The best laid plans of cats and friends
A little over a year ago, I took a little cat named Galaxy Cry to the vet. She'd been left at our house and was clearly ailing, and it turned out she had a piece of cheat grass caught in her throat. She got better rapidly after that. She was a sweet, if shy, little brown tiger cat. So when we moved to the townhouse we're currently in, Galaxy - whom I called Babby Cry, or Babby - went to live with my brother.
He had to put her to sleep today.
She was only four years old.
Babs (Todd's name for her, other than "LBK," or Little Brown Kitty) was very close to my brother. She clearly selected him as her person, from the moment she went to live with him. She slept on his chest, followed him everywhere, ate from his hand, and would lick or pat his chin to wake him up for pets. She really loved Todd and he really loved her. When it seemed like she was losing weight, he immediately took her to the vet and had some of her teeth pulled. That seemed to help her; she started eating again. She gained back some weight and was apparently improving.
Then she began losing weight again, so rapidly that my brother got scared and returned to the vet. They found a huge tumor in Babby's stomach. She was 3.7 pounds and unable to stand; my brother was feeding her baby food in a syringe to try to get sustenance in her.
With her being so sick, there was nothing they could do. Todd made the same call I had to make on July 21 - to say goodbye to a dearly beloved friend. I had to say goodbye to Orange too soon and I know it tore him up to do the same for Babby. But I know in my heart that Orange was and is my baby. He had a good life with me; he was happy with me. And Babby was happy with Todd, her person, even if she didn't have long with him.
I'm torn up not just by feelings of guilt and depression for Babby, for my brother's loss, and the loss of a young cat that I also loved and cared for, but also by memories of Orange... How powerless I felt, losing him, but also knowing I would have given him IV medicine every day for ten more years if I thought it could save him. I miss my cat every day. It's why I have him tattoed on my shoulder. But it doesn't dull the pain, and it doesn't dull the memories, either. You just have to keep going. So I hope Todd can find the equilibrium - the fine line between heartache and happiness at the good memories - that I found with Orange.
In the meantime, another sweet and wonderful cat has gone to heaven.
He had to put her to sleep today.
She was only four years old.
Babs (Todd's name for her, other than "LBK," or Little Brown Kitty) was very close to my brother. She clearly selected him as her person, from the moment she went to live with him. She slept on his chest, followed him everywhere, ate from his hand, and would lick or pat his chin to wake him up for pets. She really loved Todd and he really loved her. When it seemed like she was losing weight, he immediately took her to the vet and had some of her teeth pulled. That seemed to help her; she started eating again. She gained back some weight and was apparently improving.
Then she began losing weight again, so rapidly that my brother got scared and returned to the vet. They found a huge tumor in Babby's stomach. She was 3.7 pounds and unable to stand; my brother was feeding her baby food in a syringe to try to get sustenance in her.
With her being so sick, there was nothing they could do. Todd made the same call I had to make on July 21 - to say goodbye to a dearly beloved friend. I had to say goodbye to Orange too soon and I know it tore him up to do the same for Babby. But I know in my heart that Orange was and is my baby. He had a good life with me; he was happy with me. And Babby was happy with Todd, her person, even if she didn't have long with him.
I'm torn up not just by feelings of guilt and depression for Babby, for my brother's loss, and the loss of a young cat that I also loved and cared for, but also by memories of Orange... How powerless I felt, losing him, but also knowing I would have given him IV medicine every day for ten more years if I thought it could save him. I miss my cat every day. It's why I have him tattoed on my shoulder. But it doesn't dull the pain, and it doesn't dull the memories, either. You just have to keep going. So I hope Todd can find the equilibrium - the fine line between heartache and happiness at the good memories - that I found with Orange.
In the meantime, another sweet and wonderful cat has gone to heaven.