AND NOW, GOODBYE

 

 Kitzee
2005 - 2022

Gone, just like that.
I had expected more - possibly a miracle. Yet, in my heart of hearts, I always knew that miracles don't exist. They languish in the comforting realms of our wishful dreams, but quickly vanish when we rudely awaken.

My sixteen-year-old cat Kitzee died late last night. In the breath of brutal winter, in the bleak midst of a dangerous time when my problems and worries have become tumultuous. In a time of anguish and isolation, when my withered soul desperately yearns for comfort and reassurance, she has left me alone.

Sixteen years is a long time. When I first got Kitzee she was a three-month-old kitten. I was reasonably young, healthy, and content. I still had optimism - which has long since abandoned me.

Kitzee and I endured a lot in sixteen years - the death of my parents, and subsequently many bad times and turbulent years. Through it all she was a faithful and loving companion, whose company always kept me going. 

She was more than just a cat, she was part of my existence.

In her advancing years I could sense that she was becoming tired. I desperately tried to ignore the inevitable fact of her eventual demise.
In sixteen years, I have turned into a weary, bitter, completely exhausted old man - existing in poverty, ill health, and squalor in rural Tennessee. My two cats were all I had left to keep me plodding forward.

Kitzee was in remarkably good health until about a week ago. Her gait became sluggish, her appetite waned, she seemed slightly confused. Her eyes became runny, nose stuffy, breathing labored. I hoped against hope that she might recover.

Yesterday she showed signs of improvement. She drank lots of water and was nibbling at food. The vaporizer that I put in the bedroom seemed to be helping. I cleaned her runny eyes and made her as comfortable as possible.

Late last night - when I was in bed with the two cats - something seemed to change. I could sense it. Kitzee had been sleeping near the foot of the bed. She suddenly got up, came over to me, and nestled on my chest. 

I instinctively knew what she was doing, but I was too cowardly to admit it.
She was saying goodbye.

I stroked her fur, scratched her head, kept reassuring her and saying how much I love her.

Then, suddenly, she leaped off the bed, went across the room, and laid under the computer desk. She made several disconcerting noises, like breaths of farewell. Then she was silent.

I called her. I kept calling for her to come back on the bed.

Her absolute silence told me everything that I didn't want to know.

                                     Jon

I took this photo of Bosco and Kitzee yesterday (Friday, Feb. 4). I truly thought Kitzee was feeling better.

SCRUFFY

My cat Scruffy was extremely sick for well over a week. She refused to eat anything and I was deeply concerned - especially since she had a history of respiratory problems.

I stayed with her constantly - trying to keep her comfortable, trying to feed her with an eyedropper and encouraging her to drink water. Cats fail very quickly without nourishment, which can cause complications such as liver damage. 

Yesterday (Thursday) she was strong enough to stand up and drink water on her own. Even though this was encouraging, I called the local vet and explained that she was seriously ill. I wanted to take her there immediately but was told that the doctor was out for the day tending to farm animals. They said to bring her in on Friday (today) at 10:30 a.m.

My intuition told me that it was FAR too long to wait, but I reluctantly agreed because I had no choice. I stayed up all night, fully dressed, impatiently waiting for dawn. 

This morning Scruffy was alarmingly worse, hardly responsive. I drove her to the vet (in town) at breakneck speed - - through the pouring rain. I was hardly able to see because I still only have one contact lens (see previous posts).

Even though I was only cautiously optimistic, I still felt some relief that at least she was now getting the proper care she needed. The vet wanted to keep her there until Monday. I petted her, assured her that everything would be fine, and left.

It's now late afternoon on Friday. When the telephone rang fifteen minutes ago I felt very apprehensive and was afraid to answer.

My fears were justified. Scruffy didn't make it. She died.

I'll never forgive myself for not taking her to the vet sooner. I waited nearly a week. I blame myself - - and I also feel that if the vet would have been there yesterday she might have had a better chance for survival. I am completely devastated.

Scruffy was an extremely sweet and loving cat, very gentle and constantly purring. She and my other cat Bosco were inseparable, they had been together since birth. 

I've been plagued with problems these past few months - one bad thing after another - but nothing has hit me harder than this. I'll never get over it. 

I'm debating whether or not I should post this.
It probably seems silly for a grown man to be unduly sentimental over a cat - - but my cats mean everything to me. They are my most faithful companions. Scruffy will be very sorely missed.

 Scruffy (2014 - 2018)