Emergencies and Change

I hadn’t yet fallen nor had I injured my hip in an accident. Even so, there I was with a broken hip and falling slowly to my office floor. Just like that, the world changed for my cats. Strangers were coming into the house leaving food and water and I was gone for three days. When I returned, I brought with me strange equipment and stranger smells.

Looking back, I see now that Two-y was suffering from kidney disease for some time before my hospitalization. His appetite had decreased, I thought he was being finicky, so I kept trying different foods. He was drinking a lot of water and urinating a lot. And he’d lost a little weight. But it wasn’t until I got back from the hospital that it hit me – he was sick. It made me sick. Had he even eaten while I was gone? Now you know, he’s gone, and I feel so guilty and lost.

As for the other cats, they tend to hide upstairs when anyone else visits. Except for Meadow. She’s tough and the downstairs is her territory. Four cats are supposed to be on special diets for various conditions but that didn’t, and couldn’t, happen for three days.

Finally, I returned and had to deal with the aftermath of my surgery and get things back to normal for the cats. I cleared away any leftover food and the feeders and started them back to their regular schedule within an hour. Not everyone showed up right away but eventually I had accounted for all of them. The rest of the cats were, thankfully, doing okay and adjusted to my equipment (crutches).

Now, I just have to get used to an absence so glaring. I have many very good, caring friends helping me through my days. I haven’t even had time to grieve, but it will come. In time. For now, I still see Two-y sleeping in his cubby hole or on the dog bed. Or I expect him to be sitting in the middle of the living room and me making my special hand gesture to let him know everything is okay. He was very insecure but when I made that gesture he relaxed and started purring. I miss that purr. That very loud, loving purr. I miss my feral boy.

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Two-y

My very first picture of Two-y

I'm taking this midweek moment to announce that Two-y is gone. He became ill while I was in the hospital and really went down hill these last couple of days. His kidneys failed and he was fighting a severe infection.

I can only hang onto the knowledge that at least his last year was spent indoors, not outside fighting the elements, other cats and other creatures. He was probably 17 years old but we'll never know for sure.

I'm going to miss you buddy. Hope you are running free now. Whatever is left of my heart has broken into tiny little pieces. I love you Two-y.

My last photo of Two-y

Mewdy Blue

I am so heartbroken tonight and find it extremely difficult to report that Mewdy Blue is gone. I'm sure everyone here will understand if I can't respond to comments for a bit. Thanks for all of your support.

Grief So Deep, So Searing

Bluebird (Hobby on top)

There’s a point in the mourning process where no amount of comfort or consoling will help. In fact, it may hurt no matter the intent. Perhaps this is the stage of disbelief, I don’t know. But I am at that point right now. Have been for quite some time.

I don’t want words of comfort, no hugs, no sympathy. I only want my loved ones back. I heard a song the other night that included a phrase, “How do I turn your memory / Back into you instead?” (Symphony in 16 Bars, Kenny White) It really cut to my heart. That’s exactly how I feel.

At this point in my life, though I feel yet young, a fledgling in this thing called life, I have experienced too many losses. They seem to be piling up and each one only gathers all those before into a larger yarn ball of grief.

Just last month I lost not only Rainbow and Twygal but also found out that Fred, another of my colony cats, had died back in October. Of course all the pain from those losses entwined so closely with those of earlier times. The ties that bind. Twygal brought forth memories of Gabbie, Gabrielle’s Galaxy, her namesake, lost in ’94 before Twygal was even born. Thoughts of Mouse, her supposed mother, bring a sad smile to my face. And Aztec, my precious princess, wanders into my thoughts, a very special girl also born in ’94 and lost too soon.

Twygal, Aztec, Rainbow

Rainbow heralds her sister Ozma and her half brother Little Boy, her mother Hobby and the sisters I didn’t keep, Harvest and Jacqueline. Fred, who was once Toe to me, reminds me of Tic and Tac who died only babies, too young to fight. Bluebird, the first of her litter to leave brings back the anguish of losing her mother to diabetes as well as worries for the future of her brothers.

Effie & kittens, Fuzzball, Question, Bluebird

All of these thoughts crowd my senses and stop me from time to time, freeze my thought processes and keep me from creating. Every day I’m brought right back to a time when they were still here. Feeding times mean that Rainbow is no longer on top of the freezer demanding her food, Bluebird’s spot on the shelf is now taken by Glitter and the cat tree is empty, no Twygal to call for my attention.

Rainbow

Twygal

Pill time means fewer pills to set out, no fluids for Rainbow to fight. Shopping for cat food is no longer the Great American Search for the new foods Rainbow or Bluebird might try. Now I can buy specific foods for the remaining cats and they will eat them. At bedtime Rainbow and Bluebird no longer fight for a spot under the blankets with me and Twygal’s purr no longer rests upon my side as I try to sleep.

My spirit has been injured, my heart broken into so many pieces I’ll never puzzle it back together again. And every pieces carries a soul indelibly fixed in my circle of muses. Someday Rainbow will be our guide back together again.

Silly Grief

Most of us know the stages of grief, especially if we’ve experienced them ourselves. But have you ever gone through the “silly” stage? That’s what I’m feeling now. It’s where all those little, seemingly inconsequential things in your relationship with the deceased suddenly become so important.

Here are some examples:

·      Tonight I was taking advantage of what might, perhaps, be our last really nice day before winter sets in to wash the litterpans outside and realized a part of Bluebird was there. Yeah, I know, it sounds a little gross but she had really bad diarrhea her last couple of days and some of it was still smeared on the pans. I felt a strange sense of loss as I scrubbed it all off the pans and washed it out with the hose.

·      Twice a day I line up the many pills I have to give the various cats for their varied maladies and conditions. Twice a day this past week I’ve set out Bluebird’s too, then had to put hers back in the bottles. Even though I regularly suffered skin scrapes from her teeth as I tried to pill her, I really miss those moments.

·      Her bowl still sits on top of the stack of carriers waiting to be filled with her “special” food. I can’t bring myself to clean it and put it away yet. When I go to aliquot the many different types of food to everyone I feel like I’m forgetting something when I don’t fill her bowl too.

·      At feeding time, after everyone has been fed I stand and watch them eating, waiting to release the troublesome ones – the ones that will steal food from the others. I wait and I wait until I start wondering what I am waiting for. Then I realize that I am used to waiting until Bluebird finishes her food. Usually she is the last to finish and she wouldn’t eat in a cage so the others are caged until she finishes. I’m going to have to get used to the idea that feeding time is shorter now.

·      I look at the cases of D/D venison that I bought for her but hadn’t finished yet. I will eventually donate them to someone who can use them but for now I have to leave them where they are.

·      Each night after I brush my teeth I refill the small bowl in the bathroom sink for the cats to drink out of making sure to let the water just overflow the rim. That’s the way Bluebird liked it. She drank from the overflow rather than from the water inside the bowl. I guess I don’t really have to do that anymore.

·      Tonight is the first time I’ve sat at the computer without Bluebird’s bed in my lap. Maybe I can stop carrying it around with me everywhere.

·      I put off picking up her ashes today because I keep thinking about them in one of those small, white, plastic containers. She deserves better than that. But I also wonder, in the existential sense, how can a life be reduced to just a small pile of ashes? How can one life so vibrant, so sweet, be gone in an instant?

What is this thing called grief? Why does it play games on us like that? Have you ever gone through this stage? If so, what “silly” things did you recognize? I’d really like to hear yo

Bluebird 1997-2011

Tonight I walked through the feeding routine, my body working on automatic. Sky went into his carrier as did Lady. I opened the smaller feed container to withdraw the scoop and scooped the food out of the larger container for “the boys” in their cage. From the frig I withdrew the many cans of food to distribute to the other cats and placed Rainbow’s bowl atop the frig. Setting the cans upon the counter I noticed that I’ve still got “her” can.

Mewdy Blue hopped up into his carrier to await his dollop of food while Glitter accepted her bowl of dry food on the shelf beside him. I pulled the lid from the smaller container out to block Glitter’s access to “her” bowl then closed my eyes as I remembered. Next I plopped a small can of special food in Lady’s bowl and closed her carrier door. Sky was next with just a spoonful of his special canned food and a scoop of his dry food.

Finally I fed the remaining cats their dry food on the floor, the top of the shelves, the ledge and the spot in the living room. I looked at “her” can and stopped for a moment. I wouldn’t need that. Then set out the many different pills. There was the metronidazole, but only one this time, the prednisolone, only two, and one atenolol.

I looked at the lid still blocking Glitter’s way and recognized that it didn’t need to be there. On this night so much has changed; my routine, my life. Bluebird is gone and everything is wrong.                                                                                                 

That’s the feeling when you lose a loved one, especially one who was such a large part of your life. She has been a huge part of my life for 14 years insinuating herself on my heart and leaving pawprints on my soul. Her mother was a feral cat and she started out as a mama’s girl hiding behind her mother’s fur whenever I entered their room. Once separated from her mom, Bluebird came out of her shell and demanded to be the center of attention. The only girl in a litter of five she became a Prima Donna.

Grief includes so many feelings, many more than the “5 stages” you’ll find in books, especially if the one you grieve is a beloved pet. First you will have spent some time caring intensively for a sick pet, then you may be forced to make the ultimate decision. Choosing to end the life of your precious pet is difficult, yes, but it is also a gift you give to one who trusts you. You are choosing to end the suffering, the pain and the stress the illness or injury is causing your pet.

You can expect to go through all the stages of grief afterward and find yourself expecting to find your pet at every turn. You may also begin to suffer in silence because you fear that others around you would never understand. Try to find someone you know would understand, a friend, a counselor or a support group, to help you through this process.

Tonight I’m still thinking of Bluebird nearly every minute. She’s everywhere in this house in my memories and in the atmosphere. She’s everywhere in my life where ever I may go. I have to believe that she hasn’t left, that she’s with me every minute as I go on in this world until we are reunited once again.

Bluebird has flown over the rainbow, a place where I can’t follow just yet, her voice filling the sky – what news do you sing now, my pretty Bluebird? She is with her mom