At the edge of the world and a bit dizzy, I’m reminded how fragile it all really is. Our lives are bare basic essentials…birth, life, death; all the other stuff depends on family, friends…but mostly us. We do have the choice to always change, although somehow we manage quite nicely to never change once we reach adulthood and the set-in-concrete mental effect.
I’m at the end of my rope with Andee, yet I know I must try harder for solutions until it’s over, until his body just gives up holding onto life and calls it all quits. It’s impossible to read this cat’s inner thoughts; hell, it’s a no win situation trying to read any cat’s inner thoughts…they never let you in on the secret of just how badly they really feel. I've never known it’s time to throw in the towel until it’s already a day too late.
He wasn’t a planned addition to our lives…rescues never are. They just show up and you decide to accept or reject. He surfaced at someone else’s house, and I was asked if I could spare the space and time to take in another stray. A wild thing, this little tyke would venture into their home, eat their food, but they could never hold him…he was always just out of their reach.
Clueless, since he was sight unseen by me, I just brought along a cat carrier and not much hope. With the front house door open, I sat on their couch with the open carrier to the right of my feet and just conversed…business as usual, and there he was…a little butterball tabby kitten. Eventually gravitating to rubbing around my legs, at the most opportune moment he was rapidly pushed into the carrier and the door slammed shut on his derriere. Got yah!!!
He grew up attached to Jesse, our other kitten rescue of two years earlier, but a tight bond just wasn't in the cards. Jesse never quite warmed up to that little addition…more accurately, we could just say he accepted the situation and that was about it. Perhaps better than nothing, Andee was always by Jesse’s side at the end of every day for the rest of Jesse’s life.
This post is just memories of a good life that has reached its zenith and is gradually fading away. I cry a little, take a deep breath, then cry a little more…I love him so much. On meds for bladder infection, pneumonia, and heart problems; he’s a walking disaster at the moment. Took his meds this morning, threw them up, and then gradually ate breakfast. Pilled him again and he is resting on his favorite cat tree shelf preening himself. As long as he is interested in staying clean I know there is always hope; but, I also know the road to downhill and rock-bottom can happen in a heartbeat.
As a youngster, he was a little thief…let’s rephrase that…as a youngster, he was playfully mischievous – much better. You know that saying…curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back…what does that really mean? Hopefully it means driving the little bugger crazy until it finds the answer, although when it comes to the feline’s inquisitive nature it has probably meant the demise of a few of them along their road of life.
Settled on couch with a TV tray loaded with paper and pen in front of him, Vic left for a minute to retrieve something from another room to add to his menagerie. Sitting back down his spirits darkened as his search for his pen remained unfruitful until…we thought of Andee. Found in another room cuddling the coveted pen, we had to come to grips with a klepto in the family.
Ensuing years included searches for pens, pencils, keys on key chains, and even reading glasses that were heisted by cunning little claws and happy to clamp little jaws. An addiction to pill nabbing led to cat-proofing all pills in the house, after he was found foaming and drooling near a mauled cranberry capsule on the kitchen floor. Nothing ever slowed him down for long, our happy little cat burglarizing thief.
Although Vic never spent enough time to really bond with Andee, he remained a personal favorite of the, by now, big furry guy. Never a lap cat; none-the-less Vic could always rub Andee’s tummy when he rolled over beside him with his belly exposed. With me, the big guy was content to just settle in on the back of the couch between my head and the wall.
An ultra-sensitive guy, corrections would catapult him into freak-out mode, so he's always gotten away with murder; but with that demure attitude of his, it's always been easy to look the other way. Now his big paws don’t massaging air as much as in the old days, and his rambunctious purr with squeaky edges has softened quite a bit.
He allows me to lift him up onto my lap when I’m at the computer for a constant rub down and pet massage until he decides it’s time to move on. Bedtime usually finds him by my head waiting to be petted forever and ever. Anyone who thinks cats are aloof clearly has never explored the depths of what they have to offer when they are left to just be themselves.
He truly does have a face and soul I fall in love with over and over again. He’s my comfort when I’m sad, and my joy when I’m happy. It’s hard to inwardly let go...to say it's okay...you've lived a long and good life. Very hard. I don't know how to stop crying. My heart keeps falling to pieces over and over again.