February 2nd 2014 2:52 pm
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Tigger's family had the idea of giving every member of the family one last diary entry, which we think is lovely. So I'm going first for my family. I was already at the Bridge when we joined Catster, so I haven't had all that much to say, though I've been pleased to be in the welcoming committee for many of my family's friends and other wonderful cats.
Here's my story. My Mom, who was running an organic veggie farm at the time, had just lost a wonderful orange tabby (named Tigger, by the way) to a misguided teenager with a .22 and a yen to kill something.
Heartbroken, she decided she needed another orangie in her life, and she visited the nearest shelter, where she found a cage with an energetic orange kitten who immediately stretched a paw out of the cage to touch her. "I'll take him!" she said. But then she noticed there was another orange kitten in the cage, huddled far in the back and looking at her fearfully. That was me.
She was afraid that a shy kitten like me would have a hard time being adopted, and didn't want to separate us, so we both went home with her. She named us Truck and Patch (since she was operating what the old-timers would call a "truckpatch").
I was the big cowardly lion to Truck's compact hyperactive cheetah. He was into everything and full of life. Until one day he wasn't. He died suddenly before he was a year old, from what the vet speculated was cardiomyopathy.
I was also the last of Mom's cats to be allowed outdoors. We were on a farm, after all, and farms need outdoor cats to fend off the rodents. But one late December day, she was reading the paper when she heard a "thump" outside. Our house was right on a road, as is common in the country. It wasn't a particularly busy road, but cars and cats don't mix in even the best of situations.
She ran outside to find me lying on the road, blood coming from my nose. She grabbed me up, sobbing, but suddenly I kicked her in the ribs -- hard. She yelled for my (then) Dad (he died the next year) to get the keys, and we raced to the vet -- our wonderful country vet, who started getting a heating pad and an IV ready immediately even though it was a Sunday.
Turned out I had nothing broken, no internal injuries even. I spent the next several weeks stretched out in front of a space heater, letting the heat soak into every muscle and joint. I was so lucky. Mom was so lucky. I got many, many more years with my family, and my only other diary entry chronicles my Bridge passing.
I probably won't follow the family to another site after Catster. But I hope they will find many of you there, and that these precious friendships and memories can keep going on.
Love you all,
November 3rd 2012 11:39 am
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It was four years ago when I made my journey. Mom had taken me into the vet because I was suddenly wanting to be by myself, sleeping in the hall closet next to the radiator, and she thought my breathing was a bit wheezy. The vet listened to my lungs and said they sounded clear, then left to get the X-ray room ready for me. Suddenly I started gasping for breath, and Mom stuck her head out of the exam room and yelled for help. They came running with an oxygen tank and a little tube that they held under my nose. After a while I was able to breathe again and calmed down.
The X-ray showed that the lungs were clear, but the doctor thought he saw a shadow along my esophagus -- maybe a tumor?
It was Saturday, and the vet's office was closing. He didn't think it was advisable to keep me there or to send me home. So Mom took me to a 24-hour vet hospital where someone would be monitoring me all the time. The doctor there suspected asthma and gave me steroids, which helped me. In the morning, she told Mom I could go home with asthma medication.
But when Mom arrived, the doctor came out to say that I had suffered another grand mal seizure and that she knew then that asthma was not my problem. She, too, suspected a tumor. What to do, what to do? The doctor said I could be transferred to another vet hospital for a CT scan, but I would have to be transferred under oxygen. While we were discussing all this, a technician came out to tell the doctor that I was having another seizure.
When that was under control, Mom was allowed to come in and see me. I reached out a paw to her and told her with my eyes that I did not want to see another doctor. I wanted to rest. With tears in her eyes, she told the doctor that she wanted to help me to the Bridge. The doctor nodded, and said she thought that might be the best they could do for me.
My Dad and Mom were both there with me, and I passed gently. Mom buried me in the back yard, near a pretty tree. It was a day much like today. Chilly but bright, with leaves the same color as me floating down from the trees.
She misses me still, I know, but I am healthy and safe here, and will see her again one day.