Saying Goodbye. Again.

Right before Christmas, I was petting Rowan, and I felt a lump in his side. We took him to the vet and had our worst fears confirmed. It was cancer. The doctor said that the lump was a tumor that was taking over his right kidney and he also had metastatic spots in his lungs. 

The good part, he'd said, was that the cancer was painless. But there would come a time when his systems would start shutting down. But until then, we should take him home and enjoy our time with him. We did. A lot. He remained as loving and sweet as ever, but as the tumor grew to softball size, it became more difficult for him to move around. We had to help him up onto the couch so he could sit by us. 

Yesterday, he stopped being able to process food and we knew it was time. We brought him to the vet and said goodbye to him last night. I'm going to miss my elbow nibbler and hair stylist.

We took him in when he was about 4 weeks old. He'd been found wandering on a super busy four lane road. Thankfully, some kind soul rescued him before he was hit. We got him a week after Killian's first birthday. Rowan turned 16 in August.

I miss you, Fangula.

I Miss You, Sweet Boy

Almost 19 years ago, Herne was born - conveniently on my friend Merry's birthday who'd taken in Herne's very pregnant mama. He was the runt of a litter of five - and by far the prettiest of the bunch, though I'm guessing Mer would disagree since she kept his brother Casey.

When he was a kitten we called him Circus Cat. He'd do amazing midair flips when we'd play with him with ribbons and other toys. He played fetch with puff balls and he'd go to the basement every night and drag three or four dirty socks from the laundry bin, all the way up two flights of stairs to lay them at the foot of our bed. He was so tiny that the socks were bigger than he was. He earned the nickname Herne the Hunter for that. We also called him Bunny Boy because he had fur as soft as any rabbit.

Herne has always been a mama's boy. He snuggles with me no matter where I am and especially likes to help me write by laying on my keyboard or my arms or my chest while I'm trying to work, contentedly purring the whole time.

Over the last couple years, he's been sleepier and weaker. He's gone deaf and blind. He navigates the house using the perimeter of the room and what we affectionately refer to as Kitty Sonar. It involves Herne yowling loudly as he wanders around. He'd always make himself known to whoever was on the phone with me, meowing loudly into the mouthpiece. It's an obnoxious sound, but it's one I'm going to miss.

Herne had a stroke today. One minute he was sleeping by me on the couch and the next he was spinning in horrifyingly endless circles, stopping only when the right side of his body would give way. Then, he'd claw to his feet and repeat motions looking more and more confused.

I held him and he snuggled into me and purred, but when he got restless, the same cycle would start again. They boys and I took turns keeping him calm until Matt got home and we took him to the vet.

We ended up having to put him down tonight. I miss him so much already.

Goodbye to my old friend.

Sixteen years ago this month, I stopped some bratface neighborhood kids from throwing rocks at a skinny, ratty looking black and white cat. That cat followed me home and lived on my steps until I let him come inside. It seems like it was weeks, but it was really probably only days.

Every time I went out on the porch, that skinny cat would flop on my steps and roll around and purr until I came out to pet him. I was sure he must belong to someone since he was so sweet. A storm was headed toward us, so I brought him in to stay on the porch. In the meanwhile, I put up "found" signs and took out an ad in the paper. When no one responded, Matt looked at me from where kitty was laying on his chest and said, "Well, I guess we have another cat." (Did I ever mention how much I love that man?)

We named him Merlin because I'm an Arthurian legend junkie...and also a Labyrinth junkie. He's always been playful and loving and so grateful to have a home. He loved the kids - Killian was his boy and always tried to convince us that Merlin uses a monocle, wears a top hat and talks in a British accent when we're not around. And Abby, my former daycare girlie, was his girl. No matter how evil she was, he always went to her. One morning, he flopped on the table while she was eating breakfast to be by her. We spent the rest of the morning chasing after him with wet wipes because in his desire to get petted, he laid in her waffles. Then he led us around the house with waffle pieces hanging off his ass. Silly cat.

He was super pissy when we brought the kittens home, and Morrighan wanted so desperately to be his friend. She'd wait until he was asleep and then go lay by him. He'd wake up, whap her in the head and then find someplace else to sleep. Wash, rinse repeat until he decided it was easier to just let her sleep by him.

He was a cuddler with people and cats. He was especially fond of anyone with allergies - like Brynn and my friend Di. Oh, he looooooved Di. He wanted to be her very best friend any time she was over.

After sixteen wonderful years with him, we had to make the extremely difficult choice today to put Merlin down. Early stage kidney failure eventually becomes late stage kidney failure. In the last couple weeks, he'd lost an alarming amount of weight. And lately, he couldn't keep anything down on the infrequent occasions that he tried to eat. This morning, when he couldn't even pee, I knew his body was shutting down and it wouldn't be long until he was in a lot of pain.

After talking and crying with Matt and the boys, we brought him in to the vet and said goodbye to our beautiful boy. I'll miss you so much.

Merlin and Morrighan when he'd finally realized he wasn't going to get away from her.

Cat puddle - Rowan, Merlin, Morrighan and Herne all cwtched up on the couch.


Herne, Rowan and Merlin lounging together.


Yeah, I can almost picture a top hat and a monocle on this guy.

And this was my boy this morning. I'm going to miss you, Mr. Kittenbritches.

Sad

Eighteen years ago, on April 18th, my husband and I brought home a teeny-tiny black, gray and brown stripey kitten from the local humane society. We named her Nimue because I'm a giant nerd, and she was my baby. She had the most beautiful sage green eyes and would purr whenever she was with me. She was shy and a little skittish around other people, but she loved me.

She laid by my side while I worked and kept me company with every book I wrote - even the pile of crap ones that'll never see the light of day. She was unimpressed when I bought the boys home from the hospital, but quickly took over the role of "Mom Cat" and would do her best Timmy's-in-the-well-Lassie-impersonation whenever one of them would cry or doing something she didn't approve of.

Over the last year, she's grown understandably more feeble and a little blind and had taken to hiding for hours at a time - cupboards and bookshelves being her favorite spots. When she wouldn't answer last night when I called, my husband went looking for her. He found her curled up on a bookshelf, looking like she'd simply fallen asleep. I'm grateful that she went peacefully, but I miss her like mad.