molly.com
Thursday 25 May 2006
Of Best Friends
Seventeen and a half years ago I met a tiny kitten with a huge personality. She demanded that I take her home. So she moved in that day, rearranged the furniture, and became mistress kitty of what was once my place within a few hours.
To this day Tara sits in my desk chair, looking hard at work when I’m not. She’s got her routine and her spots picked out. She knows exactly the spot where the sun shines warmest, loves the perch where she can look out on the pigeons and say rude things to them. Tara is sure to commandeer the couch or the bed or wherever it is that the humans might like to be.
Tara is a tiny cat, but she’s got mighty attitude.
My brother Linus says:
She is feisty and spirited and tenacious as hell, and nothing less would do for a cat of yours.
In January of 2005, I cancelled a trip to visit Opera Software in Oslo, Norway, where I’d been invited to discuss going to work for Opera. Tara had become suddenly ill, and was hospitalized. I made the decision to not leave her, and the good folks at Opera were really understanding. However, certain friends and other colleagues made remarks to the effect that I had to be crazy to stay home from such an exciting opportunity to take care of a cat.
Diagnosed with Chronic Renal Failure (CRF), a very common disease in older cats and certain breeds, she was treated and sent home with prescription diet. She has done fantastic! No vet expected her to stay that healthy for that long. Of course, I know there’s a lot of strength in that cat. You should see her. Even diagnosed with a progressive and fatal disease, if she misses a step she just goes back ’til she gets it right.
I wish I had that kind of tenacity.
I’m writing today because the inevitable is happening, and that’s that Tara’s health has taken a signficiant downturn. She just spent three days in the hospital receiving fluids and antibiotics, and her kidneys have reached a point where, without regular treatment, they cannot sustain life.
She’s home now and it’s good to have her here. She hates the hospital so much, mostly because of (don’t say it too loudly) all the D O G S.
I have to give her an infusion of fluids via an 18 gauge needle every day. This keeps fluids moving through her kidneys so she doesn’t feel ill or have any pain (except for the injection part). Not only has she survived but she’s gaining weight and doing quite well all things considered.
Tara might weigh a mere 4 pounds, but she’s got the strongest will of any creature, human or not human, that I have ever met.
Me, I’m not so strong-willed. I’m hurting. A lot. I stayed home from work and friends to be with her, knowing that these days will probably be her last. I chose to stay behind to be with her because I feel I owe it to her for her years of loyalty and greatness.
I stayed home because I love her.
My brother Morris writes:
Only those who have loved and lived with a pet could begin to comprehend what you are going through, even then of course each relationship and experience is unique. From what I have learned of life so far our animal friends provide and share a very deep and pure bond that is much more profound and important than people might presume. The challenges and emotions of watching a loved pet come to the end of her life are no less than of a human companion in my belief.
I was raised to believe, and I firmly do believe, that when we take a pet home, we are responsible for that pet for its lifetime. Even if we find we can no longer care for our animals, we find someone who can. This is a responsibility, an obligation, and ultimately an honor. Because, if you’re good to your non-human pals, they will, as Tara has done for me for so very long, provide you with the most loyal and fulfilling relationships you’ll ever have.
Filed under: faith(less)
Posted by: Molly | 17:31 | Comments (67)
I know what it is to go through this, in fact it brings me to tears just thinking about it. I went through it last year with my old cat – Bolle. We decided to put her out of her misery. She died in my wife’s lap, me right by her side with her paw on my hand. I have never cried that much before or since. Not even for my Grandma or my Dad when they died.