Obituary
Gilgamesh was born about three years ago, in the Spring. He was one of four in a litter; one sibling dying soon after birth. Nefertiti, his mother, belonged to the woman across the street. She couldn't take care of her own children, much less a cat and her three surviving kittens. Nef moved the three kittens over to our house one by one, at last bringing the deceased kitten to lay at the feet of my father. She trusted him, and she trusted us to take care of her babies.
The three were nicknamed the Minions. We never planned on keeping them, but fell in love none-the-less. There were two Blue Russians (one fearless and coy, the other afraid of his own shadow) and a stripped grey, black and white one (curious and stubborn). We advertised on livejournal, offered to friends, and did everything to find a home for the three. The fraidy-cat Blue Russian was taken by two kind ladies to be a companion to another cat - I was surprised they took him, as he cried the entire time he was held. The last two however, we could find no homes for, so my mother promised them to a farm. My sister and I BEGGED her not to send them to the farm - kittens before that had been dropped off on our doorstep that had gone to farming neighbors had been eaten by coyotes, and the thought of our Minions being eaten alive terrified us. We begged to keep them longer, to try harder to find homes for them.
They of course, found homes with us.
The striped kitten got stuck with the name Minion. And Gilgi - well, he was named after a long standing joke between Ben and I that Ben wanted his first born son named Gilgamesh, which I abhorred. I told him we'd try the name out on the cat first. Both were taken underwing by our orange striped tabby, Squirt. He came to us as a kitten, himself from an abusive neighbor. Gilgamesh and he became fast friends, but Minion and Gilgi were true brothers. One day I came home to hear a subdued "splashing" noise; I followed it to the bathroom to find a smiling Minion sitting atop a toliet lid - with his brother, Gilgi, in the toliet. I suppose it was revenge for the time I found a baby Minion hanging himself from some table strings, while Gilgi watched on not two inches away with intense interest. The only thing that alerted me something was wrong was that I kept hearing "pennies" rattling in a Folgers can - the one Minion was desparately clinging to underfoot to keep from choking himself. They also loved trapping each other in paper bags - one would crawl in, and the other would POUNCH! on the other end to entrap the brother inside! This would go on for hoooours, taking turns luring each the other into crinklily, runined, scratched paper sacks.
Both kittens had sweet personalities: Minion loved kisses, Gilgi avoided them, but loved hugs. Both loved climbing, exploring, and fetching mousies. It was always a treat watching them and Squirt chases faux mice all over the house. If Minion caught it, he would retrieve it to lay at your feet. Gilgi successfully "fetched" maybe 5 out of 10 times, although he was the faster runner and would often beat out the other two. Squirt never seemed interested in really beating out the other two or retrieving it - he was in it for the thrill of the hunt itself. Gilgi and Squirt would compete for my lap - both were MY kitties, or rather I was THEIRS. Sometimes jealous little hisses would ensue, but they were always followed by loving "make up" cuddles. Squirt really treated Gilgamesh as he would a litter mate.
When I moved to Kansas City, I was terribly homesick. I'd left Gilgi and Squirt behind in Lawrence so they wouldn't be traumatized by being moved twice, as we were only staying in Ben's apartment for a few weeks before moving upstairs to our new single. Those weeks were lonely, and I was overjoyed to finally bring them to the new apartment. This was just a two weeks ago. The first four days, Squirt hid in the closet, but after a day and a half, Gilgamesh was out and bounding about, chasing his mousies, climbing the counters, peeking into the fridge, stealing bits of food, waking me up demanding food.... In short, being a lovely, wonderful, menace. Even though he was excited about exploring, he would always return to the closet to comfort Squirt.
I didn't mind anything he did, because I was happy he was exploring and I was happy he was with me. I was happy he was Gilgamesh. In such a short time, he decided that Ben was his new best friend, and would crawl into his lap while Ben was surfing the net. He'd cuddle into the blankets with us to keep warm. The only thing that concerned us was that he liked to get into the water heater cabinet. We tried tying the door handles shut so he couldn't get it, but he'd push until he'd get in, and then couldn't get out. We finally left the doors open so he woudn't get caught inside, at least until we got some baby latches.
Last night, we came home and heard a wailing. I thought it was a kid outside at first, but then we realized it was coming from the heater cabinet. We opened the doors, but he wasn't sitting inside. We looked behind the fridge on the other side of the wall, but he wasn't there either. Finally we realized that he was BEHIND the water heater - a ROUND water heater in a square cabinet. He was stuck in the corner. Somehow he'd fallen head first into the hole. There wasn't hardly any room above the cabinet to put an arm through, much less a cat fall in. We never thought about it.
We tried grabbing his feet and pulling when he kicked up, but we couldn't get a grip and he was stuck in tight. We thought as much as he was kicking, he might get himself turned around. We kept trying to grab him, but we didn't have enough room (I have bruises and scratches on my back, shoulders and arms from trying to squeeze in the space). I tried taking the top part of the cabinet off, but it was stuck tight. I called our office and made the messenger person call the office ladies. It took forever for them to call back, even though I'd stressed it was an emergency. I asked if somehow we could get a maintenance person over to remove the heater or shut it off. I guess the heater couldn't be moved, and they didn't want to send someone over because my cat might bite him. They emphasized that any damage we did, we'd have to pay for, including taking a piece of a wall out.
Finally, we took the wall out our selves. Gilgi had stopped yeowling, but we thought we could hear him scratching. We were trying to be careful about getting through the wall, but were afraid of hitting wires, afraid of doing a lot of damage.
ben and I finally broke through the wall, and realized Gilgi wasn't protesting us making so much noise. He didn't move when I poked him. I finally got him out, and his eyes and mouth were wide open, his eyes flat and dialated. He wasn't breathing. Ben looked up a nearby vet, and I did mouth to mouth and CPR. I didn't know how to do CPR on a cat, but Ben looked it up and we tried. I got air into him, his airway was unobstructed, but no heart break. Ben drove us to the vet while I tried to make Gilgi breath.
The vet was kind. He said that there was no blood or internal damage. He'd just gotten himself into a position where he couldn't breath. He suffocated. He'd been upside down, lodged between the wall and heater, chin to chest when I found him. The vet had put him on oxygen to artifically make him breath, but he couldn't get Gilgi's heart to go again. We were too late. The vet offered to put him in the freezer for us, so we could take him home to Lawrence the next day.
We hadn't thought he'd suffocate. I had been worried he'd overheat. He had air, and we thought we could hear him scratching. I'd smelled urine, but thought he just wet himself out of fright. Now I think that was when he passed away. If we'd been able to get him then, we might have been able to save him. But we were terrified of hitting wires, scared of screwing up the wall.... We never doubted we'd get him out. I thought, "Well, this'll be a stupid story to tell my co-workers tomorrow. Gilgi got himself stuck and we had to knock out a wall. The cat was scared but unharmed. Ha ha."
Now I keep looking for him in the apartment. Its too quiet without him. He was usually the ruckus maker. He saved me from being late to work the other day by slapping me to wake up and feed him. The silence is deafening. Squirt has been looking for him all day, calling for him; I have to keep myself from calling for him. Ben and I both feel terribly guilty. We know its not quite our faults, but its the 'what ifs' that kill you. If we hadn't mistaken the heater sound for Gilgi's scratching, if Gilgi hadn't turned himself the wrong way, if we'd been able to get the cabinet apart so we could reach him, if we'd gotten through the wall faster... I can't stand to look at the cabinet or fridge. I piled up the moving boxes in front of it so I wouldn't have to see it, and Ben went out that night to get child locks for its doors. Its hard having Squirt sit on my lap, because I know there's no Gilgi to try to wrestle his way on my lap too. I miss him so much. My heart is broken. I keep seeing it over and over again and everytime I do it takes another piece of me. If I could cut off my left arm to buy 15 years of his time back, I would. It wasn't RIGHT. It wasn't his time. He had at least 7 lives left.
To make things worst, we tried to pick up his body today, but we didn't know the vet closed at 5pm on Fridays - it'd been open at 7pm last night. I'm calling in sick tomorrow to take him home.
He was so special. So rambuncious. So stubborn. So noisy and cuddling and loveable. So sleek and grey and soft. He had the softest fur I'd ever felt. And a beautiful face. He was my ideal of the perfect cat body. I thought he was so beautiful.
What was strange - Squirt played fetch for the first time last night. I played with him to keep from crying, and he actually brought back the mousies I threw for him. He'd never done that before. Ever.
The three were nicknamed the Minions. We never planned on keeping them, but fell in love none-the-less. There were two Blue Russians (one fearless and coy, the other afraid of his own shadow) and a stripped grey, black and white one (curious and stubborn). We advertised on livejournal, offered to friends, and did everything to find a home for the three. The fraidy-cat Blue Russian was taken by two kind ladies to be a companion to another cat - I was surprised they took him, as he cried the entire time he was held. The last two however, we could find no homes for, so my mother promised them to a farm. My sister and I BEGGED her not to send them to the farm - kittens before that had been dropped off on our doorstep that had gone to farming neighbors had been eaten by coyotes, and the thought of our Minions being eaten alive terrified us. We begged to keep them longer, to try harder to find homes for them.
They of course, found homes with us.
The striped kitten got stuck with the name Minion. And Gilgi - well, he was named after a long standing joke between Ben and I that Ben wanted his first born son named Gilgamesh, which I abhorred. I told him we'd try the name out on the cat first. Both were taken underwing by our orange striped tabby, Squirt. He came to us as a kitten, himself from an abusive neighbor. Gilgamesh and he became fast friends, but Minion and Gilgi were true brothers. One day I came home to hear a subdued "splashing" noise; I followed it to the bathroom to find a smiling Minion sitting atop a toliet lid - with his brother, Gilgi, in the toliet. I suppose it was revenge for the time I found a baby Minion hanging himself from some table strings, while Gilgi watched on not two inches away with intense interest. The only thing that alerted me something was wrong was that I kept hearing "pennies" rattling in a Folgers can - the one Minion was desparately clinging to underfoot to keep from choking himself. They also loved trapping each other in paper bags - one would crawl in, and the other would POUNCH! on the other end to entrap the brother inside! This would go on for hoooours, taking turns luring each the other into crinklily, runined, scratched paper sacks.
Both kittens had sweet personalities: Minion loved kisses, Gilgi avoided them, but loved hugs. Both loved climbing, exploring, and fetching mousies. It was always a treat watching them and Squirt chases faux mice all over the house. If Minion caught it, he would retrieve it to lay at your feet. Gilgi successfully "fetched" maybe 5 out of 10 times, although he was the faster runner and would often beat out the other two. Squirt never seemed interested in really beating out the other two or retrieving it - he was in it for the thrill of the hunt itself. Gilgi and Squirt would compete for my lap - both were MY kitties, or rather I was THEIRS. Sometimes jealous little hisses would ensue, but they were always followed by loving "make up" cuddles. Squirt really treated Gilgamesh as he would a litter mate.
When I moved to Kansas City, I was terribly homesick. I'd left Gilgi and Squirt behind in Lawrence so they wouldn't be traumatized by being moved twice, as we were only staying in Ben's apartment for a few weeks before moving upstairs to our new single. Those weeks were lonely, and I was overjoyed to finally bring them to the new apartment. This was just a two weeks ago. The first four days, Squirt hid in the closet, but after a day and a half, Gilgamesh was out and bounding about, chasing his mousies, climbing the counters, peeking into the fridge, stealing bits of food, waking me up demanding food.... In short, being a lovely, wonderful, menace. Even though he was excited about exploring, he would always return to the closet to comfort Squirt.
I didn't mind anything he did, because I was happy he was exploring and I was happy he was with me. I was happy he was Gilgamesh. In such a short time, he decided that Ben was his new best friend, and would crawl into his lap while Ben was surfing the net. He'd cuddle into the blankets with us to keep warm. The only thing that concerned us was that he liked to get into the water heater cabinet. We tried tying the door handles shut so he couldn't get it, but he'd push until he'd get in, and then couldn't get out. We finally left the doors open so he woudn't get caught inside, at least until we got some baby latches.
Last night, we came home and heard a wailing. I thought it was a kid outside at first, but then we realized it was coming from the heater cabinet. We opened the doors, but he wasn't sitting inside. We looked behind the fridge on the other side of the wall, but he wasn't there either. Finally we realized that he was BEHIND the water heater - a ROUND water heater in a square cabinet. He was stuck in the corner. Somehow he'd fallen head first into the hole. There wasn't hardly any room above the cabinet to put an arm through, much less a cat fall in. We never thought about it.
We tried grabbing his feet and pulling when he kicked up, but we couldn't get a grip and he was stuck in tight. We thought as much as he was kicking, he might get himself turned around. We kept trying to grab him, but we didn't have enough room (I have bruises and scratches on my back, shoulders and arms from trying to squeeze in the space). I tried taking the top part of the cabinet off, but it was stuck tight. I called our office and made the messenger person call the office ladies. It took forever for them to call back, even though I'd stressed it was an emergency. I asked if somehow we could get a maintenance person over to remove the heater or shut it off. I guess the heater couldn't be moved, and they didn't want to send someone over because my cat might bite him. They emphasized that any damage we did, we'd have to pay for, including taking a piece of a wall out.
Finally, we took the wall out our selves. Gilgi had stopped yeowling, but we thought we could hear him scratching. We were trying to be careful about getting through the wall, but were afraid of hitting wires, afraid of doing a lot of damage.
ben and I finally broke through the wall, and realized Gilgi wasn't protesting us making so much noise. He didn't move when I poked him. I finally got him out, and his eyes and mouth were wide open, his eyes flat and dialated. He wasn't breathing. Ben looked up a nearby vet, and I did mouth to mouth and CPR. I didn't know how to do CPR on a cat, but Ben looked it up and we tried. I got air into him, his airway was unobstructed, but no heart break. Ben drove us to the vet while I tried to make Gilgi breath.
The vet was kind. He said that there was no blood or internal damage. He'd just gotten himself into a position where he couldn't breath. He suffocated. He'd been upside down, lodged between the wall and heater, chin to chest when I found him. The vet had put him on oxygen to artifically make him breath, but he couldn't get Gilgi's heart to go again. We were too late. The vet offered to put him in the freezer for us, so we could take him home to Lawrence the next day.
We hadn't thought he'd suffocate. I had been worried he'd overheat. He had air, and we thought we could hear him scratching. I'd smelled urine, but thought he just wet himself out of fright. Now I think that was when he passed away. If we'd been able to get him then, we might have been able to save him. But we were terrified of hitting wires, scared of screwing up the wall.... We never doubted we'd get him out. I thought, "Well, this'll be a stupid story to tell my co-workers tomorrow. Gilgi got himself stuck and we had to knock out a wall. The cat was scared but unharmed. Ha ha."
Now I keep looking for him in the apartment. Its too quiet without him. He was usually the ruckus maker. He saved me from being late to work the other day by slapping me to wake up and feed him. The silence is deafening. Squirt has been looking for him all day, calling for him; I have to keep myself from calling for him. Ben and I both feel terribly guilty. We know its not quite our faults, but its the 'what ifs' that kill you. If we hadn't mistaken the heater sound for Gilgi's scratching, if Gilgi hadn't turned himself the wrong way, if we'd been able to get the cabinet apart so we could reach him, if we'd gotten through the wall faster... I can't stand to look at the cabinet or fridge. I piled up the moving boxes in front of it so I wouldn't have to see it, and Ben went out that night to get child locks for its doors. Its hard having Squirt sit on my lap, because I know there's no Gilgi to try to wrestle his way on my lap too. I miss him so much. My heart is broken. I keep seeing it over and over again and everytime I do it takes another piece of me. If I could cut off my left arm to buy 15 years of his time back, I would. It wasn't RIGHT. It wasn't his time. He had at least 7 lives left.
To make things worst, we tried to pick up his body today, but we didn't know the vet closed at 5pm on Fridays - it'd been open at 7pm last night. I'm calling in sick tomorrow to take him home.
He was so special. So rambuncious. So stubborn. So noisy and cuddling and loveable. So sleek and grey and soft. He had the softest fur I'd ever felt. And a beautiful face. He was my ideal of the perfect cat body. I thought he was so beautiful.
What was strange - Squirt played fetch for the first time last night. I played with him to keep from crying, and he actually brought back the mousies I threw for him. He'd never done that before. Ever.