The Possum's Paw

   This morning I went downstairs to let the dogs out, and noticed something sitting on the rug—just a couple of feet from the door. I stepped closer, then immediately recoiled from the pungent odor. Someone left a desiccated foot on my deck! At first I wasn't sure whose foot it was, but upon looking closer at the appearance of the toes and claws, decided it must be from a possum. (This was later confirmed when I found a patch of black, dried skin with telltale-colored hair on it. Taylor had found it first, and rolled on it. Are you shivering from sheer grossness? Good. Me too.)

   The paw reminded me of that short story "The Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs—so I made sure not to make any wishes on it. It's funny how a surprise event can trigger a distant memory. (There are plenty of useful things I can't seem to remember... but old short stories I read in middle school? No problem.)

"It's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

   The moral to the story is "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it"; in other words, our lives are ruled by fate, and there is a penalty to be paid for trying to overcome it. I'll definitely be careful about what I wish for after this not-so-subtle reminder!

Visitor

   Mitty Moo, the neighbor cat, came around this evening & sat at my front door, crying out for his buddy Gypsy. He apparently doesn't realize she's not here to whisper sweet nothings to him anymore. He has always made me do a double-take because he looks so much like Atom, too... Double sadness for me.
   There are so many things I miss about having a kitty in the house... and the full impact of it has been hitting me the last two weeks. I miss having them run up and greet me at the door when I get home from work. I miss them snuggling up to me on the couch or in bed, purring like a motor. I miss them sitting on the toilet and waiting patiently for me to get out of the shower, so I can pay attention to them again. I miss Gyp yelling at me every time I whistled. She HATED it when I whistled—would come running from anywhere in the house and find me and demand that I stopped. I used to whistle the "I Dream of Jeanie" (or, more accurately, "I Dream of Gyppy") song when I wanted to get her attention. I miss seeing them rolling around on the deck in the sunshine.
   People often don't give cats enough credit for their companionship and unique personalities. Or maybe mine were uncommonly special. Maybe both.  :)

Gypsy: 4/1/97 - 4/30/12

   I always thought I was a dog person—I never intended to get a cat. But Gypsy found me fifteen years ago and changed my mind in an instant—and changed my life for the better.

I said goodbye to her this evening. Words can't describe how much she will be missed. 

Good-bye, dear friend… Until we meet again.

   Gypsy has only been gone a few hours, but I'm already struck by how quiet the house seems (despite the noisy Shibas). My life hasn't been without a kitty since Gyp entered the picture... I've become so accustomed to having her purring next to me, to her stealing my dinner, to seeing cat hair blowing around. It hardly seems possible that she's gone, and yet at the same time, it's so painfully obvious. 

   I've shared my life with so many animals over the years, and all are very special to me, but Gypsy has always been the most special. From the second I laid eyes on her, I knew she belonged with me.

  The last 24 hours have been difficult and surreal; she has been very affectionate, sitting near me and purring. She has eaten a few treats from my hand. There were signs of hope. But she was also wobblier in her walk, she had begun to resist her fluid treatments, and last night I realized she was going blind. I would have given absolutely anything to make her better, but we had already exhausted every option. I couldn't bear to let her go too soon, before her time; nor could I bear to see her suffer. I had asked her to me know when she was ready, and she did. I had to honor that.

   In one sense it's a relief because I've been grieving for Atom, then her, these last seven months. I'm exhausted and sad. But I'd gladly keep fighting for her if it had been an option. I believe she knew that.

   I'm grateful that Gypsy had a pretty good weekend. We spent lots of time together, and she spent some time outside on the deck, soaking up the sunshine today, listening to the birds, and feeling the wind on her whiskers.

   I'm grateful that everyone at my vet's office, from my vet to the techs, to the receptionists, has been so kind and caring through Atom & Gypsy's passing. When I took her in this afternoon, they were waiting with open arms and hugs and words of comfort.

   I'm grateful that Gypsy passed away so quietly and peacefully.

   I'm grateful that Kelly was kind enough to drive me to the vet, and Madeline brought dinner for me; Mary Ann, Allyson, Michele, Joni, and Sawako offered kind words and help too—I had more offers of support than I could accept. It feels so good to be around those who have been there, and who understand this pain I'm feeling, and who care about me, and Gypsy. The emails and texts from everyone mean so much.

   It will take me forever and a day to get over losing her, but as she was leaving me, I asked her to come find me again when she's ready. I've already been immeasurably blessed for being with her once, and I believe we will meet again.

Gyppy Time

    Gypsy had several good days last week, and ate a little food Tuesday through Friday. On Saturday and Sunday, though, she started vomiting, and went off food again. She's not in pain, and still loves getting fluids, but I can tell she is having trouble getting comfortable. These days she usually doesn't want to sit on me, but still snuggles up next to me. It's comforting to feel her warm body up against me, and the low, steady rumble of her purring. She is still bright and alert and happy.
   I'm giving her hospice care; neither hastening nor prolonging her life, just providing support and giving her the best quality of life possible. She's clearly not ready to give up, but is becoming a shadow of her former self; quieter, and thin. It's so difficult to see her go through this.
   I'm realizing that in some ways, though I treasure the time I have with her, I'm in the most difficult phase of her life—for myself, emotionally. While Atom's death was heart-wrenchingly fast—only 4 days from diagnosis to his end—in some ways it was easier to take. I didn't see it coming. Gypsy was diagnosed with kidney disease the same day that Atom died, so I've basically been grieving for her ever since. I'm torn between the hope that she can overcome this for a time, and the pain of watching her decline. It is awful to be grieving for someone while they are still here, and I remind myself that she will sense this and take cues from me.

   I feel so deeply sad, but am trying to allow myself some grace. I remind myself that I've been fortunate to have been spared the loss of someone so close to me for many years. Atom was gone so quickly that I didn't have time to stop and think about it. I've lost both my grandmothers in the last few years, but never in my life did I live close to them, so although I loved them, we didn't have a tight bond. Mom has lost Bailey and Madison, her Golden Retrievers, with whom I used to live. But I was already living in Kansas City when they passed, so I was sheltered from the pain. They didn't feel like "mine" anymore—I was sad for her, not myself.

   The last time I felt such deep pain was when I had to say good-bye to Justin, another Golden, when I was in college. He was the family dog, but really he was mine—like a big, furry little brother. I grew up with him at my side. He was ten when he was diagnosed with cancer. I'll never forget that call from the vet. Justin had been dropped off for exploratory surgery, in an attempt to determine why he had been so sick for a few months. "His body is full of cancer," the vet said quietly. "What do you want us to do?"

   I knew that he was so uncomfortable that it didn't feel right to let him come home and continue to suffer. I met the vet at the office—Charlotte drove me there. Justin's tail thumped against the inside of the metal cage when he saw me. He thought he was going home. I knelt and held his big, heavy head in my lap while she gave him the injection. It was the hardest thing I'd even done. I was twenty-one.

   These intense feelings were matched when I said good-bye to Atom. He declined so rapidly, and when I went to the emergency vet to visit him (he was on an IV for the weekend, to see if he'd respond), I knew immediately that the right thing to do was to let him go. He looked miserable. Yet, almost imperceptibly, he lifted his head and purred when he felt my hand stroking his face. His nose twitched. He knew it was me, coming to say good-bye, and he was glad I was with him.

   Gypsy will be the hardest yet; she has been with me longer than any animal, and we've had the tightest bond. It's hard to even describe how close I feel to her. I can't imagine life without her.

   No matter how long our pets are with us, whether it's one year or twenty-five, it's never long enough. And there's really no way to prepare for the big hole that they leave in your heart when you lose them. No matter how difficult this is, I'm reminding myself that they all have had amazing, happy lives that I have helped provide for them. They are the family that you get to choose. And my life is immeasurably better because of them.

Happy Birthday, Gorgeous!

   We can't know for sure what day she was born since she was a stray kitty, but my vet made his best guess, and April 1st is the birthday I chose for her 15 years ago.
   Gypsy was 6-8 months old when I snatched her up from the freezing rain on an early, cold October morning. I had been watching her all summer, as she and a dozen other strays collected outside my first apartment, taking advantage of all the paper plates full of food that my downstairs neighbor left out for them. Despite being scrawny, dirty, and completely feral, she was the most beautiful cat I had ever seen. And somehow, from the first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she belonged with me. I had never taken in a wild cat, but I never had an ounce of doubt that I could tame her. Today it hardly seems possible that she came from such a tough start.
   I ignored her at first as she darted around my apartment, and sat on the floor to watch TV and eat my dinner. If I stood, she fled and hid. I had to move slowly, being completely silent so I wouldn't startle her. In those first couple of weeks I scarcely saw her, as she cowered in the corner under my bed, or opened the kitchen cabinet and hid behind the dishwasher. But the bowl of food was emptied every night, and the litter box was used, so I knew she was adapting.
   She used to hide at the food of my bed, under the covers, every day while I was at work. She wouldn't venture out until I came home. Slowly she began to trust me, and would slink around the perimeter of the apartment as I sat on the floor to eat, sniffing the air and becoming interested. I'll never forget the night that I had made stir fry, with steak, chicken, shrimp, and tons of fresh veggies. She quietly approached and sat next to me. She meowed. I gently placed a small piece of steak on the carpet. She sniffed it, looked at me, and meowed again. I tried again with the shrimp, then the chicken. She acted interested, but didn't eat. Then she put her front paws on my leg and stood up to reach my plate. It wasn't meat she wanted—it was the asparagus! I gave her a whole spear and she LOVED it. Wouldn't have guessed that... but Gypsy has always been full of surprises.
   From that moment on she began to get more confident. I started seeing her more. As long as I didn't force the relationship, it began to blossom. When my Mom came to visit, Gypsy warmed up to her, and literally from that day on she has been the life of the party. I think her transformation has been just incredible!
   You're not supposed to pick favorites, but I think it's pretty obvious that she's the most special to me. It's hard to explain why, but she and I have always had a very special connection, unlike any animal I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Part of the bond was forged through the work I put into taming her, and she has repaid me with affection every day of her life. She makes me smile, has made me laugh a million times.
   Today she's making me cry a whole lot because I can't even fathom what life will be like without her. She has taught me a lot. The lesson I appreciate most is that sometimes there is something you just know, even if it can't be explained. And you have to hold fast to it, and nurture it. And if you continue to believe, it can turn into something more wonderful than you could ever imagine.


   I'm getting ready to take her back to the vet for more fluids. I'm hoping I can keep her happy and comfortable for as long as possible, and I will let her go when the time is right. A piece of me will be going with her. Happy birthday, Love.

Synchronicity

   I came home from work last night and took care of the animals, which is the first thing I always do. Gypsy hadn't eaten a bite... for the second day in a row. (The dogs love this, because I give them Gypsy's leftovers.) She seemed to rally after the low around Christmastime, and was back up to 11 lbs, from 9. But her appetite has been weak again since I returned from San Francisco on March 6.
   She always acts very interested in food—even follows me around shouting at me when she's hungry, pronouncing every letter in "MEOW!"—but when I put one of about 15 different foods down, she sniffs it and walks away. It's very frustrating. She's getting lighter and lighter.
   Later I went down to the laundry room to find that she had vomited clear liquid. Not good... definitely something to watch.
   This morning I saw that she hadn't eaten anything overnight, and she had vomited in the basement again. I called Joni to tell her I'd join them later for our hike if I could, and headed right for the vet, who graciously squeezed us in.
   We saw Dr. Miller, who hadn't checked Gypsy before. I could see the concern on his face when he read her charts. She was back down to 9.4 lbs. and he recommended bloodwork to check her kidney levels, subcutaneous fluids, and an anti-nausea injection. He palpated her and noted that her kidneys were huge... which has never been the case before. It's definitely cancer. And when you add that to the renal disease, it equates to, "we can't do anything but keep her comfortable and try to give her a good quality of life a little longer".
   None of this was a surprise, of course, given the last few months of history. But it did break my heart. I only lost Atom five months ago, Gypsy has been up and down since, and Taylor is seriously ill as well. They say things come in threes. I've found my unlucky number...
   I brought Gypsy home and comforted her, then took the dogs up to the dog park to meet Joni & friends. I shared the bad news, but we didn't dwell on it—I needed to get my mind off it for a couple of hours.

   When I got home, I opened up today's paper to see this:

   Synchronicity. Unfortunately, the article didn't offer any answers or much comfort. The author just confirmed that the lost of a beloved pet, a being who is devoted to you and depends on you, is very difficult—often moreso than losing a friend or close human family member. Again, not a surprise. Despite my other three pets, the house feels empty without Atom's presence.
   At dinner last night (Joni and I piled up the kaiten-zushi plates at Sakura), we talked about this subject. She noted that you always think your pets will live until tomorrow; but eventually tomorrow becomes today, and today becomes now. We agreed that the one good side to pets' lives being so short is that if you could keep them forever, you'd lose the opportunity to rescue more of them.
   I agree with that, but somehow I know I won't adopt another kitty. I've already had the two best kitties anyone could have... I can't imagine another that would live up to the standard mine have set. Most likely I will begin to foster dogs again, someday when time has helped heal my heart.
   Until that day, I have to be thankful for every moment I have with Gypsy. It's tough because it is plain to see that she is slipping through my hands, and though she is still here, my heart is raw, anticipating the inevitable. I have to keep reminding myself that I thought I was going to lose her on my birthday, so the last three months have been bonus time, and I'm thankful for it.
   Joni just emailed and reminded me: "Beginnings and endings are what life is all about.  It's what makes life so hard.  And it's what makes life so magical." She's a wise friend.

Happy Birthday, Lil' Attie!

   My lil' guy would have turned 13 years old today, had his life not been cut short by kidney disease. Gypsy and I still miss him and think about him every day. Her health took a turn for the worse right after we lost her friend, and I don't believe it's pure coincidence. I'm just starting to feel like I've nursed her back to a new normalcy, after nine days of attentive care.
   And the dogs? Well, dogs are dogs. They're a little clueless about everything but dinnertime.
   We miss you, buddy! Hope there's an endless supply of salmon treats and mice to chase, wherever you are!

Worrisome Week...

   It has been a long, tiring week. Miss Gypsy has been sick, vomiting every day between the hours of 2 and 4 am, and sometimes while I'm at work, too. I'm very concerned about her, and about keeping her healthy and staving off the kidney disease as long as possible. I've been uneasy ever since I found out she was sick—the very night I had to say good-bye to Atom for the same illness. But overall she has seemed well. She has lost 1/4 of her body weight this year, but otherwise is her perky, friendly, outgoing, bright, talkative self. Her body may be sick, but her spirit is alive and well. Her eyes are bright... And she never takes them off of me. Nearly every moment that I'm home, she's right beside me. And so far, thank goodness, she loves the prescription diet and clamors for more.

   This morning I thought of Atom, and started remembering our final moments together. How extremely sick and weak he looked, but despite that, how loudly and contentedly he purred when I reached in to stroke his face. Remembering that was more than I could take and I burst into tears again. I feel like he was telling me it was okay, and that he was ready to leave. But I worry that he suffered and am devastated that I couldn't do anything to help him.

   I looked over and Gypsy was perched on the toilet, as she does every day, watching me brush my teeth and apply my makeup. She raised her paw and shook it, meowing, like a perfect 招き猫 - maneki neko. It is more than I can take, to imagine losing her... She has been my constant companion for over 14 years. All I can do is hope that her years of beckoning for my attention will beckon some luck to us as well. がんばって、ギップシ！　元気になってください。。。

Tributes to my Lil' Buddy

   Kelly was with me the day I picked out Atom—he's known him as long as I have! He posted this sweet tribute and awesome illustration on his blog:

   I've received some cards from friends this week—thanks to all. I especially love the "angel Atom" that Charlotte drew for me. I have the best friends ever, and I really appreciate your kindness. (That goes for Atom's vet as well.)

   Coincidentally, Thursday's KC Star had a story about the famous old Katz drug store, whose mascot looks a little familiar...

Happy 6th Birthday, Mr. Tay!

   I met Taylor on June 21, 2008 at the Paws in the Park fundraiser, he joined my household shortly thereafter, and I've felt lucky to have him since day one! Today we celebrated his birthday in style, with a few extra treats and a romp at Stoll Park, with his Shiba buddies, Sookie (and Ryan), and Layla (and Ashley). He is snoozing so hard at my feet on the couch right now that I can assure you that he had a BLAST.
   Losing Atom this week has been a sobering reminder that we need to appreciate each and every moment with our loved ones, whether they walk on two legs or four. So give your pets an extra big hug and an extra treat today. Mr. Tay would be very pleased if you did.
   The clouds over the park tonight were dramatic and beautiful. We enjoyed quite a show as our doggies romped and played together. (If only I had brought my GOOD camera... AARGH!!)

Atom Drawing

   My friend Dave called tonight to check in on me, and while we were chatting, I drew this cartoon Atom. It simply says, "Atom was a very good kitty."

Love is Like Life...

   I wasn't familiar with the quote above, until I saw this stunning letterpress art by my dear friends, Madeline and Diane. I recently acquired the print and have it framed in my living room. When I walked past it today, it seemed like the perfect tribute to my little buddy, Atom, who passed away tonight after a brief battle with kidney failure.

   When I went to the emergency vet to visit him tonight, he leaned into my hand and purred and purred while I rubbed his head and neck. He was glad to see me, but he hadn't eaten in nearly three days, and he didn't even try to stand up. He still looked like his sweet self, but weary. There is no question in my mind that he was ready to say good-bye. And although I was not, I knew what was best for him.

Atom, 12/31/98 - 10/9/11

I will never forget any of my pets,

nor can they ever be replaced.

Each is unique.

Each is special.

Each is treasured.

There's a huge hole in my heart today.

I love you, lil' buddy.

Foreshadowing

   Last night I went out for my run, and over by Strang Park I was stopped in my tracks by an overwhelming, horrible smell. I knew it was the smell of death. I turned to see a very large, very dead possum on the side of the road in a serious state of decay. It instantly reminded me of the demons overtaking the giant boar in Princess Mononoke. I shuddered and kept running, but of course couldn't help thinking of my little possum at home.
   I came home and fed him again, and he seemed okay, though a little quieter than he has been, and he wanted to go right back into his makeshift pouch, the inner pocket of my fleece jacket. When I took him out for his late night feeding, he was even more sluggish but did eat a little. I could see the writing on the wall.
   So I wasn't terribly surprised that my furry lil' mascot didn't make it through the night. I suppose his injuries were just too great. It makes me sad; I knew his paralysis was a huge concern, but he seemed to be rallying, so I had hope. Prey animals are hard to keep because they will hide their pain and injuries at all costs.
   If his story and photos convinced even one person to look at possums as more than a nuisance than he fulfilled an important purpose. I buried him in the side yard under the lilies of the valley, covered his site with azalea blossoms, and will keep fond memories.

Good day gone bad

Today started out just fine, but turned sour at 4:00 pm when I got a call from my doc that I needed to come in for some follow-up testing. Scary stuff. (But as of 1/29, I got the all clear, to my great relief!) Anyway, I was driving home from work, preoccupied about that, and in a bit of a hurry to get home, change clothes, feed the dogs, and get to the gym by 6:00 to meet with a personal trainer. I was about 2 miles from home when I saw the car ahead of me hit something, and as I got close I could see that it was a cat, who was now flopping around in the street like a fish out of water. As quickly as I could I did a U-turn and parked on a side street, grabbed a towel from the backseat & ran to the kitty. (I'm omitting the most horrible part of the story here.) I wrapped him & carefully scooped him up, placing him on the brick median & crouching beside him, trying to keep him warm and to comfort him in his final moments. It was very traumatic for me, and didn't end well for kitty.

I only hope that: (1) he didn't suffer as much as I believe he did; (2) that he knew someone who cared was there with him as he lay dying; (3) people stop letting their cats outside. All too often this is how things end, and the animals don't deserve it.

I have to thank my great friends John, Michele & Maureen for consoling me that night, in between commercial breaks in The Bachelor: On the Wings of Love. I needed a distraction, and that did the trick. Michele even fed me a delicious dinner.