I wish comfort to everyone sad today.
Re our friends with difficulties…
by CJ | Oct 1, 2011 | Journal | 22 comments
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Carolyn, it wasn’t too sad or too sensitive for me. Yes, I’m crying and so upset I can’t post, but that doesn’t mean your beautiful essay was insensitive at all. It actually brought me comfort, and I read it several times. I’ve always felt Katie adopted us because somehow she “knew” my beloved Nipper was going to have to leave us soon. Emily comforted us after we lost Princess.
Thank you for the caring of both you and Jane. Thank you also for the many times you cat-sat our dear babies. I never worried when you and Jane were caring for them.
We remain in a holding pattern here tonight, but again, some things can’t be fixed. We take comfort that our babies never knew anything other than a loving home, and I know so many others who feel the very same way about their babies.
A very wise friend told me long ago, when I was mourning the loss of a love: “It wouldn’t hurt so badly if you didn’t have a deep capacity to love.” I have clung to those words many times during the past 30 years, and cling to them today — and I hope they bring comfort to others also. <3
Ok, back it comes. For what it’s worth.
Thank you.
Each cat has always been his or her special self, each with a need of something, someone. They’ve helped fill a need in me. I am very grateful for my current two.
OSG, I hope it won’t be too long before your sorrow of loss can turn to the joy of finding.
I’m not sure how it all works. We find them, they find us, some turn of events lands them with us unexpectedly, but somehow, it’s as though they’re sent where they need to go. Maybe where we need them too, I don’t know. But it seems to me that sometimes, there’s more than chance, that there’s a connection made for both. Other times, I suppose not, but it’s a nice conceit anyway.
If only people could be pleased as simply as pets and other animals. But maybe wanting better is a fine thing when it’s not abused.
I’m sorry for your loss. It took some months after Toby passed away before I was ready to take on another, but when I did, it was the right time and the right cat, Goober, nearly five years ago. Then almost two years ago, Smokey, all unexpected and in great need. So it’ll happen when it’s time. Hugs until then.
P.S. — I have a cat who has learned to open drawers. I think he’s satisfied for now. But wow, the next step is probably hiring him to sit the boards. I wonder if he can pilot….
Thank-you, CJ, for your wonderful thoughts.
The first time I saw Breezy she was about nine weeks old, newly adopted by my then niece-in-law, from North Shore Animal Shelter. My immediate reaction was “Face it! This is your next pooch.” Three months later my nephew’s marriage fell apart and Breezy came to her true home. I firmly believe that she was adopted for me, not my nephew and his (then) wife. Later knowledgable breeders confirmed that she was most probably a pure shepherd, left at North Shore (a no kill shelter) because A.K.C. did not accept white shepherds at that time. She was a great dog. She had a wonderful life and made life wonderful for us, as well.
I am so glad that we were able to have Breezy die at home with us. This could happen because our vet, Dr. Mike, knows us and is willing to give us pain meds when needed.
Our furry people find us. When I was looking for a mate for Mau Mau, my male Siamese, I stopped by a friend’s to look at her kittens. I knelt down to look barely marked balls of fluff. Ling Ling immediately climbed up my knees to cuddle in my neck. Guess who went home with me that day? She and Mau Mau hissed for a few hours. Then he realized he was scaring her so he got on the floor on his back, making himself small and submissive, which was quite a feat for a cat who would eventually weigh 14 lbs. From that moment on They were a pair. When Ling Ling had kittens, Mau Mau would guard the nursery and the babies. I kept several of their kittens over the litters. It was like having a pride of lions in the house.
KikiLaSois came to us from PetSmart (they have cats from various shelters). The attendant let me take her out of my cage. Again there was that eye contact and curling up against me and Proge. When we put her back to do the paperwork she wanted out. It was “Take me home, d#*@it! The attendant said she had never seen that much activity from Kiki (Not her name at that time). Generally she would be taken out, put back in the cage and go back to sleep.
In some way I am sure another pup will find us, probably when we are not expecting it.
My love and sympathy to all those who are grieving.
Love sympathy to you also, Smartcat.
One of the biggest problems with modern western culture- we do not honour that being sad is a part of our life. It’s OKAY to be sad. Instead too many people disown that part of themselves and their lives. We suck it up, we pretend everything is fine, we medicate it. Or we disown it and create clinical difficulties- and we medicate that.
Just be okay with being sad. emotional pain, like physical pain, is a message. Just listen to it. Mourn loss. Honour Life. Create a ceremony to honour and mourn. And grant space and permission to just feeling crappy sometimes;)
Mourn loss. Honor life. That’s good; that’s where it’s at. And recognizing that there are things you can’t control, that sometimes you have to let go and let it be. My Tabitha (avatar) has been in very fragile health for the last two months and she nearly left us twice in the last four weeks. So I understand something of how it has been for you, OSG. My deepest sympathy.
Emily and Katie are now restored to full health, and waiting for us at the Rainbow Bridge.
It’s been a hard, hard weekend for OSG and OSGuy, to have both their kitties of many years pass on together. Individual cases, but both clearly reaching the end of life for separate causes. Just age, likeliest. Just age. They had the best of homes, the best of care—in Kate’s case, a rescue from a Situation, a happy lifetime together, and a departure together. Hugs for OSG and OSGuy.
OSG & OSGuy, my and all our thoughts are with you in your suddenly too, too quiet and empty home. Please, do take your time to honour life and mourn your loss and know that we are doing that with you.
Thank you so much Carolyn: My, you have a way with words, don’t you. 😉 We appreciate your and Jane’s great support. It’s a comfort knowing both of you are here for us. Thank you too, Raesean. Celebrating right now two great kitties who gave OSG and I much–and who in turn were glad to receive–in their full but seemingly short lives.
We truly are.
I started out with 2 grey stripy tabbies, brother and sister from the same litter. Jett and Shadow, oddly, were born 24 hours before the last two in their litter of 4. Then two years later, my apartment manager had gotten a Siamese cat, and had been going to have her “fixed” but waited too late. She had one white kitten and four black ones. I came home with the white one, who turned out to have long, pure white fur and the most querulous sounding miaow. Gobi became my wingman, accompanying me from room to room, sleeping at my side. Then one horrible day in October 2005 I looked down at”Sister” walking by my side and noticed her “walking funny” –that’s how I discovered a gumball sized lump under Shadow’s “armpit.” I rushed her to the vet. The biopsy was positive for cancer, most likely osteosarcoma. The plan was for him to keep her overnight and try to operate on the tumor the next day — if it was encapsulated, there was a good chance he could get it all and she would be OK. I was able to have about 10 minutes alone with her while the doc was doing the biopsy reading. Little did I know it was the last time I would get the chance to be with her. Two hours later, the vet called, said he’d had a cancellation and had been able to work her in for surgery that afternoon — the verdict was the worst possible. The tumor I found was just the tip of a huge tumor inside her ribcage that had poked out from between her ribs. He was amazed that she had showed no signs of being ill. We decided it was best not to let her wake up from the anesthesia. She was only 7 years old I was able to sit with her a while and be with her when she crossed over but I was devastated. The next morning, I awoke with Gobi’s head pillowed on my outstretched hand. I knew that Shadow’s legacy would be to leave her happy home to another female kitten in need. I knew I would need a large cage for the new kitten for its safety while everyone hissed and made up — my two adult “males” — aged 7 and 5 — were quite territorial and both were big boys — 15-pounders. Then in late November, I suddenly got the feeling I needed to get that cage. I went into Petsmart that Saturday to look at what they had in cages and see if the one I wanted was in stock. There was an “adoptathon” in progress, run by our local no-kill shelters. They only had one little girl kitty — when they’d gotten their first set of shots, the lady had had the vet “sex” them and she tied a pink ribbon around the neck of the only girl kitteh in the bunch — the only survivor of an abandoned litter. She was tiny. She only weighed a pound. Immediately I picked her up, she nestled down in my arms and went to sleep. She came home with me that cold rainy November day — a little grey classic tabby — the girl with the swirl. Deprived of her mother at such a young age (her eyes weren’t open yet) Stormie’s undeveloped immune system was first challenged by a case of Giardia, — she went from 16 ounces down to 14 ounces in a matter of two days. But we nursed her through that. Then she got a horrible case of ringworm (the first lesion was in her “armpit” at the same place as the tumor I discovered on Shadow), and we finally got her through that. She’s petite and gracile and such a little imp. I was fortunate to watch her teach herself how to drink from the sink tap. At age 9, my sweet Jett, Mr. Purromatic, who always slept beside my pillow and who would purr sonorously when I nestled my fingers into his belly, developed diabetes. He was so good about taking his insulin shots, and together we put up a good fight. Then one night in September 2008, I was in Petsmart getting cat food, and this little girl, the daughter of one of the ladies from our humane society who had come to look after the animals up for adoption, picked me out of the crowd at the checkout line and handed me this coal black cat with a white tip on his tail. (Do I have “kitty momma” stamped on my forehead?). Well, he was Jaks before he even got home. He was a little rip snorter who grew into a big rip snorter and we were four kittehs for a while. But then in 2009, I had to admit to myself that Jett and I were fighting a losing battle. His diabetes had become very brittle and difficult to control and he was rail thin. This time, the vet came to him, and I had a whole week to say goodbye. At age 12, Jett crossed over to be with “Sister.” So, since 2009, we’ve been three kittehs. A white one, a grey one and a black one, and we like it that way.
We’ve only had 2 1/2 cats; Monsieur Napoleon Bonaparte is a freerange kitteh, although he likes our back yard for the daily food handouts. Snowball’s Chance was originally Spot; she came to us as a tiny white kitten with a gray spot on her back, mewing pitiably outside the door. First she hit up DH, then me for food. Realizing she had a Good Thing going, she ran into the house the following day when DH opened the door, jumped on the bed, and fell asleep, almost as fast as it took to type that. She was Snowball’s Chance because she was all white after the first wash, and because we were theoretically in a No Pets apartment. Snow came with us to another island, and thence spent the rest of her 19 years being Queen of the House. We came home one day and found her curled up next to the couch on the floor, having passed away quietly, completely unlike her usual Royal Self.
Rocky was abandoned in the first apartment complex on the new island. He was the largest Siamese we ever knew, with a basso profundo MAO but sweet demeanor; the people who left him must have been sad. He was full grown and enormous when we met him panhandling outside in the parking lot. We named him Rocky after watching him take a full claws out swipe from another cat, and not even deigning to notice. After 7 years, when we finally got a house, we took Rocky with us. He and Snow never really became buddies, but tolerated each other. His favorite thing was waiting until someone fell asleep on the couch, then plopping his 15 pounds on your stomach. Nothing like waking up and having a huge Siamese nose to nose with you! He came down with cancer, and despite fighting the good fight, went from 15 to 9 pounds in a couple of months, and at that point we had to let him go.
We still miss both of them.
I’m currently waiting for the right kitteh to find me, after loosing Mitwit the Nitwit this past summer to kidney problems. The kids named him, after he and his littermates were deposited in the loft by a fluffy cream streak and found with eyes barely open, but the name Mittens only lasted a week. He lived here 17 years, and had various room-mates to disagree with, including his littermate Tigger, a half-wild feral named ‘Mommacat’ who showed up looking like she’d swallowed a basketball (6 beebees, we eventually found out), a strange looking cat of the black lab variety who Mitwit bossed around shamelessly, and finally GrayBaby, who left the neighbors and moved in with Mika the Lab, but only tolerated Mitwit and I until we lost the Mika the Lab.
Its amazing how big a hole such a small critter can leave in ones heart.
Oh, so very sad to hear this news.
I remember a story ( there are many:).. this was a story told within a story by ZBS, on the audio-theatre story the incredible adventures of jack flanders.
( note- this is from memory, so might not be exact, despite the many hundreds of times I have listened to them:).
mata mahari, a great enlightened teacher. and as he got old, and his body was riddled with cancer. and his disciples all gathered around him, and they cried:
But mata mahari, Bagwan, God.. you could just heal yourself. why don’t you heal yourself.
to which he replied: no, this body has done its trip, it’s time to go.
At which they all mourned, and they cried: Don’t leave us!!!
To which he replied: Don’t be silly. Where could I go.
(implied moral: it’s all one universe( okay, multi-verse:)but we are all of us the stuff of stars and the cosmos, we just change shape. there IS nowhere but HERE:)
from The incredible adventures of Jack Flanders ( HIGHLY recommended) by ZBS.org
A great many old souls on this site. Such good company.
Very true!
Thank you, friend. Losing Zorro was a heartbreaker this last week, but it was time for him.
Looking at the photo for “TabCat2” just above this, except for the lack of crooked black mustache, it looks eerily similar to our Z. Odd.
Welcome. So sorry. It’s been such a year. Wishing comfort to our friends and good health to all their households.