Originally written/posted;
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Now, don’t get me wrong, my Dad wasn’t an ‘evil’ cat hater. He and my Mother owned a big Male Siamese mix ‘Brandy’ when I was little. He passed away from distemper and my Mother said she thinks Dad was very hurt by Brandy’s passing and hardened himself to cats. We had only dogs after that, until I had to move back home after a separation in ‘98. I brought with me my then 6 year old Daughter and ‘her’ one year old cat, Flower. My Daughter named her because she said she was ‘as soft and beautiful as a flower’, not after the Disney/Bambi skunk.
I had owned Flower’s parents (they went to live w/ my In-laws, who already had cats as my Dad put his foot down about me bringing all the cats to his home, he only allowed Flower to come along because she was my Daughter’s (C*) cat and he ADORED her (even up until his death when C* was almost 15, he referred to her as ‘The Baby’!) so of course SHE could keep her beloved kitty with her!
Dad tolerated Flower. She’s a very good cat, but of course, a cat. He swore about having to replace a couple of screens she’d plucked, he swore at her for sleeping in the towel cabinet, he swore when she’d be meandering underfoot always in his path. And he behaved as if an electric eel landed in his lap if she dared to jump in his.
We lived there 3 years. Slowly, he began to warm to her. He gave her a nickname, ‘Yo-yo cat’ and was amused when she’d go on her cat freak-outs, running all over and launching off furniture. The first time she did it, he was convinced she’s gone rabid or something, I explained, no, cat’s just get a wild hair every now & then tearing around like they’re being chased by invisible clowns, it’s normal. He wasn’t convinced.
By the time we left my Parent’s home, I would catch him talking to her, smiling at her and even, daring to touch her! He even began including her in his tidbit handout sessions in which he would pull off little bits of whatever meat he was eating (he always ate dinner in the living room, on his TV tray) and hand out tidbits to his dogs, my two dogs, and Flower.
Fast forward to Mother’s Day, 2007.
My Dad had a massive brain stem stroke and was in the hospital in a coma.
My Parent’s now lived in Cortez, Colorado and I’m in Northern Utah still, so I got a cat sitter (I had 2 at the time, now I have 3, thanks a lot, C*) and away we went.
We spent 4 days talking to my Dad about everything we could think of, including reminding him of familiar stuff like the Grandkids’ names, the Great Grandbabies names, his dogs and my cats, etc. I’d tell him funny stories about them. And I told him Yo-yo cat would come sit on him and ‘drop’ her fur balls all over (she doesn’t shed, she drops fur balls!) if he didn’t get well.
He passed away on May 30th, 2007. 3 days later I had to come back to Utah again. Because of circumstances, we weren’t going to have his Funeral until June 8th.
June 3rd, I’m here in Utah and I wake up to Flower consuming yet again, another plastic bag! I have no clue what’s up with this silly cat, but her whole life she’s had a thing with chewing on plastic, esp shopping bags and even Styrofoam! So here she was again, chowing down on a blue bag that goes over newspapers delivered in bad weather, now that I think about it, these bags are thicker than just grocery bag types. I chased her away from it and threw it out, as I looked at it, I noticed she’d gotten quite a bit off…but she’d been ‘chewing plastic’ for 10 years and I never gave it a second thought.
The next morning, it was obvious Flower was ill.
She went downhill from there. Not eating, not drinking, and vomiting little bits of the blue plastic bag up. We gave her water thru a children’s medicine dropper and hoped she’d vomit up all of the plastic over time, as that’s what her Veterinarian and I were certain the problem was.
The Vet had told us there really wasn’t much he could do…
The next day she was worse. She laid in the bathroom barley breathing or moving. By that night, we knew she was going to die. She looked so scraggly and matted, her eyes blank, her breathing shallow, and she had the unmistakable smell of death. I called my oldest Daughter to come over and say her goodbyes, because in the Morning, we would have no choice but to take her in and have her put to sleep, we couldn’t let her suffer any longer and the next Morning we would be leaving to my Dad’s Funeral. It was almost too much to handle. We all took turns sitting and laying in the bathroom next to her. We kept the lights out; she was visibly uncomfortable with them on. We kept giving her the water, tempting her with bits of steak & chicken…talking to her, singing to her, gently stroking her. Even my Grandchildren knew something was wrong. They were so quiet while over here, and would crawl into the bathroom on hands & knees, then lie on their bellies, slide up to her and talk so softly and sweetly to her.
The death smell almost became overwhelming. The night was long, sleepless, tear filled and horrible. I fell asleep 3 feet from Flower, I laid down in the hallway, facing her still in the bathroom. This was around 4am.
As I fell asleep, I was thinking of so much, her, my Dad, my Mom… and I was sad we’d be losing 2 loved one’s at once. It wasn’t right, for C* to lose her Granddad and her cat in the same week. Then I thought to myself, and maybe it was even a prayer, even though I don’t pray anymore; ‘Dad, please take care of Yo-yo cat when she joins you on the other side, so we know she’s okay, and you’ll have some company too.’
I fell asleep imagining my Dad finally sitting and accepting Flower on his lap and petting her.
Now, remember, my Dad just adores C*. I KNOW he would do anything for her. I have 2 daughters and my parents love them both, but it’s just how it happened that my oldest, is very close to her Paternal side and since I was so young when I had her, they had a big hand in helping me raise her, she spent probably more than half of her time with them, until going to live with them permanently at 7. I spent almost my entire pregnancy with C* and after she was born, living with my parents, so they were very involved with C*’s childhood and had much more of a chance to bond with her in a way they unfortunately hadn’t with S*.
Bottom line; My Father would do ANYTHING for C*.
And he did.
I remember dreaming about him. Nothing unusual about that considering the circumstances (I didn’t remember him saying anything until I had gotten to Cortez and was relating the story to my Mom).
When I woke up in the hallway, I was sure Flower would be gone. If not, I would begin waking everyone up and we’d drive to the vet and sitting with Flower on our laps as she left us. Then we would come home and pack the car. I had even arranged for Flowers burial, on the quarter acre between my Husband’s (we were separated again, but stayed friends) Parent’s and Sister’s homes, where countless pets over 3 decades have been laid to rest, including Flower’s Father (Abra) and just recently, Mother (Poof). That would be the last thing we did before leaving to my dad’s funeral.
I opened my eyes and looked into the bathroom.
The towel where Flower had been laying was empty! My first thought was ’she’s died and her entire body’s been taken up!’ I don’t know why I thought this, its hysterical now, like she was some kind of Saint that was drawn up to Heaven in a chorus of Angels. Second thought was that she’d obviously, crawled off to an even darker, more private place for her final moments. I began getting myself up off the floor to search her body out before I woke the girls up and maybe wrap her in a soft blankie. Then I heard a crunch-crunch noise. Blight, my other cat, was eating in the kitchen. I wondered what she thought. If she understood. As I was walking into the kitchen to greet my Blight, I was met by a surreal image…it wasn’t Blight, it was Flower! I shrieked! She had eaten the chicken and tuna we’d been trying to tempt her with and had now leaped up on the cats little food table and was chowing down on dry food! She looked fabulous! No matted, scrawny coat, no deathly smell, no pale gum’s, no foam around her nose and mouth!!! At my shriek, everyone came running and gasped in disbelief and relief! Flower simply swallowed, turned to us and meowed! From that moment on, it was as if nothing had ever been wrong with her!
I don’t know why, but out of my mouth came the words ”Thank You, Dad!” C* looked at me and said ”That’s exactly what I was thinking! Granddad doesn’t want my ‘big, poofy old cat’ with him yet!”
As for what I remember him saying after I’d gotten back to Cortez, it was something like ‘I told you that cat was a Yo-yo, eating plastic!’ in a teasing tone. But I KNEW it meant he was going to make sure she was alright.
She’ll be 12 in April, very full of life, still having her freak-out attacks, still trying to chew on plastic…she’s almost a full time job, but she’s worth it.
~L
I was born April 2nd 1968 in Topeka, KS. No, I don’t know where Toto went, but I do know where Toby* is, he’s currently chasing K2* (one of my cat’s) up and down the hall. Yes, this is usual for them at 2am. We live with no rules… well, unless we have something we have to do. Or my daughter does. Or…
Well anyway, at 2am we have no rules and live for the moment until bedtime (somewhere between now and 4am).
*Toby is my dog. He is half Chihuahua half Mini Pin and will be 2 years old in Feb. He’s a black & tan with one erect ear and one ‘folded’ ear. His actual name is Toblerone because he kind of resembles the package/box the Toblerone candy comes in, long and high to a point at the top. He sometimes looks like a rat running along with his longish body and arched back, other times like a deer curled up in some brush with their long necks and delicate heads perched on them.
*K2 is one of my (and my youngest daughters’) 3 cats. The only Male, he’s a beautiful, fluffy orange tabby. I call him the ‘weirdy’. But there’s a method to his madness. He can find joy and amusement in everything at any time in any place. I’ve seen him walk by a blank wall and suddenly spar with it, then scamper on his way. He can hear a Coke bottle open from a week away and come running looking for the lid. He’s in the litter box right now and he’s having too much fun digging, I can tell. Forbid anyone else is in the box trying to relieve themselves, this is when he has them as a captive audience to reach in and bat at them, like he suddenly forgot they were the same 2 cats he lives with day in, day out & some strange animal is now bumping and scrabbling around in the covered box purely for his amusement.
You know, I almost reached down and pet a chewed up stuffed (and with squeaker still intact! A record after 6 weeks!) turkey of Toby’s. I saw it out of the corner of my eye just as I shifted in my chair and assumed it was a cat, a dog, a cat or a cat, and see how well they have me trained? They don’t even have to make a sound or nudge me, as soon as they’re in my vision my hand drops to pet.
I’m doomed.
Whoops. So much for about me blather. Guess I’ll have to work on that tomorrow. Actually, later today.
