Death in the Family

[SlickTony]

I mentioned it in another thread, but wanted to announce to the people I know here that my cat, Zandra, not the one pictured in my avatar but the other one, died last Thursday. She had had breast cancer, and when she was operated on in January, the vets told me that her lymph system had become involved, and I was only buying her time. Sure enough, she had two or so good months, just enough for the fur to grow back over her surgical site, before she started to go downhill. She didn't seem to be in pain, but she gave up eating and drinking, and got smaller and thinner and weaker, and on Thursday she lay down in the back hall, where she had lately taken to sleeping, and sometime, during the day, she just slipped away. My husband comes home from work earlier than I do and he found her. I was just glad it was him who found her and not our son. I told him to take her body to the clinic so they could call the Pet Crematory to come get her. I should get her urn sometime this week. I miss her, but she's in a better place, free of pain and illness, and you never completely lose your cats as long as you can tell cat stories on them.

She was a pretty little cat, solid black with pointy ears, and the biggest attention slut. Many a time my husband and I would be involved in something that so didn't require her participation, and have to free up one hand to twirl her ears or scratch her chin, or she'd come up and lick your eyelids or your shoulders or something, and she had the roughest tongue of any cat I've ever known. She could never stand to see someone being petted that wasn't her. And while she wasn't that much of a table beggar, your Coke with ice was not safe around her--if you turned your back on her, you'd find her standing on her hind legs, her paws on the end table, and her face down in your glass.

 

[TaffyJ]

Oh, Gosh, what a sweetie!

I know it hurts to loose kitties. I still have many memories of my Thomas. Sometimes I still think I see his shadow slinking along in the hallway. They're so loving, even when they're being stinkers. It's amazing how they know when you need a lick or a head-butt. They're not human, but I still think there's something there that lives on. Long live the kitties!

 

[Le Jacquelope]

I mentioned it in another thread, but wanted to announce to the people I know here that my cat, Zandra, not the one pictured in my avatar but the other one, died last Thursday. She had had breast cancer, and when she was operated on in January, the vets told me that her lymph system had become involved, and I was only buying her time. Sure enough, she had two or so good months, just enough for the fur to grow back over her surgical site, before she started to go downhill. She didn't seem to be in pain, but she gave up eating and drinking, and got smaller and thinner and weaker, and on Thursday she lay down in the back hall, where she had lately taken to sleeping, and sometime, during the day, she just slipped away. My husband comes home from work earlier than I do and he found her. I was just glad it was him who found her and not our son. I told him to take her body to the clinic so they could call the Pet Crematory to come get her. I should get her urn sometime this week. I miss her, but she's in a better place, free of pain and illness, and you never completely lose your cats as long as you can tell cat stories on them.

She was a pretty little cat, solid black with pointy ears, and the biggest attention slut. Many a time my husband and I would be involved in something that so didn't require her participation, and have to free up one hand to twirl her ears or scratch her chin, or she'd come up and lick your eyelids or your shoulders or something, and she had the roughest tongue of any cat I've ever known. She could never stand to see someone being petted that wasn't her. And while she wasn't that much of a table beggar, your Coke with ice was not safe around her--if you turned your back on her, you'd find her standing on her hind legs, her paws on the end table, and her face down in your glass.

Gee, that's awful.. but at least she went peacefully.

I happen to like cats

*hugs*

 

[Uther_Pendragon]

I was sorry to hear about the death of your cat.

 

[TrinaT]

I mentioned it in another thread, but wanted to announce to the people I know here that my cat, Zandra, not the one pictured in my avatar but the other one, died last Thursday. . . . I miss her, but she's in a better place, free of pain and illness, and you never completely lose your cats as long as you can tell cat stories on them. . . . .
And while she wasn't that much of a table beggar, your Coke with ice was not safe around her--if you turned your back on her, you'd find her standing on her hind legs, her paws on the end table, and her face down in your glass.

As a fellow cat lover, I'm sorry for your loss. I've lost several over the past few years that have meant the world to me.

While moving to FL 7 yrs ago, some "M%^)&#F&)%$*" broke into the truck at a rest area and stole one of my cats, she was 13 yrs old and had been the "babysitter" type for my son when he was an infant. Jessie was so lovable, no matter what a baby or toddler did to her, she never scratched. When she had enough of the fur pulling and tugging she's just run off to a high perch to keep an eye on the little ones. If I didn't hear him crying, Jessie would come find me and would walk on my chest and pat my face until I heard the baby on the monitor and got up. She'd sleep under the crib, then she moved to the end of his bed as he got older. We were both heartbroken. Her companion (18 yrs. old at the time) was never the same and just gave up passing about 3 mo. later. Great memories of both of them. The others I don't need to get into, just know that there are many of us that feel for you and your loss.

TrinaT

 

[Chicklet]

I had a cat named Wookie who was another feline attention slut. Wookie was a "tortie" - like a tortoise shell but grey instead of black, with long soft hair. During a basketball game (I lived near campus) someone tried to park their car through her. Broke her leg, both ankle bones, and chipped her teeth. She crawled, limping and bleeding, on my bed and waited patiently for me to find her.

I don't know how long she sat there, but when I found her I rushed her to the kitty hospital. The vet quoted me $500 dollars to fix the leg, and of course I had it done. They couldn't give her surgery until monday, two days later, so they gave her a splint and Wookie sat in a cage with a broken leg waiting for her treatment.

Once the cast was on, I got to take her home, but only on strict orders to keep her inside the pet carrier for three months. Two hours after taking her home, her foot had swollen up to four times it's usual size. I took her back to the vet. They had to take out her stiches, because there wasn't enough skin to patch together, and they'd cut off her blood supply, or something like that. Wookie endured surgery after surgery for six months, pins being put in and taken out of her leg. She re-broke it three times, each time costing me more and more to fix, until I was as broke as her leg. At one point the vet refused to let me see her again until I'd paid some of the back bills (Keep in mind I was only 17)

After Wookie was finally released, she was never quite the same.

Every time Wooksters went outside, she'd bolt. I would get phone calls from up to four miles away, people calling to say my cat had just mosied on inside their house. Four or five calls every evening. "Wookie spottings" I considered them. The funny thing was that people right next door were just as concerned with finding her. I'd tell them nicely that, thank you, Wookie could find her way home.

When I went to Italy, I had a house-sitter. Two days into my month long trip, I called my house to discover that Wookie had been taken to the local animal shelter. My house-sitter said that a neighbor three doors down had found her and taken her the 15 minute drive to Greenhill, rather than returning her home. Idiots. My house-sitter promised to pick her up the next day. When I came home two days early a month later, I found out that my cat had NOT been picked up, but was still waiting.

I went and picked up my cat, brought her home, kept her inside for two weeks. When I finally let her out, she bolted, and I haven't heard from her since.

I remember when Wookie would sit and lick herself on my treadmill, and my boyfriend would turn it on low. She would sit there, not noticing a thing, until she'd fallen off the end.

I remember when Wookie would bat at shadows, and ignore the things making them.

I remember her plaintive meow, and how she would follow me when I walked around the neighborhood.

I miss her and I hope she's happy.

 

[Svenskaflicka]

I'm very sorry to hear about your cat, and I offer you a big hug in your time of sorrow.

 

[Sabledrake]

Condolences, SlickTony. It's hard to lose a beloved pet.

Sabledrake

 

[pop_54]

Yep

Sorry to hear about your cat, we do tend to treat our cats and dogs like kids, and when the sad time comes it is a hell of a wrench.
Our old she cat died a week or two ago, old age, she was about 12 maybe older we aren't too sure she adopted us about 8 yrs ago as a stray, just walked in and stayed bless her, we tried to trace the original owners without success.

We still have a wacky Tom cat who thinks he's a dog the way he behaves.

pops................

 

[SlickTony]

Thank you, thank you, for your kind thoughts about Zandra. Chicklet, your story about Wookie really touched me. What tribulation for a cat to go through. I hope she's happy, too. Some cats are just built like that--you can't fence them in. We once had another cat, Pete, who had been an inside&outside cat ever since he was young, and when we got him, it was our intention to keep him an inside cat, as I don't like scraping cats up off the road and having to bury them. As long as we lived in our studio apartment in Pasadena, he was Ok with this; all he ever seemed to experience of outside was this: it was the custom of every tenant, including us, to back our cars into their parking slots, which were mostly close to our apartments if we lived in studios, and during the winter, we'd warm them up, and the smell of car exhaust seeped into every foyer...

However, we then moved into a remote subdivision near Galveston Bay, and one night he got out and stayed gone for a week. We finally ran him down at the neighborhood activity center, and brought him back. But he as good as told us: if you expect me to stay around at all, you'll let me come and go as I please.

So we did. He loved to hunt and kills small beasties outdoors; he liked to lie, nearly invisible, (he was a gray mackerel tabby with a buff undercoat, which sometimes made him look almost green n the dappled shade under a bush; he liked a good fight with another cat, and he liked intimidating dogs. We'd had him fixed, but if tomcats can't fight over girls they'll fight over turf.

After we left our bayside subdivision in Texas, we moved to Louisiana. He survived living a few blocks away from downtown Baton Rouge; he survived the problematic intersection of Myrtle, Perkins, and 18th street (where I was later in a wreck, myself); he survived living on Hwy. 84 in Vidalia, across the river from Natchez. Then he was killed on Common Street in Lake Charles.

Zandra was another cat who wanted to be an inside/outside cat, but eventually, I think, she learned which side her bread was buttered on, and as she got older and began to lose her health, we didn't have to watch out for her waiting to burst through the door every time we came in from somewhere.

My sympathy to those of you who've also lost cats; you know what it's like. Trina, what part of Florida do you live in? How weird that someone would steal a cat out of a truck. People are weird.

 

[wildsweetone]

I am sorry for your loss dear.

 

[DVS]

I have been a cat owner for more than 20 years. It all started with a pure bred white Persian with green eyes. Bud was deaf, so I got him for free. (He was deaf because they tried to get a white cat with blue eyes. His father was a champion. You can find a picture of his father on Hallmark Cards).

Next, my sister found a stray in her front yard. Cleo was black and white. She had a white face with half a black mustache on her face. If she had been male, Stash would have fit better than Cleo. First to the dinner plate and last to leave was Cleo's thing.

A fellow worker's daughter (she was deaf) had a cat who had kittens. They needed to give them a home. Jones was a pure white domestic with blue eyes. He was also deaf. His twin brother (who was named Elliot after the kid in the E.T. movie by the new owner's kids) was also deaf. Their meows was silent, unless they were really pissed.

I was working on my roof and left the ladder up, one night. The next morning I kept hearing meows from my attic. I went up there to find a stray that looked very much like Morris the cat. Ozone was very unique cat. Hence the name. I'm glad he picked my attic.

These cats have all passed on, after living long, happy lives. Putting a pet to sleep is very sad. But when they have lived a long and happy life, it does help a little with the pain.

Now, I have four more cats. Each time one of the above would die, I was given another.

When I lost Bud, I was given Heyou by the vet. For some reason, I couldn't think of a name for him. I kept saying "hey, you", and it finally stuck. He has long hair that looks kind of like he has some Persian in him. His eyes are green and are set so wide, he has the face and coloring of a lion.

When Cleo passed, I got Claws. My aunt gave him to me on Christmas day. Being a farm cat, I thought Claus was a bit much. So, I decided on Claws. He's a black cat with a little white on his belly. It is a bit strange, because he has some of the same traits Cleo had. One of the most obvious is he is first to the dinner plate and last to leave.

When I lost Jones, I was given Cosmo. He is a pure apricot point Siamese with blue eyes. He is pure white, other than the apricot markings on his head and tail. It is striking how much he resembles Jones in how he looks and acts. I think Jones must have been a closet Siamese.

When it came time to put Ozone to sleep, it was a sad day. I came home from work and found him on the bathroom floor. I assume he had a stroke. He couldn't move. I went with only 3 cats for a couple years. It didn't feel right getting another cat after that.

But, several months ago, I found a stray. It was cold and rainy out, and he was hungry. And, his claws had been clipped. Someone didn't want him and just tossed him out into the cold. He couldn't even catch a mouse with no claws. He is a beautiful cat, with tiger markings of charcoal and carmel, with cream and white colors on his belly.

Grateful for a warm home and food is an understatement. He is very lovable and his favorite spot is on my lap, no matter what I may be doing. LC then had to be his name. Lap Cat.

I haven't the room to tell the stories I could. I would surely bore everyone silly. But, I want you to know I wouldn't give up a single second or feeling I have had with my cats, or from any of my dogs, either. Yes, I had just as many dogs, before I started with cats. I will spare you their names and stories, in this lengthy tale (tail?).

It has been said when we die, all of our pets will be waiting for us, along with all of our loved ones who have passed. I hope this is true. My relatives will have a problem getting to me, because of all the cats and dogs in the way.

Tony, I know you know how I feel. Cat owners know.

 

[Just-Legal]

*hugs*

 

[GreenEyedGodess]

Wow, that was a very sweet and moving epitaph. She's probably watching you from cat heaven now, and purring.

 

[MathGirl]

Felis domesticus

Cats. Graceful sociopaths. I couldn't possibly live without one.
MG

 

[Octavian]

dogs, too.

We lost our dog, Chloe, last July. She was 14 years old, a good age for a dog, and we’d had her since she was a six weeks old puppy. She was a crossbreed, a mixture of Sheltie, Springer Spaniel and possibly King Charles. She might have been a scruffy mongrel but she had a pretty face and you could not have wished for a better dog. She was as devoted to the family as we were to her. She was such fun too. I knew she could not go on forever but it was still a terrible wrench when she died.

The point to remember is that there is a price to pay for everything. The price you pay for the years of pleasure you derive from your pet is the void in your life when they die.

But you have to put things in perspective. The reason I say this is because the weekend after we lost our dog, two eleven years old girls went missing. They had gone out to play together on a summer day and they were abducted and murdered. Somehow, the loss of our dog didn’t seem so significant after such a tragedy.

We now have another puppy, Tula. I hadn’t wanted another one, I thought that somehow I was being disloyal, but my wife persuaded me, telling me that if we had not had so much pleasure from Chloe we wouldn’t even consider having another dog. I am glad she did. Tula is everything you expect from a puppy, being mischievous, inquisitive and playful. And once again when I return home there is a dog waiting to greet me.

Octavian

 

[wildsweetone]

i just want to cry and cry and cry when reading this thread. the first cat that i've allowed myself to love (since i was a child) has disappeared. he's been gone for eight weeks today. i wish i knew where he was. not knowing is a killer. and the darn pantry still has tins of catfood and cat bright coloured cat bowls in it.