First, the "hello."
We have a new kitty, and his name is Caesar. He's another kitty from the Stratford Cat Project. We got him in December, just a few days before Christmas, and he was about seven months old at the time. As you can see, he's a cute Tuxedo kitty. He seems small; however, I admit most of my cats are quite large. Not necessarily fat, just big.
What can I say about Caesar? He's a little quirky. He likes to chirp. He's been known to watch TV. He gets startled easily. Although he knows us and has been here for six months, he tends to run when he thinks we're walking too close to him. He'll be eating dry food and if we walk into the kitchen, he takes off, usually dropping dry food on his way out. Maybe he's afraid of feet? He likes the bathroom sink for some reason. At first he liked playing with the running water, but now he seems to like stretching in the sink. Kitty yoga fan maybe? Kind of weird, but that's what he likes. When I feed the cats, I line up the dishes on the entertainment center (they get fed in the family room because I have 12 cats and the kitchen is too small--OLD house). As I open the cans and put the food in the dishes, he stands partly on the cat tree and partly on the entertainment center and licks the empty cans. Sometimes he gets up on the entertainment center and sneaks around the back so he can start eating from the dishes. He can't seem to wait long enough for me to put the dishes on the floor.
And now for the "goodbyes."
I always hate having to write these posts, since I usually cry the whole time. In both cases, these were kitties that we wanted to "save."
Tigger
Our first goodbye was Tigger. Tigger showed up on our doorstep somewhere around April 15, which was about a month after my second back surgery. At that point I was up very early everyday, usually around 4 am or earlier--it was definitely still dark outside. Well, he showed up one morning, crying for food and acting as though he lived here. Me being the soft heart I am when it comes to cats, I decided to feed him. He scarfed the food down like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He was so skinny and was dirty, too. He looked as though he'd been outside for awhile. He was very friendly, though. He purred like crazy and wanted so much attention. Once he has his fill, he left. He then showed up the next day for the same routine. He didn't come back again until around May 15 and it was the same routine. This time he was skinnier, if that was even possible, and had obvious mouth pain. Bob and I both said we should put him in the spare bedroom and then bring him to the vet the next day.
We took him to the vet and he was there for more than a week. They calculated his age to be 12-15 years old. It turns out he had many health issues: double ear infection; hyperthyroidism, which is why he was so skinny; kidney disease; and congestion that wasn't improving. The mouth issue was thought to be either an abscess or possibly a tumor. In order to inspect it, they would need to put him under anesthesia; however, because of the other health issues he was too weak to do that. Another option was a needle biopsy, but no matter what it turned out to be, it was in a hard-to-access area, which meant he would go through a lot of physical trauma in order to fix it. I didn't want to put a senior, very sick kitty through that when it was likely he might not even survive surgery. And if it turned out to be a tumor, we would lose him anyway.
We made the decision to put him down. Thankfully we were allowed to be there for it. We both cried a lot. I cried probably more than if he'd been my cat his whole life, probably because I was convinced I could save him, and he came at a time when I needed something to focus on while recovering from surgery during a pandemic. And I think what made it worse was that he clearly recognized us when we walked into the back office where they had him in isolation. He perked right up and started prancing around. We spent some time with him and then we helped him over the Rainbow Bridge.
We have his ashes and will bury him in our garden. I think he came to us because he knew he would get the help he needed, even though it came in the form of euthanasia. He needed his suffering to end, one way or another. By coming to us, he didn't die suffering and alone.
Tessa
Last year Tessa came to us with her brother, Toby, from the Stratford Cat Project. They had been adopted out of the Project as kittens; however, they were returned last year in a semi-feral state: very aggressive, fearful, and unsocialized. Given their state, they weren't adoptable again. The choice was to euthanize them or to make them "barn cats." Me being me, I volunteered us to be their caregivers--we do have a barn, after all!
We were lent a couple large dog cages and we set them up in the barn with their cat carriers, food, water, litter and blankets. We covered them with moving blankets to keep in some warmth (it was starting to get chilly at night) and also to make them feel more secure. We spent the next several weeks feeding them and cleaning their litter. Very, very carefully, I might add. Any time we got our hands too close, we got a hiss and a growl, and usually a swipe of the paws. I began using a stick to pull the empty food and water bowls out of the cage, as well as pulling out the litter box. After a few weeks we let them out of the cages. We put out food and water in the barn, and Bob built some cat shelters so they'd have someplace warm to sleep. Eventually we moved the food dishes to the patio.
We saw Toby only twice after we let them out of the cages; however, Tessa came around to eat everyday. We often saw her sleeping in the barn window or hanging out under the bushes. She seemed content. We were never able to approach her; however, we eventually were able to get within about eight feet of her before she would retreat.
A couple weeks ago someone knocked on my door. He told me a cat had been hit by a car. He described it and asked if it belonged to me. Based on the description, I was nearly 100% sure it was Tessa. It was. When I went outside she was across the street on the side of the road, still alive and clearly in a lot of pain. She was panting from the pain and was bleeding from the mouth. The man's friend was there, as was another friend of theirs. They had wrapped her in a blanket. I ran in to call the vet; however, the doctor wasn't in yet so I had to take her to the emergency hospital. The man who wrapped her in the blanket helped me get her into a carrier and then into the car. She was scared and in pain, so she would occasionally hiss and try to bite us.
Within minutes of arriving at the emergency vet, they called me to tell me euthanasia was the best option, as she had numerous fractures that would require extensive and multiple surgeries. In addition, she was having difficulty breathing. I gave the OK to put her down. Although I wanted to be there with her for it, the doctor said I wasn't allowed in the ICU and if I wanted to be there, they would need to remove her from the oxygen in order to bring her into an exam room. I didn't want her to suffer anymore, so I waited in the exam room while they euthanized her. They then brought her in when they were done so I could say goodbye. I decided to have her cremated and her ashes will be buried in the garden, too.
The man who knocked on my door that morning came back later in the day to check in and see how Tessa was. I was so touched by that, as not many people would do that these days, nor would they have even stopped to look for the owner of a cat that was hit by a car. And it wasn't just one person--it was THREE. And it turns out they live in my neighborhood, too.
Although I'm glad Tessa was cared for the last year of her life and we were the ones to do it, I really struggle with the fact that she was hit by a car and we had her for less than a year; I no longer let my own cats out because it happened to one of my previous cats many years ago. On the other hand, she wasn't adoptable anymore and she spent the last year enjoying the sun, being fed everyday, and chasing chipmunks.
