Ode To Kitty, Family Cat And Friend.

Edition # 81 - Saturday, May 13, 2006

At 2:30pm EST, Tuesday, May 2, 2006, the heart of a friend stopped beating. It was "Kitty," our family cat and a dear companion.

After 11 years of faithful service, she was laid to rest with her gravesite facing a wide open field full of mice, birds and other small, crunchy edibles. Her life and her suffering had come to an end.

Uh Oh

Months ago, our Kitty began losing weight. It turned out that she had developed cancer inside her mouth. It went undetected until I noticed that she was having trouble drinking one day. And by then it was too late.

The veterinarian said that surgery wasn't an option because of her weight, age and the location of the tumor. Kitty wouldn't survive the treatment just as humans often don't. He said that if it spreads, she should be euthanized to prevent her from suffering.

Watching Kitty continue with her daily routine, I was hopeful that she might live. She was sleeping as usual, going outside, pooping in the flower beds and always purring. But she was also in obvious discomfort. She kept opening her mouth like she had a fishbone caught in her cheek. Her eyes were also seeping and her ears were wet inside. We fed her whatever she wanted but it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to eat solid food. Her weight kept dropping and she was looking frail and anorexic.

It was painful to watch her suffer. Every day I was reminded that she was slowly starving to death and there was nothing we could do. Yet she still loved to be petted and have her ears "tweaked," as I call it. How she loved to purr. For Kitty, life was all about purring, and she purred till the end.

In the last week she drank only home made chicken soup and milky porridge with vitamins and minerals in it. But she ate less and less each day until it became obvious that our desperate measures weren't going to keep her fed, comfortable, or alive. It was a miserable defeat having to admit that our loving attention was failing her.

Putting her "to sleep" was a difficult decision. On the one hand we saw this beautiful cat - a loyal old friend of ours - who's purring and cuddling behaviour had us thinking she was feeling fine. But then, when she tried to eat, rather than go through the pain of food passing over her tender mouth, she would walk away, choosing to slowly starve herself to death instead. And we were helpless to watch.

A Tale Of Two Kitties

I knew Kitty's time was coming when she started visiting us in the kitchen during her last two weeks of life. It was an area of the house she'd avoided since "Lucky" came into our lives, and hers.

We found "Lucky" as a stray kitten in January, 2005. Abandoned in mid-winter, she'd found temporary shelter under a blue plastic tarp and from here announced her status as cute, single, hungry, and in need of a loving home. It was getting dark and the temperature was below minus ten degrees celsius. I feared that she would freeze to death, so I called all the obvious animal control people and nearby shelters but no one wanted to take responsibility for the rescue, so we did by adopting her.

Lucky spent the first few weeks quarantined in our basement to ensure that she didn't have anything contageous. We also treated her for an ear infection, which is why I still call her "Stinky Head" to this day. Once free to roam the house, she stayed hidden in the basement until eventually she summoned the courage to come upstairs for a visit. Within three days, our first Kitty was at the vet for a stress-related respiratory ailment.

In hindsight, it's ironic that we found Kitty under nearly identical circumstances about 11 years ago. Kitty was also a kitten then, but in far less desperate need of our help. I met her in the backyard when the snow was still high. I used to take my chair out and face the winter sun and she would come around each day to be petted, and fed. Eventually she jumped on my lap and we became friends. Slowly, over time, she worked her way into our house, and then into our hearts. After a month of calling her "Kitty" we decided not to rename her. And so Kitty she stayed. Hard of hearing, she wouldn't have known the difference anyway.

Kitty acted like royalty from the start, and we treated her as such. She would wait by her food dish for someone to stir her food before she ate it. She was a cat's cat, finicky and clean and full of attitude. We were her pets as much as she was ours. And how we loved her. She was friendly and cuddly, everything you want in a person without the noise and extra laundry.

When Lucky moved into the house, Kitty's behaviour changed immediately. She used to hang out in my room all day, sleeping and playing with me. When I took Lucky into my heart, Kitty stopped coming around. There was no reason, since Lucky posed no threat. Kitty was just being a jealous snob. She loved people, but she hated other cats. She would hiss and claw at Lucky whenever they passed in the hall. But Lucky grew quickly and then the tables were turned. Bullying didn't work anymore, so Kitty withdrew.

I read that cats usually "adjust" to one another within six months. This happened, but Kitty had a hard time doing so. Eventually she allowed Lucky to walk near her, but there was no contact other than hissing if Lucky came too close or became playful. I never heard them purring in each other's company. It's a shame because they could teamed up and taken over the entire household.

Since Lucky's arrival, Kitty began having some health issues. It was never anything serious, but something was always showing up: respiratory problem, weight gain, tape worm, etc. I attribute this to stress. Although the two cats could sleep on the same couch together and even eat side by side, the energy dynamic between them was never positive.

Kitty didn't want to share her humans with another cat. Perhaps if she'd been more "giving" she may have avoided her early demise. That's my theory, anyway, based upon the changes I saw in her. People do this too, often in grief. Sometimes if a partner or child dies, a family member may become ill and die within a short time afterward. It's almost as if it had been planned. This happened to Rush drummer, Neil Peart's wife and also Christopher Reeve's wife Dana, both of whom died of lung cancer after a devastating loss. We all need a reason to live, and sometimes we can't think of one. Or we focus so much on our pain that it consumes us. I think this also happened to our Kitty. As loved as she was, she may have been grieving.

The Long Walk Home

I've learned that before people die their behaviour often changes. Even those who suffer from accidental deaths and can't predict what's coming will often still act out of character, contacting a long lost friend perhaps. They may try to correct old mistakes or mend broken ties with family and friends. This is one of the reasons why euthanizing people or assisting their suicide may not be helpful since it can interfere with this spiritual cleansing process. As such, most of us will end life on a positive note, reaching out in love and kindness in a way that we may not have felt comfortable doing while immersed in the storm of a hurried, fear-driven life. All in all, it's a pretty common way to make an exit. And oddly enough, Kitty began behaving differently as well.

In the last two weeks of her life she sat in our kitchen as she used to before Lucky arrived. Now, for reasons only known to her, she didn't care if Lucky was around or not. She was going to do as she pleased, without fear. After all, her time was running out.

She knew she was dying and wanted to get her last "good-byes" in. This wouldn't have been possible without changing her attitude. Perhaps if she'd simply done this from the start, she may have avoided the emotional suffering she had to endure, worrying about a threat that didn't exist. After all, there was enough love in the house for both cats. Perhaps if she'd learned to compromise and not demand to have everything her way, she might still be around. I don't know that for sure, but that's my gut feeling.

The day before we had her put down, I asked her to give me a sign if she wanted us to end her life in peace and dignity. Later that day I found her at the foot of the stairs that lead to my room. I walked upstairs, turned around and told her to come up. And despite her weakness, she walked up those stairs and sat down beside me. This was her sign. She hadn't been near those stairs in over a year because they led to where Lucky was. Now she was voluntarily climbing them to signal her readiness to ascend. And so she did. The next day her heart stopped beating and her suffering ended. It was painful and yet a relief to not have to watch her waste away anymore.

Good Grief!

Grief sucks. The first week I felt a constant dull ache in my gut and a tightness in my throat. I felt grey and listless, and occasionally I cried. Yet even as grief honors the passing of someone dear to us, I cannot believe that our departed loved ones would wish us to suffer for long. That would be cruel and self indulgent of them, wouldn't it? I also know that one day I will see Kitty again. My own experiences allow me the luxury of transcending a mere belief in an afterlife. I know where I'm going but it would be less than Heavenly if I couldn't be reunited with my dear departed cat. Some relatives I can do without, but I definitely want to hear my Kitty purr again.

As a final thought to end this month's newsletter, I want to add this lovely thought that I found at a pet grief website. You can substitute the word "god" for "love" and it still carries the same message.

I asked God to spare me pain. God said "No, suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to me."

So thank you, Kitty my old friend, for all those wonderful years we shared. You have enriched my life with your beautiful cat soul and given me one more precious thing to care about. Until we meet again, enjoy the view, and keep purring. I love you.

Your human pet,
Roland



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