“What greater gift than the love of a cat?”
~Charles Dickens
When searching Google for blogs about death of pets… there are about 71,600,000 results…plus mine…
Caring for a pet is parenting in its furriest form. Raise your hand if you agree, A fur parent is both responsibility and love. Losing either a human or a pet is embedded in pain and loneliness that empties heart and soul. When I was a child and a pet died (in my case, Timmy, Tammy or Taffy), my parents must have absorbed that pain for us. As an adult, the loss here, such as my having cures to feed or walk the animal, or to not fill the water bowl or call the animal to eat or play, missing a a nighttime snuggle mate, wishing for the door greeter pounce, or even to enjoy choosing pet delicacies in a pet store, are all robbed..
I have had many cats, dogs, hamsters and goldfish over my years. The three last pets have been mostly “mine.” Silver cat was adopted with my son, Tony, in 1979 when he was seven years old in Va. Beach, Va. 22 years later old man Silver wandered around the neighborhood and was brought home to go to the Cat Clinic. I alone held Silver as he shuddered that long pause and last sigh. He was my son’s, but then mine alone, and my buddy moving from Va. Beach to Massachusetts and finally Florida. We had a common language. He even walked with me (in a carrier) to see the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. He was more than a companion, he was a kindly uncle and defender. John and I buried him under shady trees in the backyard of our Florida home.
Shortly after Silver’s demise, John and I adopted two sibling sisters, Pixel and Bima. They were intertwined day and night in purring, cleaning each other and frisky playmates. Oh how we doted on them in Florida! At age ten, Pixel developed a large carcinoma open hole of cancer in her side. I was willing to doctor her, along with Bima, and fill her growing hole with POLYSPORIN® often. The day my sister visited and wanted to know what the smell was around Pixel, I knew it was time to see the vet. She never came home from the vet that day and I bleary-eyed and crying left her at Banfield Pet Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida. We had to console a lonely sister, Bima. We became her sisters. She slept with us as if we were her Pixel. Bima was now the chosen Queen of the household and played the role to the hilt with haughtiness and divine providence.
Bima moved with us after we sold our Florida house to three different apartments. She was using many stressful lives but beared them well. One day she seemed a little glum and wasn’t eating. The vet said she had swallowed something and would have to operate. Of course the ribbon he dug out of her stomach and intestines was one she loved the most to play… a white one with red hearts, that the vet carefully preserved for me in a baggie after the operation. Lots of stitches later, she came home ad recovered, but no more ribbon play!
The very worst experience for her was when Hurricane Irma destroyed our home along the St. John’s River August 30 – September 13, 2017. We were away in our Virginia home. The lady caring for her had to be life-flighted out of the area. After three days of anxious calls and panic, kind men boated to the apartment and took her to the Cat Clinic to be cared for. She was very very sick which of course translates to $$$$$$. After ultrasounds, not eating, post traumatic stress syndrome, pancreatitis and daily visits by me for two weeks, we brought her home. This was a harrowing time for many many people and animals, but the three of us were reunited again.
We moved the Queen B. to Virginia March 22, 2018. The winter weather was an adjustment for the Florida girl. She quit sleeping in her own bed and would only sleep beside or on us at night, She was trying to tell us something was wrong and this week just hollered in pain, lay lifeless and groaned. Dr. Luke could not determine an exact diagnosis and Bima and I looked each other in the eye and knew her time to leave me had come. I called my own sweet sister, Karen, to be by our side as she reached for the Rainbow Bridge. Bima’s paw clutched my hand to the very end. I let her go.
One great gift Bima always brought was glee to our grandchildren, Aiden and Lucy. They never failed to seek her out to play with her (no ribbons) when visiting. I hope they remember her with love and fondness. And while John was not with me at any of the cats’ endings, he feels the same empty loss, throat throb of crying and we miss Bima terribly right now. Hopefully she and Pixel have reunited and are seeking chicken, mice and ribbons together. We loved you, our cats, and tried to provide for you as you deserved!
BrownCrawford 