In Memory of Andre

He always liked going to the vet.

He got to go for a ride in the car, in his cat carrier once a year. Yet every single time he saw his little cat house he raced into it like a happy little pup. "Where are we going? Where are we going??" seemed to be written in his eyes.

Year after year. After at least fourteen years of trips to the vet, he still had that puppy dog fascination whenever he saw that carrier appear in the kitchen.

There was the emergency trip to the vet after he wrestled with a muskrat. We are sort of making that story up, yet assuming it actually happened, because he had cornered a muskrat by our neighbor's garage the day before. Though he came home from that particular incident unscathed, a day or two later he wandered home, looking a little worse for wear.

The last few years, he has seen our friendly, neighborhood vet more than a few times a year. Yet he still hopped into that cat carrier just like every other time before.

I think, over the course of time, he understood that a trip to the vet meant healing. Almost every time we went with an ailment, we came out with a way to help him feel better.

I like to think he understood that yesterday would be more of what he had come to know. He "knew" they could help him.

When I took him to the vet only three days prior, he was a model patient. He let down his guard and showed our vet all of his symptoms without pretense. I think he has been trying to be strong for his family but it was as if he "knew" his doctor could only help him if he showed her the truth.

He was at his worst for that short office visit. We got home and he was right back to our strong, brave cat.

It all went downhill from there.

Slowly.

Yesterday afternoon, in the hour(s) before his final appointment with our vet, I sat beside him as he rested quietly upon his cushions which my son had placed on "Andre's" chair. I watched and listened to him breathe. We made eye contact. We gazed into each other's eyes and spoke volumes without saying a word.

He barely even tried to purr, though there was a brief moment ...

It was time to get him ready to go.

I picked him up, ever so gently and carried him to his food and water dishes. "Do you want a drink? Anything to eat?"

His body language was very abrupt. I understood. "No"

I directed him over to the litter box. I wanted to ensure he was as comfortable as possible before we left. He desperately "needed a litter box" when we saw the vet on Wednesday. I wasn't going to repeat that mistake.

He needed a moment of privacy as he took me up on my second offer.

My son brought him and "his cushions" upstairs. He created a cozy little bed for Andre as he arranged the cushions inside of the pet carrier. He showed it to Andre. Andre turned around as if to say "No, but thanks" and wandered over to his food dish.

We sat and watched him eat. It did our hearts good to see him enjoying his food so much. It was so little but it was so big. 

We let him eat as long as he wanted to eat. It wasn't long. 

He still wasn't too keen on entering the cat carrier but with the help of a few Temptation treats, he gladly found his way into his cozy little oasis.

Once he settled in, he was completely at peace.

We arrived at the vet's office exactly at the time our appointment was arranged. There are some appointments where you do NOT want to arrive early. This was one of them.

He didn't want to come out of his carrier. So we took the lid off. He just laid on his cozy, familiar cushions in the bottom part of his cat carrier and he looked and sounded better than he had in a month. Maybe two.

He let me pet him. Over and over and over. He was so relaxed and at ease. 

His breathing was easy. So easy.

What did he know? Did he understand we were there to help him through this final hour? Did the antibiotics kick in at that precise moment? 

I asked if we could talk with the vet and she was happy to spend as much time as we needed. She answered all of my questions and concerns. I asked her if she could listen to his breathing again. Were we making a mistake??

It was the hardest decision in the world.

She explained that death due to respiratory illness is very distressing. It is not (usually) a quiet, falling asleep and not waking up kind of death. They struggle for breath and it is very hard for all concerned.

We had no idea if he was two hours, two days or two weeks from that moment. No one could know. No one but Andre knew exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

But the downward spiral he had been on this past week was indicative that his time was so very, very close.

We could choose to help him through this in a quiet, controlled and calm setting like the one we were sitting in right at that moment or we could take him back home with us and hope for another week.

The mere idea of having a medical emergency with him in the middle of a workday at home, with no way to get him help immediately was the deciding factor for me.

He was so absolutely calm. 

He didn't even try and purr. He just breathed deeply and quietly and with his whole body. He was so peaceful.

I think he understood he was exactly where he needed to be.

He "crossed over" without pain or any outward sign of anything but a complete and total acceptance and aura of peace.

It is the way I want to go.

Quickly, painlessly, without a struggle and surrounded in love with the whisper of "It's going to be okay" gently easing one out of a sick and tired body.

It's going to be okay, Andre.

We are heartbroken. There will be a void in this family only you could fill. Thank you for giving us fifteen good cat years.

Thank you for choosing us.

In Memory of Andre

He was dropped into our life when we least expected him,

He made a huge imprint within our hearts,

He shared his love with every critter he met,

And we count ourselves lucky

to be his Chosen Family

January (or February), 2000 - April 11, 2015

Good bye, our friend

May you breathe easy now ...

I Miss You Already

I lingered in bed a little bit longer than necessary this morning. I had hoped for one final wake up call from our ailing senior kitty.

It didn't happen.

Instead, as soon as I walked out into the hallway, I was greeted with this sight for sad eyes.

My son brought up his treasured "flower blanket" to make a softer bed for Andre, who has chosen to sleep on the floor beside the love seat lately.

This flower blanket and my son go back a long way. It was a quilt we already had when was born and he adopted it as his own somewhere along the way. Whenever we slept away from home, we packed up this quilt and it went where he went.

Sometime (not all that long ago), he donated his cherished blanket to his two favorite cats. It became the bed in a cardboard cat house he built for them. They have had as much enjoyment from that blanket as he has.

Oh, the stories that lie within that blanket.

Last night, he brought it upstairs to give Andre a softer resting spot. Before I went to bed, I could see Junior Cat eyeing up the cat blanket and Andre was more interested in his second favorite spot beside the table.

I wasn't surprised to find this scene when I awoke this morning. It is the way of our cats. 

My son fell asleep on the floor between the two of them last night. When he woke up, Andre had abandoned his post so my son forfeited his spot for a softer resting place on the couch.

He needed to sleep close to Andre last night and that is what he did.

Andre can barely tolerate being touched now. I am so glad I lapped up all the snuggling he had left in him for as long as it lasted.

Last weekend, I held him and we stared out the picture window of the living room and reminisced about his adventuresome days. This morning, a mere seven days later, he fought his way out of my arms and left me with three scratches as he fumbled his way to the floor. 

His last night with us.

My last (failed) attempt to hold him.

His labored purr.

His eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

That is all we have left now. It even seems painful for him to listen to our voice because he has always felt the need to respond to our words.

He used to meow a response. 

He has always had a loud, monster purr.

He has never failed to respond to our attempts to communicate with him.

My son said he just laid on the floor with his head beside Andre. Andre nuzzled and smelled his hair. Then gave his face one little lick. Just one.

This is the cat who used to spend an hour grooming His Boy. There was an attachment that transcended words between Andre and his human family.  He seemed to attach himself to each one of us at different times, in different ways. I don't know if he picked up on something we didn't even know about ourselves but I think each of us has had a feeling that we were "someone special" to him. 

As I laid on the floor beside my favored kitty this morning, I asked if he knew how special he was to us. I told him he doesn't have to keep breathing for us. It is okay. We know we were loved by him and I am certain he knows just how much he was loved and adored. It is okay, Andre. You can let go. It is okay ...

We are going to miss him more than words can say. 

I cannot imagine waking up to a world without him tomorrow morning. But we will. 

He is hurting too much. It hurts my heart to hear his purr because it costs him so very dearly to expend the energy it takes to do so. But he can't help himself.

It is as if he is saying, "I'm sorry I can't let you touch me right now, but let me leave you with the gift of my purr."

His purr. His monster purr.

It was the first thing about him that drew him into my heart. It got louder and more persistent as the years went on. 

Fifteen years.

Andre, I have known you almost as long as I've known my youngest son. You are such a big part of my heart and our family. I cannot imagine how hard it will be to let you go. 

Thank you for giving us all you have had to give.

Thank you for purring on.

Thank you for the love, the kitty kisses and the comfort of finding you upon my waking each and every morning (even if some of those mornings, you were on the doorstep waiting to be let in, during your wandering years).

Thank you for dropping into our lives.

You were a gift. 

I am beyond grateful for all of the smiles and laughter you brought into our days.

I cannot imagine waking up tomorrow morning. It hurts my heart to think of it. 

I always wished you had a "kitty cam" on the top of your forehead so I knew what adventures you found outside of our doors. Oh, how I wish I had those stories right now, Andre. You have led a very interesting life and have touched our family in a way we have not been touched before.

I'm going to miss you so very much. 

The Heart is Slow to Understand

I knew I had to see her. She was the one who walked with us at the beginning and she treated us like gold. I knew we were near the end of this road and I didn't want to walk down this path with anyone else.

Our family's beloved veterinarian returned from maternity leave a short while ago. I was over the moon to hear this, but deflated just as quickly when I found out her work schedule was the same as mine.

I seriously considered asking for time off so I could take our cat to see her. Seriously!

But yesterday, by some amazing string of coincidences, I ended up with only one daycare child for the majority of the day. I took advantage of the lull in the action and booked an appointment to see my most favorite vet.

We had to walk but that was okay. Andre has enjoyed riding in a stroller since he was a kitten. He even allowed the kids to put a bonnet on his head, sat back and let them buckle him in and off they rolled.

Older cat, bigger stroller. So off we went, minus the bonnet. He basked in the sun, relaxed and enjoyed the ride. 

It was all light and easy when we arrived. A cat in a stroller does tend to attract a little attention. I felt the need to explain this was our only mode of transportation (I wasn't really a crazy cat lady).

We settled into our room and before long, our vet came in to see us.

She didn't like what she heard and saw. Every single breath Andre took while he was in the vet's office was loud and labored and raspy. What she heard with her stethoscope was even more than that. His lungs are in bad shape. It takes great effort for him to breathe. He has lost a lot of weight in the past six months.

None of this was good news. None of it was a surprise to me either. I already knew pretty much everything she told me. I knew our days were numbered but I may have been in denial as to how big that number was.

She looked at me with kindly eyes that spoke volumes. She said very little but her eyes told me, "Any time now ... any time."

My eyes filled to overflowing with dampness and I couldn't speak. When I could utter a few words, I said, "My head knew this but apparently my heart hasn't figured it out yet."

All I knew for sure was "Not today ..." to which she responded of course it wouldn't be "today".

I was grasping. I knew it.

She offered to give him some antibiotic which would last for two weeks but at this point it would not be a solution. It is only a band aid.

I felt so very greedy when I said "Yes" to the antibiotic. I'm not ready. I need time.

I need to fill up on all things Andre and ensure he lives out the rest of his days filling up on whatever cat food he prefers to eat (she said at this point, the last thing she is worried about are is kidneys).

He had a gourmet feast of "Friskies" salmon pate last night. The tasty gold nugget cat food (which has been a hit in our cat population since day one) is in his food dish.

It did my heart good to see him gobble down his preferred food choice. Every quiet breath he takes, every purr he manages to muster, every snuggle and every time our eyes connect will be duly noted in these final days.

My head knows this. But my heart is aching with sorrow for the day which is not too far away.

Our Furry Black Felines

These furry felines make my heart sing.

If Junior Cat was a human, I think he would have aspirations on being a comedian. He loves the limelight and I am almost certain hearing his humans laughing is the equivalent of our pleasure at hearing him purr.

His antics amuse and entertain me. I look at him and smile. My heart swells when I hear him pad into a room. He can be as swift and as silent as a panther stalking his prey when he wants to be. But his default walk is one where you can hear his footfall.

His second career choice, if he was a biped, may be that of a future hockey star. His paw handling skills are second to none and he bats around anything that moves. He is swift and adept at this talent. Every time I find a small cache of Senior Cat's "health food pellets" hidden under baseboards or the back door mat or under the stove, fridge or any other immovable object, I wonder what his thought process is, as he "scores" another goal.

I love that he adores my Youngest Son. I often watch him love his human. He will often caress my son's face with his demonstrative tail. I have never ever known a cat who expressed such emotion with their tail. He has a flair for speaking very loudly with his tail. My son lavishes Junior with affection and I don't even think it is conscious. The admiration society is a mutual one.

Our Senior Cat has slowed down so very much. His playful days are long gone but I love that he still thinks it is a sport to dash out the front door when no one is looking. He still has that young, free wandering spirit at his core. He is pretty easy to catch these days. My biggest fear is that he may sneak out one day and no one will notice. Being locked outside on his own would not be an ideal situation.

I love gazing into his soft, expressive eyes. This morning he climbed onto my bed and poised himself face-to-face with me. We just spoke with our eyes. I think it hurts when I touch him. He seems to tolerate being petted but he does not lean into it.

He lets me pick him up and curls up into a small ball in my arms. This morning, we gazed out the living room window and I talked of old times. The time when he went out and hunted down a muskrat, the time when the crows hunted him down when he went to drink out of their puddle, the friends he made when he escaped out the front door and would not allow us to catch him.

Our little senior kitty has a book within him.

I think he has lived a pretty charmed life. I would love to hear his perspective. He loved making friends and when he prowled the neighborhood, I heard of at least one dog-friend he had. He is just that kind of guy. He is a lover, not a fighter.

As he soaked up the spring sunshine on a cool day, I couldn't help but want to snap as many pictures as I could.

Our days are numbered. I can hear it with every breath he takes. I see it in his eyes. I just hope he lets me know when he is hurting too much. I hope I can see it.

It is coming. My heart is already aching as I lose just a small piece of him slowly but surely these last days.

I'm grateful for almost fifteen years of knowing, loving, adoring and forever convincing our wandering little black kitty to stay home where he is safe and loved. 

I think his golden years have been easy ones. There is a lot of "life" within our home and he still chooses to join in and watch the action, even though he isn't a big part of it these days.

I see the evolution of Junior Cat since he moved in. It is as though Senior is grooming him for the day this "kingdom" will be his. He will rule this roost in his own unique way, but the essence of his predecessor will forever live on.

Purr on, my little black kitty. For as long as you are comfortable doing so. 

You are teaching me how precious every breath is. 

You have grown up with us and we have so very many memories.

I'm grateful for every little story, picture, video and remembrance I've saved along our way.

We never took you for granted, little one. 

Never. 

You know that, because you could hear us calling you when you were out and about roaming the neighborhood. 

You knew our door was always open.

You loved us and all those who wandered through our door. 

Even yet, you like to meet and greet our guests.

It makes me smile that you will rouse yourself from your deep afternoon slumber when you hear the deep voices of your older human siblings, when they drop by for a quick visit.

You are adored. I am pretty sure you know that.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Awake

It is 1:00 a.m. as I sit here and write.

One o'clock in the morning and I am still awake. Normally, this is the time I may (or may not) start tossing and turning and waking up, after falling asleep anywhere in between 7 to 9 p.m.

Tonight, I am wide awake. I feel like I may have been asleep for at least a year. Probably much longer.

I made a conscious choice to stay home to be "present" for my sixteen year old son this weekend. Even when I am physically home, I am often so far away.

I have been lost in this, that or the other project. I have had tunnel vision as I go around fulfilling my responsibilities. I am tuned into the TV, the Internet and other wireless connections far too much. I have tried to be a good friend, daughter, sister and niece. As I sit here thinking of that, I can picture the times when my son has wanted to talk with me but I have been on the phone...

I have been a bit of a gadabout recently. It started small and it revved up into something bigger.

My son and I used to always have little chats about nothing or everything or just some easy going cat chat every night before he went to sleep. Then came the age where he stayed up longer than I did so I retreated and assumed he was too busy to talk so I just said a quick good-night.

Bit by bit, month by month, year by year we started drifting apart.

"This is natural" I told myself. He is a young man and he is pulling away. This is right and this is good.

Was he pulling away or was I becoming less available?

Recent events made me decide to pull the plug on the idea of running out to my mom's this long weekend.

It started because I was afraid my son would not cajole and convince Senior Cat to eat while I was gone. Our cat is wasting away in front of my eyes but I can convince him to eat about a tablespoon of his special soft renal cat food twice a day. Our senior cat has been failing lately and I was willing to take the blame. I had been away too much.

Then I realized that it wasn't just our cat who wasn't eating while I was away. I did my best to leave a few good, healthy ready-to-heat-up meals for my son, but when I would call at night to say good night he had often forgotten to eat.

Something pulled me back from leaving home this weekend. Even though my son acts like he doesn't need me around, I think he does.

Sometimes breathing the same air, in the same room is enough. But lately I felt like we needed to breathe some conversation into the room as well.

We still chat. He seems to feel free to tell me what is on his mind. Often there is really nothing I can do or say but he has assured me that he doesn't expect me to fix anything. Sometimes he just needs to vent.

Today was a good day.

The TV stayed off. All day. I had the radio on and I puttered away at long neglected tasks. I asked my son if he was willing to try and boost a dead car battery. He said he knew nothing about this so we figured out how to do it together. The car battery is still dead, but it was a good "bonding" activity.

He helped me assemble a bench that I bought. We drifted in and around and through the day. Together.

I wasn't running off to work or working on anything important. The phone was quiet and we just walked through the day. Together.

I tossed out the idea of going out to see a show. "Why not two shows??" I asked. Wouldn't it be fun to stay for a double feature?

Me, the girl who can not stay awake past 8:00 if I am sitting still, actually went to see two movies that started after supper!

And I stayed awake. For both of them.

Granted, I caffeinated myself with two extra cups of coffee in the afternoon in the hope it would help me through the night. But I feel so awake, I think it has less to do with the caffeine and more to do with feeling a heightened wakefulness as I lived the day.

It felt incredible not to feel pulled in so many different directions. Often when I have a day to myself, it is just that. One day. So I grab it close to myself and keep myself isolated from the world and I don't want to interact with anyone.

This weekend, I have three full days off. Off of everything. I didn't feel the need to hoard today and keep it to myself.

Sharing it with my son was exactly what and who I needed to keep me awake.

It has been a most incredible day. I turned off the television and tuned into my own life.

It is a good life. I think I will try to remain wakeful enough to enjoy it to its fullest.

And now? I am exhausted. Good night....

Life Lessons - Overwhelmed and Anxious

Small things become so big when they start to pile up on a person.

I feel like I have become a poster child for procrastination. I have honed the art quite well.

Lately, "income taxes" have been my unfinished business. Before that, it was "Christmas" looming over me. Before that, "reunion". Before that, it was our family's book project. That was a big one.

Six years of an undeclared deadline on a project that meant the world to me, changed me.

It taught me what "overwhelmed" felt like. The task became too big and too wide and too deep and too tall. It was bigger than life. And I couldn't see my way through it.

It taught me what the desire for "perfection" steals from a person. I didn't want to have any regrets when I put a cover on this project so I aimed high. I set the bar so high, I knew I could never attain my goal.

It taught me how easy it is to do "nothing", verses one small step at a time. When something feels so incredibly big, it is hard to believe that one short hour will make any difference in the whole scheme of things.

It taught me how much I need a "deadline" in order to complete the task at hand. Wishy washy ideas of whenever, however and whatever did not help. As much as I detest deadlines, I have learned to respect them.

It taught me a better way of thinking, approaching and listening to my Youngest Son when he has a larger than life assignment hanging over his head.

It taught me that "overwhelmed" can be a symptom of depression or cause a person to feel depressed.

In a nutshell, my six year struggle with the most important work I have done to date taught me "compassion".

I didn't appreciate those lessons as I trudged through the job I thought I may never complete.

Life has had many similar, yet oh so different, lessons.

It's funny how the words of my Oldest Son are coming to the tip of my consciousness these days. "I think I was depressed" are the words he uses to describe his high school years. Depressed?!? On the outside, looking in, I would have never in a million years described his behaviours as "depressed".

Back in the days of raising My Oldest, I was overwhelmed with work, responsibility, financial worries, raising a young and willful Younger Child. I came home from a long and stressful day at work and I didn't look beyond his words, moods and actions.

What was going on beneath the surface of My Oldest, as he walked the hard walk during his adolescent years?

He kept so very much to himself. I don't blame him. The foundation which was laid during his young and innocent years was so very flawed. How could I expect and hope for him to open up to me when our relationship was tenuous, at best?

He talks to me now. I am so very grateful for that. Because I see some of these very same issues coming to the surface within his youngest brother.

Life teaches you what you need to know.

I am so sorry I didn't know more when I raised my oldest child. But I am beyond grateful for the way the lessons I have learned along the way have made a profound difference in the way I parented from that day forward.

You just never stop learning.

Living in a Vacuum

You get back what you give to the world.

Lately, I have been very selfish. I have held myself in and away from the world, from life, from risks and daring to dream.

In doing so, I have created a vacuum within my heart, my soul, my home and my life.

As I walked through my quiet little world, I enjoyed it at first. No emails to return, the phone was quiet and it felt like a little bit of an oasis in the desert.

Then it became just a little too desert like. I think I became dehydrated.

A little voice in me started to tell me "Don't start keeping score now! You know better." This was not a time to think the world had forgotten me and just went on spinning. I was the one who retreated.

I could stay quiet and withdrawn and the world would definitely go on without me. There is something comforting about this, yet at the same time it makes my heart hurt a little.

If I want to feel alive and lively, I must participate in this thing called "life". I must give more of myself to feel what I need to feel to wake up in anticipation of the day before me.

Interactions with people I know at arm's length have changed. What (or who) has changed? Is it just me? When I go about my days, wishing I didn't have to get out of bed in the morning how does that affect the people I meet?

I don't think my eyes twinkle and shine. They feel hollow and withdrawn.

I don't think my spirit invites involvement and interaction. I don't want to partake in the give and take required in a conversation because I feel too needy.

I am not feeding my soul with what it needs the most. Good food, exercise, fresh air and sunshine are what I need. What I want is closed curtains, the television, a pillow and a blanket.

I know I need to push myself out and over and through this.

I know it, because I looked into the lifeless and depleted eyes of my Youngest Son last night, I saw a reflection of myself in them.

What I have is contagious.

I must grab that oxygen mask and save myself so I can breathe life back into my son. If I want to let myself down and not live my life to its potential, that is my business. But I'm not bringing anyone down with me. I am not!

"Life is an echo. 

What you send out, comes back. 

What you sow, you reap. 

What you give, you get. 

What you see in others, exists in you. 

Remember, life is an echo. 

It always gets back to you. 

So give goodness."

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