash and I snuggled  together most nights for years. He would climb in front of the computer when I was trying to do homework, because he needed the attention. He woke me up if he wanted breakfast.

The last few years my Crash was a bit of a train wreck. He was diagnosed with Hyperthyroidism around 2008. From there he got pancreatitis. He had a heart murmur, which fluctuated based on how controlled his hyperthyroidism was. He had kidney disease, though that was mostly controlled by years of sub-q fluids. He had awful teeth, chronic constipation, awful arthritis and a bad case of dementia.  He may or may not have had IBD; the same for lymphoma. He developed a heart arrhythmia, and at the end he had a mass in his mouth. He had this tendency to get super sick, giving a new aspect to the name “crash”. He would get so sick that we would prepare for him to not make it. Somehow, he always bounced back from it though. Always. I know a lot of that was the loving care and medication I gave him while I nursed my buddy back to health.

Back in April we discovered the mass, which the doctor suspected was a fast growing cancer. We also discovered he was in heart failure. There was nothing I could do about the growth. I had such a hard time with this. I could do nothing for my cat. Nothing. It is the hardest feeling in the world, knowing someone you love is ill and there is nothing you can do for them. It broke my heart and I think a tiny bit of my soul. I kept him comfortable. By this point he was eating almost all the time. He still snuggled, wanted attention and seemed to be enjoying life as much as any elderly being can enjoy life.

They CAN sleep on the same bed together. Most of the time.

Crash lived so much longer than we expected, even with the growth in his mouth. (It may or may not have been cancer, we don’t actually know since we couldn’t remove it.)  Ultimately his body just shut down. He died from old age. Which is a hell of a lot more than I could ever have asked for my boy. He had a quality life until the very end. While he slowly pulled away from me in the last  year and a half–we didn’t snuggle as much, he associated me primarily with medication, and he gave way to Sneakers–he still loved on my parents as much as ever. When I realized he wasn’t looking for love from them, I knew it was time to free him from his failing body.

July 2, 2015- those three kittens are no longer with me. Not physically anyway. They are always in my heart and my soul. They are here in the way they have shaped my life. So many decisions in my life were made for or because of those three kittens, who became my three cats and best friends.

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Thank you Crash. Thank you for an amazing life filled with love, joy, and heartache. Thank you for loving me with your whole heart and teaching me how to do the same. Thank you for being my rock when I needed one. Thank you for knowing when I needed a rock and when I needed a snuggle buddy. Thank you for staying with me so long. Thank you for everything you taught me and everything you gave me. I hope that I was worthy of your love and that I made your life as amazing and happy as I could. Crash my love, I hope I always did what was best for you, and not what was best for me. I miss you so much baby boy. So much. Old man, you gave me so much and shaped my life in ways I could never have expected. Thank you for everything.  Say hello to Sam and Muffin, and know that I will always, always love you three.

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 4: Support

This is part four in my four part series on grief and pet loss.  Click the links to read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3

“An emotional pressure cooker” is how Becky Murray describes the grieving process. When you are grieving you are building up stress and emotional pressure you didn’t have before the loss of your pet. Just like a pressure cooker you have to release some of that pressure from time to time. Finding a release is the best way to keep yourself moving forward during this difficult time. Talk therapy, support groups, books on pet loss and even writing are all healthy ways to release some of that pressure.

One of the ways I coped was to make a photo albumn

However you grieve, it is important that you don’t do it alone. Find someone you can talk to about your loss. Build your support group wisely. Be aware there are some people who may not understand your grief. Find friends, family, co-workers who have pets and who can understand the loss you feel. Murray advises you “build your support group wisely.” If your best friend just simply doesn’t understand why you are so upset about the loss of Fluffy it’s ok. Talk to someone else about the pain and the grief. You can always talk to the staff at your veterinarian’s office. Having worked at two vet’s offices myself I can tell you that everyone there loves your pet almost as much as you do and most are more than willing to talk about the loss you are feeling.  They can also be helpful if you think it might be time to let your pet go.  Talk to them, they can help you with the loss and the guilt you feel. They have been there, they absolutely understand. Your veterinarian’s office might have resources to help you come with the loss, such as information on local support groups.

As wonderful as it is to have a supportive network to help you get through this loss, there will be people who don’t understand what you are going through. Some people in your life haven’t experienced the loss of a pet. You might get “it’s just an animal” responses from family and co-workers. Be prepared for callus remarks from people who have not experienced that loss, says Murray. She suggests having “canned responses” to some of the callus questions you might get asked. Don’t be afraid to say you have experienced “a loss in the family” without elaborating. After all it’s true.

If you don’t have friends and family to support you, there are support groups that can help you talk through the pain.  Something I didn’t think about, but Murray mentioned, is that support groups can be helpful for people with end of life concerns for their pet. They can help you prepare for what you face ahead and many pet owners will be able to share your concerns as you face end of life decisions you’re your cat or dog.

Just as everyone grieves differently, everyone processes that grief differently. Perhaps talking to someone isn’t what helps you.  There are dozens of books on the loss of a pet, the grieving processes. One of those books might help. Veterinary Specialty Center, where Becky Murray works, has a list of books to help those grieving the loss of their pet. You can find it here Remember not every book works for every person. Perhaps books aren’t even the right option for you. There are a number of websites and articles (like this one) where you can read about other’s grief and what others have felt. When I was preparing for Muffin’s death it helped me immensely to know that there were other people who felt the same pain, confusion and guilt at losing their cat or dog.

Creative outlets such as writing, painting or drawing can be useful for mourning as well. When Muffin died I wrote her a letter. I wrote down everything I felt: the guilt, the sorrow, the fears. I apologized to her and told her I hoped she knew how much I loved it. It was one of the most cathartic things I did. I did not share that letter with anyone; it is still sitting on the hard drive of my computer. It is between Muffin and I. I encourage you to write your words down, draw that picture, make a ceramic figure of your cat, whatever it is that fuels your creativity and helps you mourn the loss of your furry friend.

Poplo’s page has my favorite pictures of him, plus some embellishments that highlighted important things in his life.

 

 

On Sam’s page I have the dates of his birth and death.

 

There are so many different ways to grieve. The important thing is to remember the love you felt for your animal(s) and to take care of yourself. Please find someone to talk to, to share the memories of your loved one; to share the joy and the grief that goes with those memories.  Below I do have a list of resources you may find beneficial if you are looking for more information or support resources in your area.

 

Resources

Association for Pet Loss & Bereavement 

ASPCA/Pet Loss 

VSC’s Client Counseling Page

PetLossCanada.com some fabulous resources here, regardless of where you live

Petloss.net  has some wonderful articles as well as a list of counseling services and support groups in each state!

Hotlines:

Michigan State University College of Veterinary Medicine Hotline 517-432-2696

CVMA Wings Pet Loss Support Group and Helpline: (630) 325-1600

ASPCA Pet Loss Support Program: 877-474-3310

Anti-Cruelty Society: call Tammie Bouschor at (312) 644-8338 ext. 344 or e-mail tbouschor@anticruelty.org.

 

And  in case the grief hurts that much: National Suicide Prevention Life Line  800-273-8255

 

 

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 2: Coping

This is part two in my four part series on grief and pet loss.  Click the link to read Part 1.

I had the chance to sit down with Becky Murray, a Licensed Professional Counselor at Veterinary Specialty Center in Buffalo Grove. We discussed the death of pets and the many ways that humans grief their furry friends. Murray agrees that grief is a “Bizarre  way of being” in part because it is so different from our normal way of being. We are used to schedules, routines, and a linear way of thinking. We complete tasks and move on to the next one. Grief is not like that. With grief the thoughts, memories and feelings are not linear. They can pop into our heads at any moment. Grief is also not something you finish, and move on from; not like the events that make up our daily lives. You can’t allot a set amount of time to grieve and then say “ok I’m done, on to the next thing!” Grief is not something you can check off your “to-do” list. As anyone who has lost a loved one—human or pet—can tell you, life is not the same after the loss.

Grief and loss change people. They change life; which is not to say that life doesn’t go on. It just isn’t quite the same. There are the immediate changes—not having your furry friend greeting you when you come home from work, the empty cat bed by heater, the food bowl you don’t have to fill.  And there are the larger changes; adjusting mentally and emotionally to losing your friend; the knowledge that you will not see them again (at least not in this life, in the form you are used to.)  These are huge changes. It will take time.

I made a memorial shelf for my cats who have passed.

In the days after my cats died I felt like life was never going to get better.  I didn’t know how I could go on living after such a loss.  According to Murray, that is normal.  When we are grieving it feels like we are doing everything so poorly, she says. “After the loss of a pet your goal should simply be to function a little better each day” says Murray. You can’t compare yourself to who you were before the loss of your pet. Instead, compare yourself to who you were the day after the loss.

What is important, she says, is that you function a little bit better over time. After we euthanized Muffin I spent the next 24 hours crying hysterically. I held her bed in a death grip; I slept with her bed and some of her toys, and I cried hysterically. I did not leave my house for two days. But on the second day I went longer between crying. I didn’t cry hysterically. I was slowly finding peace settling back in my soul. Even after the tears stopped flowing, there was a sting in my heart every time I realized Muffin wasn’t sleeping on her favorite chair or next to the pillows on my mom’s bed. I knew she wasn’t but you get into habits of expectation and it takes time to break those habits.  When my Sam died in 2009 I was at work. My parents called me to tell me he had passed and for weeks afterwards I panicked and tensed up every time my cell phone rang. I was terrified that something had happened to someone else.

I told Murray my stories of grieving my cats and mentioned that each time it was different. The pain was different, the thoughts and emotions were slightly different. She said that was normal. “Every loss is different” she says. This applies not just to each loss we experience—the loss of Sam left me numb and shocked for days, while Muffin’s death left me an emotional wreck—but also the how each person experiences their loss. While I cried hysterically over my cats’ deaths, other people may not cry in public. Some people want tangible memories of their cats while some don’t want anything physical to remember their cat by. Some people adopt another cat right away, some will never adopt another cat again.  Murray says however you grieve “as long as it’s not hurting you, not other others it’s ok.” Each person grieves differently but most of these people are experiencing what Murray calls normal grief.  Perhaps you expected to be crying hysterically, but find you can’t cry. Perhaps you don’t feel a crippling grief the way I did. That’s ok.   Murray says the way we grieve is “not a measure of our love” for our pets. We all grieve differently. Don’t judge yourself if  you grieve differently from your partner, your siblings, your friends.

Beyond normal grief, there is complicated grief.  Complicated grief is when you find you are not getting better; you are not getting through the grief. If you find yourself dealing with complicated grief, or you know someone who is, please reach out for support. A licensed therapist can help work through the grief. However you may find that something as simple as reaching out to a support group can help with the grief.

Resources:

PetLossHelp.org

PetLossCanada.com

ASPCA/Pet Loss

Association for Pet Loss & Bereavement 

Veterinary Specialty Center- Counseling Services – You can find books and support hotlines here.

 

Phone Numbers: CVMA Pet Loss Helpline and Support Group: (630) 325-1600

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 1: Grief is Weird

Grief. Grief is weird.  It has been almost 5 months since I lost Muffin to cancer; I thought was past the worst of the grief.  I was not “over” the loss of Muffin, I hadn’t forgotten her, but the sting of the loss wasn’t so great. I wasn’t breaking down in tears whenever I thought of her. In fact, Muffin wasn’t in my thoughts much at all.  I was thinking instead of Crash, Sneakers, Mama and Little Black. I was thinking of work, bills, life. Then I changed out the litter boxes. Muffin had this thing about clean litter boxes. Whenever I brought up a freshly washed litter box with new litter in it, she would appear from nowhere to use the box. Within minutes of me putting the clean box down Muffin would appear and “christen” it. I thought of this memory a few weeks back when I was changing out the boxes. It was a good memory and I smiled a bit before the floodgates opened and I got smacked with the emotions all over again. I was so sad. From that moment on I was suddenly being reminded of all the goofy things that Muffin and Sam did.  I would be doing something completely unrelated and suddenly be crying over my lost cats. I could be in the kitchen cooking and remember how Sam had to sit on the cutting board (we won’t think about how sanitary that was…). Or  I would be drifting to sleep and remember my last moments with Muffin, the agony I was feeling at that moment. So I repeat, grief is weird.

Working in the world of veterinary hospitals and animal rescue groups, I am confronted with grief on a regular basis. I have seen so many people lose a beloved pet. I have seen so many different responses to that loss. Some, like me, cry hysterically as they ease their beloved pet’s exit from this life. Others are much more practical about their loss. They understand that having pets means loss. That is the sad reality, our furry friends don’t live as long as we do, so we are going to lose them.  Some people cry, others don’t. Some need to be with their pet to the very last moment, while others don’t want to be in the room for the euthanasia procedure. Some people want ashes back, others do not. And ya’ know what? That’s just fine. Everyone grieves differently.

I love the idea of the Rainbow Bridge, and my cats waiting to be with me again.

I’ve had coworkers who told me they couldn’t look at pictures of their cat for years after she died. I had one coworker who threw a party in memory of his cat, because he was so loved by so many. Some people want to hold on to the ashes of their beloved pet, keep them on a shelf with a picture and a collar. Others want the ashes to spread in a meaningful spot, perhaps a childhood home or perhaps they even want to bury their cat’s remains somewhere. The first cat I lost as an adult was a cat who was in hospice care with me. He was one of my favorite cats from the shelter I worked at and the two of us had a great bond. When he died I got his ashes back and spread them in a little pond near my house. It was a perfect spot for him because he was obsessed with water, especially running water.  We all respond differently to the loss of a pet.

The important part of grief is not how you grieve, but that you do it. Grief is a painful experience, and it shakes the ground on which you live.  I was grieving for Muffin before she even died. The anticipatory grief was hard, but the grief after the loss was harder. When I was looking for resources to help me through my grief nothing seemed to fit my needs. So, I am going to write about pet grief. I will write what I needed to read at the time. Hopefully it will help someone with the loss of his/her pet; if not, it has helped me grieve, which is a good start.

 

Articles on Grief & Death:

Euthanasia: A Vet’s Perspective

The Anniversary Reaction: Grieving Your Pet

Mancat Monday: Sneakers’ Back

 

Actually, we’re all back (like what I did there? Gotta love a pun!). Crash, Sneakers, Momma, Little Black and I. Or we will be. I have a few things lined up in the coming weeks. I look forward to sharing with everyone again and catching up on all I have missed while I was away. I needed some time to care for myself and the cats during the long hard winter we had in Chicago (which oddly mimicked my long hard path mourning Muffin.)  The sun is out, there is a suggestion that spring is here, and I realized I cannot afford to sit quietly by. There are too many things to say, too many cats to help. So, I’m slowly wading back into the blogging world. See you soon!

Sneakers baskes in the sun, and returning to the internet.

Moving Forward and Bracing for Cold

After several days of mourning my beloved Muffin I am actually surprised how well I am doing. Yes, I have my moments of sadness and I question my actions with her, but overall I am doing well. I can’t figure out why I have healed so well, so quickly. Was it because she had been so sick and I knew it was time to let her go; was it because the loss wasn’t sudden– she had not been an active part of the household for a month; or because it is a relieve not to be worrying about her anymore? I don’t know; maybe it was a little of everything. Or maybe it has something to do with the two days I retreated into the house over the holidays. Cold and massive amounts of snow kept me housebound on my days off, and grief made it much more comfortable. When I finally returned to work on Friday I had over two days to mourn on my own and with my family. This was a huge help.

Of course I am far from recovered from her loss. I will never forget my girl, nor will I ever stop loving her. She was a wonderful cat and I am lucky to have had her in my life for over 18 years. My baby girl is at peace now, and no longer suffering. That is what everyone wants right? To be at peace? I just hope that heaven and Rainbow Bridge are real so that one day I can be reunited with her, Sam and the other cats I have lost in my life. It would be sad if we only had our short period on earth with those we loved. Especially our four legged friends, because sometimes they can provide the best love and support.

Now it is time to shift gears and focus on my ferals. It is supposed to be dangerously, bitter cold the next few days. Wind chills making it feel like -50 yes that says negative fifty degrees. Seriously, I don’t want to go outside in that; I can’t imagine Momma and Little Black and even poor little Poosh and Cow (who I haven’t seen in ages) living in that for days. Momma and Little Black at least have some electric heating pads to help take some chill off. They have heat reflecting blankets, and I have microwavable discs I can toss in their house. I am going to worry about them though. Especially since Momma has disapeared. She did this the other day when we were in the middle of like 36 straight hours of snow. She did this during the Snowpocalypse of 2011 (at which point she went MIA for 2 weeks). I can only hope she has found a  garage somewhere in the neighborhood where Poosh, Cow and a pile of other cats are snuggled together to keep warm in this dangerous cold. (I picture a giant pile of cats in the middle of an unused garage, taking turns on the outside of the pile. Just like the penguins do!) If so, I hope Little Black finds them as well. I would rather them both be gone and hope they are together than have just one hanging around  the next few days. Right now Little Black is hanging out on the deck all alone. She looks so sad and lonely. I can’t tell if she is waiting for me to come outside, Momma to come back or just getting some fresh air. She is sitting on an electric heating pad that I thought was broken, so she is keeping her toes and tooshy warm.

 

Add to the horribly cold temperatures another 6-12 inches of snow on top of the foot we already have. I will be on edge until the warmer weather rolls around Wednesday. By Wednesday we are expecting temperatures to be above zero, looking at 27 degrees Wednesday. My poor girls.  If I thought I could  trap Momma I would bring them inside for the next two days, just so they could stay warm. But Momma hates the trap and Momma is not hanging around right now. I dread taking Little Black in, just in case Momma needs a snuggle buddy. So please, keep those of us in the MidWest in your thoughts these next few days as we battle dangerous cold. I worry about all the animals and the homeless humans, who are stuck outside in this weather.

If you are in the Midwest, or the Northeast, or anywhere that is bracing for this horrible cold weather (seriously, it should be ILLEGAL for it to be this cold!), make sure you have shelters for your kitties. Shelters can be quick and simple or they can be a little more complex and fancy. If you are looking for a few quick ideas for kitty shelters visit Alley Cat Allies Winter Tips website.

Eighteen Years Wasn’t Long Enough

It is with tremendous sadness that I share my first post of the year. My dear sweet Muffin crossed to Rainbow Bridge last night. After a month of fighting so hard to keep going, it was clear that it was time to let her go.

Sweet Dreams Baby Girl 1995-2013

 

Shortly after finishing up my post last night I noticed that Muffin was having labored breathing. She sat down next to her food bowl and her sides were heaving. I thought perhaps it was a side effect of the chemo medicine I had just started her on. The kind nurse at the emergency room informed me it wasn’t, then said she thought Muffin might be having an allergic reaction. When they ruled that out I said I would monitor her, and if it didn’t improve in an hour I would bring her in. Well, it didn’t improve in an hour. So out we went on a very snowy New Year’s Eve. I knew in my gut that she wasn’t going to come home with us. Not the way I thought I knew previous times, but deep in my soul, I knew.  Sparing all the details at the ER, after examining her, they discovered fluid in her chest. As soon as the doctor told me that, I broke down in tears. I knew then that she had at most days with us. I had them drain the fluids. They got 180mL out of her before they had to stop, because she was  getting ornery. Then I knew, I knew she wouldn’t make it to 2014. I knew she wouldn’t make it to Thursday, when my regular veterinarian is open.

They brought her back to us, and we cried. She was finally done. You could see in her eyes, the fight had gone out of her and she looked so, so tired. Even as I knew it was time, part of me fought so hard.  Inside I was screaming, “No! NO! Don’t do it! TAKE HER HOME! MAKE HER BETTER!” Especially after I told the doctor of my decision. I wanted to grab her and run away. The realization (that I have been trying to come to terms with for weeks) that she wasn’t going to be around anymore stabbed my heart and tore it to a thousand pieces. I kissed her, hugged her, stroked her. I just kept telling her over and over her fight was done. I told her we would find a way to survive without her. I would have stayed there all night holding off just a little longer. I kept wanting to say NO! NO COME BACK! BRING MY KITTY BACK! But I knew that it would never happen. My kitty, my sweet Muffin was gone. Her spirit and personality and soul were gone. She was trapped in a failing body and nothing good would come of it. When I finally told my mom to let the doctor know it was time, I broke even more. As Muffin’s life slipped from her, I held her the best I could. Kissing her, loving her and told her her fight was done. Once she left me and joined her brother over the Rainbow Bridge, I lost it. I vaguely remember screaming, crumpling in on myself as I howled with grief at the loss of my beautiful little girl. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t leave her sweet, soft body behind. My mom finally went to get a someone so they could  take my sweet girl’s body away. I wouldn’t leave until they took her.

It has been so hard to cope. Part of me feels at peace. I am not worrying about her anymore. I am not stressed about her anymore. I don’t have to watch like a hawk to see if this round of medicine makes her better. I know she is not suffering. I know she is at peace. The other part of me is completely broken. Wondering how I will ever cope without her. Wondering how I will ever live without my girl and what the point is. I slept with a death grip on her bed and her Christmas stocking which was filled with some of her favorite toys.

So begins the slow process of healing. Please say a prayer for her. And let’s say a prayer that there is such a place as Rainbow Bridge so that one day we can all be reunited with our four legged loved ones.

Eighteen years ago I brought this tiny ball of fluff into my life.

Sam: Still Teaching Me Love

Facebook truly is a treasure trove of “stuff”–useful stuff, stupid stuff, awesome stuff. I found this old note I wrote tonight. (Who knew Facebook still kept the “notes” tab around?). A long, rambling note I wrote after the death of Sam. Of course, I had to go back and read this note I wrote in the throes of grief. I remember the pain of his death. But I don’t remember many of the things I mention in it. Amazing how time works, isn’t it? There are so many little details about the days before his death I don’t remember, but have immortalized in words, and so will keep this forever.

Look at that belly. How could you possibly resist?

I have included the note below in part to make sure I do keep it. I am also including it to share with the rest of the world.  Reading the note, I am reminded that the pain, while it was real and unbearable at the time, subsides. I will never forget Sam, or sweet Poplo who was briefly in my life, but the pain is less. I can carry on with my days. I can live. And lucky for Sneakers that I can and I did! I learned so much from Sam and I learned so much from his passing. It is good to be reminded of those lessons now and then. We are all here for too brief a period, and our four-legged friends for an even shorter time. We must remember to cherish our loved ones daily, because you don’t know when they will be pass out of our lives. And, perhaps more importantly, we must live each day with the enthusiasm that our animals have. Sam, while not as enthusiastic as a dog, loved each day. Each belly rub was the most amazing thing. Each snack was THE BEST! Food was THE BEST! He took such joy in every thing (except, of course the vet. Then he turned into a wild beast).  So perhaps, in the end, this note is a reminder not of my grief, but of love. A love of life and everything in it, because life really is too short.

Note “Grief induced ramblings” written after Sam’s death.

I’m so broken. I don’t know what to do. He was such a wonderful cat, so full of life and love and curiosity. He was the first to greet you at the door, and the first to “help” with anything you were doing. He loved to steal pictures he found laying around so he could scratch and lick them. Just Tuesday he was rolling around on the floor going after a piece of carrot, cause it was like catnip to him. He was so healthy looking, so vibrant Friday morning. I didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t eat breakfast ’cause it was some new fancy stuff that noone liked. I feel so guilty, I hadn’t really given him any attention the past few days ’cause Crash has been so sick. Of course I gave him his tummy rubs at night, turned the water on for him, cut my strawberries around him as he lay on the cutting board, and gave him his third of the bed. But I didn’t really pay attention to him. He was just in the background. Good ol’ Sam. Always there. Always right in the way, right where he shouldn’t be. He was part of the routine. Always coming in and getting the good spot on the bed just before I got in bed. Or barging in right after I shut the door, pushing it all the way open and giving a little merow then forcing himself into the good spot. I was thinking the other day how much I was going to miss him when he died, never thinking I only had a few days left with him. I miss his snoring, and the way he would let out a little “blurp” when I woke him up, or when he wanted water. The way he always had to stare at the sink for five minutes before actually drinking. The way he ALWAYS had to sit, like a little sentry, staring out the front window, making sure no other cats came into his yard. I won’t ever be able to sit in my brown chair again, because it won’t be the same not having him automatically appearing from wherever he was and forcing his way into my lap. The ridiculous way he had to lean on everything and everyone. He couldn’t just sit on the bed. No he had to lean against a pillow or book or clothes or whatever he could find on the bed. The past few days he had been leaning against his catnip kicker/ pillow in a pool of sunlight after breakfast. The way he had to stand on his catnip pillows with his front feet and attack it before he could really start rubbing in it. Then he would just sit on it, and hide it from everyone.

He will never get to enjoy sitting on the cat perch with the windows open this summer. He would have loved that. And it was just starting to get sunny again, he’s never going to sit in another pool of sunlight enjoying the fresh smells from outside. He’s never going to get to go out and rub in his favorite bush in the backyard. There will be no more almost smothering him in the mornings when I turn off my alarm and don’t realize he’s there. No more fighting with him to get out of bed in the mornings or having him scratch at the bathroom door when I take a shower cause he wants his breakfast. I’ll never have him wake me up from purring again. I won’t ever get to watch him freak out as soapsuds creep up from the sink drain and get his toes. Or hear his demanding meow at mealtimes. The little runt kitten who would fall asleep on our feet while we were in the kitchen is gone. And I don’t know how the hell I am going to make it through this.

He always tried so hard to keep his butt in the box, but he was so picky, his toes couldn’t get dirty, so he would often end up with an overhang and poop on the floor. I would gladly clean up a million more poops if I could just have my baby boy back. I would gladly clean up a million more peeded on rugs, and a million more pounds of scattered litter for one more day with my brown thing.

My heart is shattered. I want my Sam Pants back. It still seems so unreal, like he is just in the other room and will barge in at any second. I wish I hadn’t clipped his nails the other day, or given him his pill yesterday. I wish I had spent a little more time playing with him Monday night. I had just pulled out his favorite toy for the first time in weeks, if not a month. I never got to comb him one last time, he loved that, especially this time of year. I will never get to ruffle him up again, he loved rough petting along his spine. Never hear his purr again. And since I have doubts about the after life, I will never see him again. My not so little boy. I go 12 years without facing death and then in less than a year I loose two kitties (Poplo: May 2008, Sam: April 2009…I am already dreading next spring).
I am in denial. Shock and denial. I kept telling him to come back last night, and when I was saying my goodbyes, I thought I felt a pulse…but it was just mine. I kept imagining he was just sleeping. But he wasn’t. He was gone. And I didn’t get to say goodbye. I want to stay in bed and never move again, just cry and cry until I am nothing. Because life doesn’t make sense now. Not even with the other two kitties still around, life doesn’t make sense.

Cats and Dogs: Life Lessons, Love, Joy and Grief

Normally I am not one for those sappy emails that so many forward. Whether they are pictures, poems, stories, whatever they just don’t do much for me. However, sometimes I make an exception. I received the following email from my boss a few weeks back. She in turn found it in a medical message board she is involved with for her bulldog. It was so sweet and touching.

It speaks to the joy we find from our pets, but also the frustration, worry, stress and grief we feel when they are sick and finally leave us. I think it spoke to me right now because of everything I am going through with Crash. He is not doing well-constant weight loss, constipation, and now a near constant slight dehydration (despite daily Sub-Q fluids). I am broken at the thought it might be his time. I will be crushed when he does die and leaves me alone.  But this little piece reminds me why I love him, why I do all I do for cats and why I love animals in general. They bring me back to the present, they help to ground me in what really matters. How can you be stressed watching kittens play or watching a dog eagerly sniff something new! So without further adieu, enjoy!

When you bring a pet into your life, you begin a journey. A journey that will bring you more love and devotion than you have ever known, yet will also test your strength and courage. If you allow, the journey will teach you many things, about life, about yourself, and most of all, about love. You will come away changed forever, for one soul cannot touch another without leaving its mark.

Along the way, you will learn much about savoring life’s simple pleasures — jumping in leaves, snoozing in the sun, the joys of puddles, and even the satisfaction of a good scratch behind the ears. If you spend much time outside, you will be taught how to truly experience every element, for no rock, leaf, or log will go unexamined, no rustling bush will be overlooked, and even the very air will be inhaled, pondered, and noted as being full of valuable information.

Your pace may be slower, except when heading home to the food dish, but you will become a better naturalist, having been taught by an expert in the field. Too many times we hike on automatic pilot, our goal being to complete the trail rather than enjoy the journey. We miss the details: the colorful mushrooms on the rotting log, the honeycomb in the old maple snag, the hawk feather caught on a twig.

Once we walk as a dog does, we discover a whole new world. We stop; we browse the landscape, we kick over leaves, peek in tree holes, look up, down, all around. And we learn what any dog knows that nature has created a marvelously complex world that is full of surprises, that each cycle of the seasons bring ever changing wonders, each day an essence all its own.

Even from indoors you will find yourself more attuned to the world around you. You will find yourself watching: summer insects collecting on a screen; how bizarre they are; how many kinds there are or noting the flick and flash of fireflies through the dark. You will stop to observe the swirling dance of windblown leaves, or sniff the air after a rain. It does not matter that there is no objective in this; the point is in the doing, in not letting life’s most important details slip by.

You will find yourself doing silly things that your pet-less friends might not understand: spending thirty minutes in the grocery aisle looking for the cat food brand your feline must have, buying dog birthday treats, or driving around the block an extra time because your pet enjoys the ride. You will roll in the snow, wrestle with chewy toys, bounce little rubber balls till your eyes cross, and even run around the house trailing your bathrobe tie with a cat in hot pursuit, all in the name of love.

Your house will become muddier and hairier. You will wear less dark clothing and buy more lint rollers. You may find dog biscuits in your pocket or purse, and feel the need to explain that an old plastic shopping bag adorns your living room rug because your cat loves the crinkly sound. You will learn the true measure of love. The steadfast, undying kind that says, “It doesn’t matter where we are or what we do, or how life treats us as long as we are together.”

Respect this always. It is the most precious gift any living soul can give another. You will not find it often among the human race. And you will learn humility. The look in my dog’s eyes often made me feel ashamed. Such joy and love at my presence. She saw not some flawed human who could be cross and stubborn, moody or rude, but only her wonderful companion. Or maybe she saw those things and dismissed them as mere human foibles, not worth considering, and so chose to love me anyway.

If you pay attention and learn well, when the journey is done, you will be not just a better person, but the person your pet always knew you to be. The one they were proud to call beloved friend.

I must caution you that this journey is not without pain. Like all paths of true love, the pain is part of loving. For as surely as the sun sets, one day your dear animal companion will follow a trail you cannot yet go down. And you will have to find the strength and love to let them go.

A pet’s time on earth is far too short, especially for those that love them. We borrow them, really, just for a while, and during these brief years they are generous enough to give us all their love, every inch of their spirit and heart, until one day there is nothing left. The cat that only yesterday was a kitten is all too soon old and frail and sleeping in the sun. The young pup of boundless energy now wakes up stiff and lame, the muzzle gone to gray.

Deep down we somehow always knew that this journey would end. We knew that if we gave our hearts they would be broken. But give them we must for it is all they ask in return. When the time comes, and the road curves ahead to a place we cannot see, we give one final gift and let them run on ahead, young and whole once more. “God speed, good friend,” we say, until our journey comes full circle and our paths cross again.