Tag: pets

Shadow the Cat

Shirleyjdietz2 Comments

I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with a more original name for a black cat than Shadow, but as it has turned out, my Shadow is aptly named. She follows me around the house like a dog, choosing her spot near where I am working (and sometimes on what I’m working with). She prefers my lap, but if that’s not available, she will sit on the back of my chair, or watch my computer screen with me as I type. She is extremely relational.

Shadow accompanied me on the difficult journey of watching my husband deteriorate and die. She spent hours sitting on his lap too, waiting for him to pet her or tease her with the little laser flashlight. She noticed when he was gone, for sure. Our whole routine changed in many ways.

I started to travel after my first grandchild was born and spent weeks at a time away from home. Shadow was not used to being with other animals, and didn’t like being in the car, so I felt it was best to have her stay at home. One of my neighbors came in almost daily to check her food and water, and sit with her. She would read a book out loud, which Shadow enjoyed.

There came a time when I knew I would be away more than two weeks, and as it turned out, I was gone for two months. I arranged for a young person to stay in my home to care for Shadow. I expected that she would be there most every evening and whenever she wasn’t working. She liked Shadow, and had once had a cat of her own. I felt good about the arrangement.

The reality was much different. Unforseen circumstances kept my house sitter away. Even though she told me she thought everything was okay, everything was NOT okay. Shadow was without food or water for a time, and was quite stressed when it was discovered.

Upon returning home I found Shadow skinny, her fur completely licked off in many places, scabs and open sores where she had scratched herself raw, and exhibiting a completely changed personality. She sat huddled for days in a box that I set up for her with a heating pad in it. She did not want to be touched and would crouch and cringe to get away from my hand. Shadow had separation anxiety and I didn’t know if she was going to pull out of it or not.

Shadow, pre-separation anxiety and trauma
Shadow, two months into recovery and still looking a bit ragged.

She was obviously miserable, and with so little quality of life, I considered putting her down more than once. But with veterinary help, and time she has improved. I have prayed for wisdom, and for her to be healed (yes, I pray for pets because they have meaning in people’s lives).

It has been a little over two months now, and in the last week I have once again seen Shadow gallop through the house at top speed and slide around a corner. She has regained trust of my hand, and wants petting. She enjoys looking out the window at spring as it evolves.

She went outside one day, where she usually sits in the sun on the patio. I left the door open for her since the blackbirds sometimes chase her and give her a scare. While I was not paying attention, she brought in a bird, which I did not notice until it started flying around the dining room. It hit the window, trying to get out, and Shadow and I both scrambled to get it first. I won and released the poor bird outside. It’s not that I like her playing with birds and torturing them, but it made me aware of how much she had recovered. I felt happy that she was a cat again, doing what cats do. The constant scratching and licking has stopped. Her fur is slowly growing back.

Going forward, I know she is prone to be stressed out at my absence again. She is a female cat, she is the only pet, she was orphaned early and she has a high degree of attachment to people. I have read about separation anxiety in cats and have a much better understanding of what happened to her. I intend to make better arrangements for her in the future, when I have to be away.

Why does this story matter? Well, I think animals are amazing and are an important part of a perfectly created earth environment. God had good reasons for them being here. I don’t put animals in the same category as humans because God doesn’t. But they are in a special category of their own.

When we take them to ourselves and make them dependent on us as pets, we have opportunities to grow in compassion, in faithfulness, in awareness of “others”, in skill… so many ways. How many of us got a pet before we had children so we could learn to care for a responsive, innocent life? How many of us enjoy companionship of pets when we don’t have children or a spouse? Animals are like us in so many ways that sometimes it is scary. And so many times they are even better than we are. They matter. How we treat them matters.

I am glad Shadow is doing better. She is my cat, and I love her. We’re not giving up yet.

cat selfie

Adventures at Julia’s House: Just One of the Pack

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In case I haven’t mentioned it lately, Julia is an equine veterinarian. But that does not limit her love of animals to horses, not at all. When I list the animals on Julia’s farm, cats and dogs are usually at the end of the list, and that probably does not give a true picture of the magnitude of effect they have on the family. Specifically, the dogs are an inescapable part of life at Julia’s house. I know, having tried to escape them. So, I will introduce them to you to round out the picture of life on the farm.

Tessa is the oldest, the diva of the pack. She came to Julia years ago as a stray, and has been her faithful companion through vet school and at least four different homes. She is getting stiff and sore, and a bit owly at times. I identify most with her.

You’re getting old when your eyebrows turn grey
Diva dog

And then there is Penney, who was added a year before Kevin and Julia married. I think they got talked into keeping Penney without full knowledge of her. Penney is a yellow lab and her outstanding characteristic is that she’ll eat anything. This was discovered early on when she filled her stomach and esophagus with rocks (yes, they were under the grill and they did taste good) and had to have them surgically removed.

Penney
Penney and rocks

Next comes Moses. One of Penney’s redeeming characteristics is that she is a pretty good mother. Moses was the family’s choice from her first litter of puppies. He is a labradoodle. All I know is that there is a lot of hair walking around and he is in there somewhere.

Moses, Penney’s fine son

All three dogs spend a lot of time in the house. Their favorite places are anywhere that food might be dropped – always the kitchen at meal prep time and under the table when the family meals take place. They also like the same relaxing places that people like, namely, the couch. They are big dogs. They have big paws and dangerous tails, well, except for Tessa. She’s never had much of a tail and no one knows where she lost it.

Life with the dogs includes lots of barking, lots of letting them out, letting them in, feeding, watering and petting them. GwennieRu is already finding them fascinating, particularly when they loom over her and lick her face. When they are turned loose from their kennels in the morning, there is a mad scramble up the steps from the basement and out to the kitchen – you don’t want to be in the way.

One day, I came upon Julia and Kevin discussing ways to find money to cover projects on the farm. I shook my head in amazement when I heard them talking about puppy prices, and how they could have six to eight more labradoodle puppies to sell in fairly short order. Talk turned to action and in a few days Penney was taken to visit her “puppy daddy”. Since mating was not an easy event to schedule, the male poodle came home with Julie and Penney. Now there were four dogs dominating the house, and of course, one of them was in heat. Interesting. Fittingly, the poodle’s name is Hanky Panky.

Hanky the poodle

He stayed for a few days, and kept Julia up all night with his lonesome barking and whining. We were glad when he got picked up and taken home. He did his job though. I have pictures but you’re not going to see them.

You might have gotten the idea that I don’t like dogs all that much, but really, I do. I don’t like the dirt they bring in, the hair they drop everywhere, the dog scaze on the windows, and the barking that wakes the baby and anyone else who’s sleeping. But I do like them as individuals, and they must know it. I have been accepted as one of the pack. In fact, I’m often the one they come to for food or water or petting. They are part of the adventurous life at Julia’s house, and in a couple months it’s going to get worse… just sayin’.

Penney “you’re going to drop some of that on the floor, right?”
You might have thought you were going to sit here, tough.
precious (and rare) moments

Why? Just… why?

Shirleyjdietz8 Comments

I am not into “cat think” yet, unlike people in the cat litter marketing video I’ve watched about ten times.

I try. Take today for instance. I imagined I had run around outside chasing things, getting tired, perhaps tasting raw frog or feathers. Then I came inside and took a nap in a really warm room for hours, perhaps a little mouth breathing. I wake up and I imagine I’m getting really thirsty.

Why would I walk past this

And do this instead?

Why? Why?

The Shadow, Renamed…

Shirleyjdietz6 Comments

Most people my age have had numerous pets of their own, and also have had their children’s pets to contend with. In addition to that, I have a soft heart for strays of all kinds and have successfully passed the gene on to my daughters. I have grandpets. I truly know the joys and sorrows of pet ownership. Most people my age could live very well without any more pets, thank you.

But there was this small cat, barely out of its kitten hood, that my brother and his wife found. It was under their car as they were leaving a graduation party this spring, mewing pitifully. It was skinny, wet and cold, probably hungry. And it was black. For some reason, being black is a strike against a cat. They are least likely to get adopted once they are abandoned. My brother tried but could not find the owner and since the cat was overwhelmingly friendly, they took it home.

More than that, they had their vet look the little creature over and give it some drops for its eyes and an appointment to be spayed. It was litter trained already and acted grateful for a warm bed, food and people petting it.

This is where I came in, thinking that the husband might enjoy having a cat to pet and take care of. He’s retired and spending a lot of time at home without much to do. He’s gotten attached to cats in the past. It seemed reasonable. And the first few days, when the cat was tired and half starved, were peaceful days. And then it got frisky.

Now, several months later, I am very much reminded of what cats do. I have wiped up mounds of semi-digested cat food from the carpet. I have awakened in the middle of the night to find the cat sleeping on my chest. I have taken to smelling any pile of laundry left on the floor for the all too familiar odor of cat pee. I frequently walk around the house feeling like the cat is tied to my leg with string, trying not to trip over it. I sneak to doors and try to get through them before the cat hears me. I could go on – you’ve all heard about cats, if not experienced them yourselves.

So Shadow, as my niece named her before I took her, finally got well enough to keep her surgery appointment. We thought she might be in heat because of the way she kept running to open windows and trying to get through the screens. It was hard keeping her inside. I was glad she was getting spayed.

The vet called later that morning. “You have a very lively cat”, he told me. “She’s unusually active (which made me wonder what kind of fun they had anesthetizing her) and it took a little longer than we had anticipated. Oh, and by the way, we couldn’t find any female organs. She must have been spayed already. We looked extensively to make sure so she’s going to be pretty sore for a while.”

She was. There were a few more peaceful days until she had recovered somewhat. I cautiously let her go outside to sit in the sun. That’s what I would have liked to do if I were a cat. I would leave the sliding doors to the patio open just enough for her to squeeze through. She was definitely an indoor/outdoor kind of cat, who loved both worlds. She came running when I called her and loved to nap inside, but was just as eager to get out again.

It wasn’t long after that when I realized what she was doing outside. She was hunting. One morning I found a mostly dead mole, inside the house. I found him by following the trail of blood spatters on the floor and wall. It had to have been a tortuous way to go. This was followed in short order by several frogs who also bled and lost body parts. I got suspicious of her antics any time she seemed to be having fun “playing” with something.

I knew her skill was increasing one day when she brought in a bird. She had it cornered under a bookshelf and I was able to rescue it. It was so tiny and had a numb, dazed look in its eyes. I took it outside, wondering what to do with it, when it flew away!! I had saved it! I wish I could have done the same for the next two she caught. But I had to wonder… how is she catching birds?

We were having dinner on the patio one pleasant evening. The cat was also out and we were watching her tear around the lawn. Without hesitating she aimed at a tree and went up it like a squirrel to a fairly high branch. Hugging the dark branch, with leaves all around her, she was hard to see. I think that’s why the large flock of sparrows flew into the tree all around her and perched – poor unsuspecting things. So now we know she doesn’t wait for them to come down. She goes up and gets them.

This brings me to today. This morning Shadow brought in a small grey mouse and let it get away. She was waiting patiently by the couch where it had fled for shelter, waiting for it to come out and play again. I got down on the floor with the flashlight and witnessed it scurrying back and forth, trying to find a safe escape route. Definite mouse panic. I felt sorry for it, but what could I do? I couldn’t get under the couch either.

I don’t know where the mouse is. I came in the living room this afternoon to find the recliner upside down – the one the husband usually sits in. He’s doesn’t know where the mouse is now either, but he’s pretty sure it was in/under the chair. I think we now have two house pets.

Do I hope the cat will catch the mouse? I can’t quite decide. But I am renaming her. I’m calling her Shadow of Death because it fits her very well. Just sayin’…

I Call It Love

Shirleyjdietz2 Comments

 

They were friends.  She didn’t know why it happened and she hadn’t really asked for it.  They had moved in to the house where her new friend apparently had lived sometime in the past.  Let’s call the new friend… call her Kitty.

She knew Kitty hung around, a lot.  Most of the others ignored her or actually shunned her.  But she hung around outside a lot too and that’s why she and Kitty got used to each other to the point of toleration.  She didn’t look for Kitty, ever, but Kitty evidently kept an eye out for her and came running  whenever she came out the door.  As she walked around the grounds she had a companion at her side.  When she sat on the deck at the top of the stair, Kitty sat with her.

Although they didn’t have a lot in common, except the time they spent together, that was enough.  They became a pair, a pair of friends.

It looked almost like love.

Yeah, love comes in crazy forms.

It was love. She didn’t mind at all.

Tessa with her friend, Kitty

Ode to Zoe

Shirleyjdietz4 Comments

wpid-wp-1443801946646.jpeg

 

Zoe, I always thought your name was a little unusual

but that it was suitable for a cat who was not the usual kind.

I could not determine if you were strange to me because

of your breed or because of your life experience.

Long of leg, large of body, small in head – your were not

the cat we photographed often. Your stare was unsettling.

 

 

I knew you when you belonged to your previous owners,

a beast barely tolerated by some, and you busied yourself

staying out of the way of dogs and scratching leather furniture.

When your claws were removed, and you could not defend yourself

they were afraid to let you outdoors. You were famous for

filling the litter box all too quickly, and making loud noises in the night.

 

 

You came to us when others became allergic. We took you

in for love of them and not out of love for you. I don’t

think you loved us. I knew you when you were overweight,

and your hair came out in great clumps. I knew you when

you chewed yourself bloody where the fleas congregated.

You didn’t look at us very often, you didn’t look happy.

 

 

But for all your mess, things we had to wash up, scrape off

and deodorize, for all the times when you fought the other

cat and left fur all over the room (you both were gray and we

could not tell who had won), we began to love you. You stopped

eating desperately and became slim. Your fur became soft

and easy to pet. And you watched us differently.

 

 

You learned to go through the cat door, to love the outside

and to run to the sound of your automatic feeder. Your favorite

place was on the man where he was soft and warm and you purred.

The man gave you special food and doted on you. You made loud

noises looking for him, often in the night when you were lonely.

I loved that you went outside and no longer used the litter box.

 

 

You no longer needed to look out for the other cat (she died)

and you relaxed and all the space became yours. You only ran from

the vacuum cleaner and small children. You and the man became

very much alike, with your routines and the places you camped

out as you watched television and napped. You were all the animal

we had and I guardedly say that we enjoyed you most of the time.

 

 

Today, you are gone. I am sad, but especially the man is missing you.

Feeling that you may have had a terrible fright at the end and violence.

We would not have chosen that for you but neither would have had you

be ill and lingering and miserable. As I said, you were never impressive

for your looks and not much photographed. But you were loved and

part of our family, even though your stare was still a bit unsettling.

Zoe
Zoe

Making Sense of Life

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Sometimes it is just too hard to figure out what is happening in life.  It is hard to think of something to write, something that is a finished thought, when you get nowhere with thinking.  I have been on a very simple track of just doing what seems necessary and not a lot of questioning for weeks now.  And I still don’t feel anything worthwhile on the verge of appearing.  What I do know is that even in times like this, especially in times like this, a cute dog or cat is still undeniably cute.  That is why dog and cat videos abound in cyberspace.  We run to their cuteness like we run to comfort food.  Even better is having your own cute dog or cat in your house.

I have been thinking a lot about cute dogs since I am with two of them.  They belong to my daughter but they’ll settle for me when she’s not around.  How can a dog appear so content just lying in one place or another, most of the day, waiting for it’s person to move so it can follow? How can that be enough?

WIN_20150705_133559
Appearances deceive… this is not a headless dog.

As I said, any person, even myself, can be adopted by a dog if they can be closely associated with food and petting. I have been here only a week and already this dog knows my patterns of sleeping, waking and taking walks, all of which he accompanies.  His name is Charlie and he “dogs” me all day except when my daughter takes him for a walk without me.  I get to observe a lot of his cuteness.

On a walk. He's trying to read my mind (and I his).
On a walk. He’s trying to read my mind (and I his).

Charlie looked like this when I first came.  He seemed to have a lot of fluffy hair. That changed when I got to take him for a session at the doggie spa.  He had “the works” and although he probably didn’t lose much weight, he looks a lot thinner now.  He was so hyped up when I came to get him, I could hardly make him sit still for a picture.  All the grooming girls said he was very cute – they noticed, and how could they not?

Thinner looking but still cute after his buzz cut.
Thinner looking but still cute after his buzz cut.

Like most dogs,he likes taking walks.  The first one we took together was a little ambitious for us both.  There was a lot of hill climbing and I had to lift him over some fallen trees.  But perhaps it bonded us that I was able to get us back home in one piece. He slept very well that night and so did I.  Over the 4th of July there were fireworks being set off all over the neighborhood.  Dogs, as a rule, do not like these loud noises but Charlie didn’t pay much attention to them.  I think he may have had a little anti-anxiety medicine to help him, still he went to bed and didn’t whine or be restless, and I would have expected some of that. His night cuteness is that he curls up in his bed on the floor and sleeps pretty much until I get up. He’s there a lot during the day too, just being cute.

Busy being cute...
Busy being cute…

And being cute some more....
And being cute some more….

Being cute in t he house,
Being cute in the house,

And being cute outside with the other family dog (he just can't help it)
And being cute outside with the other family dog (he just can’t help it)

I’m just sayin’ that this reliable cuteness seems like a gift from God when the rest of life is not making a lot of sense and is not being very reliable. I’m thankful for Charlie (and for cat videos – I watch them all).

A to Z Family Stories: F for Fred and Friend

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They just showed up one day and started hanging around our back porch for the shelter, I guess.  Fred and Skippy, two dogs probably out having fun, but of course we thought they were homeless, starving, needing love. So we named the big, fuzzy brown one Fred and the short legged black and tan one Skippy, and adopted them as our new farm dogs.  My brothers were always happy to have a dog or two around to play with and this curious looking pair was friendly and seemed to have adopted the boys too.  Then Fred had puppies.

Obviously, the naming came before anyone cared what gender they were, and looking at them it was much easier to imagine the big one being the boy and the little one being the girl. But, no. We don’t talk about Fred very much past this point and I think it’s because he she ran out on us – too much family responsibility I’m guessing.  My brothers decided to raise two of the puppies, again picking noble doggie names for them – Steve and Andy.

Everyone’s memory is kind of fuzzy about what became of Steve and Andy as well.  One of the problems with farm dogs was that they often craved the excitement of chasing cars. That was a problem with this rambunctious pair and likely the cause of their demise. Which brings me back to Skippy, the one we remember most fondly.

It became apparent that Skippy had at one point been someone’s house dog.  He was very comfortable coming in and generally well behaved.  Even mom liked him.  He was always willing to eat leftovers that no one else wanted and that was his main diet.  No one ever thought of buying food specifically for the dog, not on the farm.  There were always other “things” for them to eat.  And here comes the part of the story that we always laugh at when talking about Skippy.

When we milked cows, the milk was poured into a funnel like strainer with a heavy paper filter at the bottom, and into large metal cans.  Washing up the equipment, we always took the filter out and tossed it – into Skippy’s mouth.  He loved the wet, milky circles and pretty much swallowed them whole.  Evidence of this would come in the spring as the snow melted and exposed the little white piles all over the lawn.  They were composed of milk filter material and tin foil, swallowed with his leftovers.

Skippy was an adventurer though.  He considered us his home but the world was his playground and he would be seen at neighboring farms and sometimes out in the woods. He often came back with wounds and bite marks, looking as if he had been fighting with other dogs.  For a small dog, he had an amazing amount of hormonal motivation leading him to wanderlust.  He may have just disappeared, like he came.  No one remembers exactly.  We’ll just say that maybe he and Fred found each other again and lived happily ever after…

Eulogy to Grey Kitty

Shirleyjdietz1 Comment

Things change.  Back from a ten day trip, I spent the morning picking up the water bowl, the food bowl, cleaning out the litter pan, putting the towels and sheet used for bedding in the laundry, uncovering the furniture in her “sick” room.  Then I sat alone at my writing table thinking about all the times that sitting there would have guaranteed a cat in my lap within a couple minutes.  I will miss her and she was a good cat.

She came to us as a kitten, found alone by one of my daughters in a city parking lot.  She was very young, very scared and spent the first week hiding under my daughter’s bed.  We weren’t sure if she would make it.  What a way to start.  I think her memory of that contributed to her quietness, her timidity, her reclusive nature.  She grew to tolerate other cats but was never one to initiate friendship or cuddle up to any of them.  She grew to trust some people and be affectionate but that trust had to be earned. The sound of strangers in the house always made her disappear. She would come out from her hiding place when things got quiet again.

her magnificent green eyes and a pretty white bib

her magnificent green eyes and a pretty white bib

When my daughter moved away to school she left Grey Kitty with me, which was fine since I had grown fond of her.  I had inherited another cat from my second daughter and it would have been nice if they had gotten along but they didn’t.  They fought like, well, like cats.  They had both grown up being “only cats” and didn’t want to share their humans.  We had to keep them separated or there were consequences of loud cat growls and tufts of fur everywhere.  Once when we were away they were accidentally shut in the same room.  We found them sitting quietly in opposite corners pretending nothing had happened, but the room told a different story, way different.  I thought they might have gotten it out of their system and become friends, but no.

Grey Kitty was hesitant about all kinds of things.  There was the usual cat maneuver of standing in front of an open door, debating whether or not to go through.  She had the nervous tail tic.  It drove me crazy and I would sometimes pick her up and make the decision for her.  But most of the time, in deference to our friendship, I just waited until she either bolted out or sauntered in the other direction.  I think my willingness to let her be who she was made her like me as much as she did.

She had patience with me as well,  Many times she would come up on my lap and get settled for a good sleep and minutes later I would have to get up to answer the phone.  She had patience in the kitchen. She knew the sound of pans rattling and cans opening and would appear at mealtime.  After circling my feet for several minutes in an attempt to get my attention (trip me) she would sit quietly and look at me with her best stare.  The stare would continue right up through the meal until the husband would relent and give her a small bite of people food.

One day, years ago, I thought I had accidentally killed her.  She was in the garage when I closed the door automatically and turned my back to go into the house.  For some reason she waited until the last second to try leaving and got caught under the door.  When I looked again I could only see the back half of her and the door was down.  She evidently had been crouching low and hadn’t triggered the safety beam.  I slapped the control and ran to get her but she ran out faster than I could get there.  I was pretty worried about her but decided if she could move that fast she probably didn’t have a broken neck.  She was always a little leery of the garage door after that.

As she grew older, she began to be a very picky eater.  Dry cat food was not good enough.  Canned cat food was better, but only certain kinds.  She started losing weight, and her breath smelled awful.   Tests at the vet’s office showed kidney disease, so we tried various brands of special food.  She didn’t like any of them.  Finally, to keep her from starving I let her eat anything she would eat.  She was pitiful, and her soft meow changed into a more raucous sound that was disturbing and insistent.  I think she had nausea.

This story ends as you might suspect by now.  I took GK to my daughter the veterinarian and she and I, compassionately and with tears, euthanized her and laid her to rest.  She served a purpose in my life, as I believe animals were meant to do.  These awesome creatures that God made to share the earth with us make us think, make us love, make us give of ourselves and make us aware that we are not alone.

Now it’s a bit simpler at home – I don’t have to shut the doors to prevent cat fights, I don’t have to search for obscure brands of special food, I don’t have to clean up sick messes.  Simpler, but not necessarily better. I’m just sayin’, she was a good cat and I miss her.

P.S. This is not to be interpreted as a request for another cat.

The Weight of Decision

Shirleyjdietz2 Comments

I love animals.  I am in awe of their endless variety, the ways that they can interact with us humans, the comfort they can give, the lessons they can teach, their surprising intelligence (once we learn how to detect it), and the love and devotion they show. They are enough like us that it is scary at times and I am never more aware of this than when I look into my cat’s eyes.  She meets my gaze and we have a moment of reading each other’s thoughts – or so it seems.

I say “my cat” (and she would probably agree) but in reality she was rescued by my daughter Julia.  As the story goes, she was found wandering in some parking lot in Orlando, Florida as a kitten.  Kittens do not survive well in parking lots, so my daughter, who is a rescuer by nature, brought her home and she became our cat.  She had a few names, however the one that stuck, because it was easy to remember, was Gray Kitty.  Not very imaginative, but it worked.

Years later when Julia moved away to attend veterinary school, she took two of her cats with her but left Gray Kitty with me.  I didn’t mind.  I haven’t seen very many cats that are as beautiful and pleasant to look at as Gray Kitty.  Gray is a nice color to begin with, plus the added attraction of white feet and bib, topped off with white whiskers and brilliant green eyes – there is a pretty cat.  Most of the time her voice was tiny, quiet and responsive.  I would say her name and she would answer.  I would enter the room and she would acknowledge me.  I would pick her up and she would start purring immediately and not stop until I put her down. For a cat, she was sensible and seldom caused trouble or worried me.

Her eyes are really green, not red.
Her eyes are really green, not red.

"I know you guys are eating. I know you can't ignore me... "
I know you guys are eating. I know you can’t ignore me…

There was a season in my work life when I would come home exhausted every day, barely able to make it to the recliner.  No matter where she was in the house, the sound of the recliner being stretched out would have her in my lap within seconds.  She would get comfy in her feline manner, and settle down for “our nap”.

She learned that kitchen noises were associated with food, for her and for us.  She learned the art of silent begging.  When we would finally sit at the table, she had her spot close by where she could fix her eyes on us and dare us to ignore her.  She loved drinking out of the bathroom sink. She loved being outside.

And now she has gotten old, and don’t I know how that feels!  We have more in common than ever.  But she has also fallen ill with kidney disease.  Her appetite has waned and in the last few weeks she has hardly eaten anything in spite of special food, constantly available.  She is as light as a feather.  Her calls, or cries, have become different and more plaintive.  She often sits or stands in odd places with a dazed look on her face, and sometimes loses her balance.  She is failing.  These kinds of things do not improve.  The pain of seeing her suffer is at war with the pain of deciding to stop her suffering and I feel the weight of decision.  It is heavy.