Archive for the ‘pet loss’ Tag

Changes   Leave a comment

The Trio 2-15-13 by Lady Birchwood
The Trio 2-15-13, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

Three months today since Bubba took his leave. How I miss that special boy! So much has changed since he left and little Jack moved in. Only now am I beginning to appreciate just how tender and wonderful the last 12 months of Bubba’s life were to me.

During the first 17 years of Bubba’s life, he and his littermate sister, Katie, lived together with us. They were not particularly close. About the only time the whole family was together in the same room was when the gas fireplace was on during the winter. Then both cats would stake out some space in front of the fire while Dale and I would sit together on the couch. Other than that, it was infrequent to find them hanging out together.

We brought Mia home four weeks after Katie died in 2011. She’s a snuggler! After she and Bubba got over their initial hesitancy about the new relationship, they became friends. I often had Mia next to me on the couch and Bubba on his pet bed on the coffee table. I loved having both of them close to me.

When Bubba was 18, we adopted a baby brother for Mia, and Ralphie, a three-month-old kitten, became part of the family. He, too, was a snuggler. Then I had Mia on one side of me, Ralphie on the other, and Bubba either on the coffee table or the hassock. I felt bathed in a warm glow of contentment having all of them around me.

We had a year together like that. I decided during that year that when Bubba died, I didn’t want to go back to only two cats. Three felt really good. Of course, it was those particular three cats who made me so very happy. It will never be the same again now that Bubba is gone.

Now that Bubba is gone, I often have my two boys, Ralphie and Jack, on either side of me. I enjoy that, but Mia is missing since she is not yet accepting of Jack in the household. I can either be with Ralphie and Jack or Mia and Ralphie right now, but not all three. Maybe it’ll happen someday, but that someday won’t be soon. If it’s before the end of the year, I’d be surprised.

Change is hard. Mia and I know that. We’re trying to get through this with the hope that warmth and contentment will once more preside in our family.

Jack is next to me right now, sleeping on his blanket. I’m not sure where Ralphie is. Mia is upstairs in the master bedroom with the door closed. I’m going to go up to her right now and snuggle her, if she’ll let me. I’ll tell her that everything will be okay, and perhaps I’ll even believe it myself.

It’s going to be okay. Soon.


Posted October 1, 2013 by StPaulieGrrl in cats, Mental Health

Tagged with ,

Patience (as in Trying Mine!)   Leave a comment

P8160016 by Lady Birchwood
P8160016, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

The last post I made was about the virtue of patience and how it applied to a long and wonderful life with my now-deceased cats, Katie and Bubba. Without putting in a more-than-ample share of patience upfront, we never would have had the pleasure of their company for the many years that we did (almost 17 years with Katie and over 19 with Bubba.) I wrote that to remind myself that perseverance has its rewards, and I need that reminder now.

We brought home a new member of the family only six days after Bubba died in July. The house was so very lonely without the Big Dude, and during the year that we had three cats — Bubba, Mia, and Ralphie — I decided that I really enjoyed having three cats. I didn’t want to be down to two when Bubba died. I just figured, “Let’s do it!”, and Jack became a part of the family. I didn’t spend weeks or months searching for that “perfect” cat. This little guy called to me, and we brought him home.

Three-year-old Mia is a territorial, albeit fearful, female and took an instant dislike to the newcomer. No big surprises there. Ralphie, on the other hand, was very curious and interested in the new guy and they made friends very quickly, playing together and grooming each other. They’ve been good for each other. They’re brothers now, with Ralphie being an estimated couple of months older than Jack.

Jack is not a cuddly little guy. I don’t know how much time he spent out on the street as a kitten, but the fact that he was picked up by Animal Control in May as an intact tom suggests that he could have spent a substantial amount of his first year learning the ropes of a cat with only a marginal home, if any. He lost a couple of inches of his tail, giving it a stiff, shortened appearance, and this could have occurred in a fight with another animal. He’s scrappy and tough, and he has some defenses to let down before he can make a completely successful adjustment here.

When Mia growls and hisses at him, his reaction is to run at her, and they’ve fought. Repeated incidents of this during that first month made her a nervous wreck, understandably, and drove them further apart in terms of establishing any kind of harmonious relationship. Mia is now on Prozac to try to calm her aggression and anxiety, and it has been recommended that Jack be on it, too, to lower his reaction to chase and confront her. Mia has been tolerating her medication. Jack threw up his first dose ten days ago, and I haven’t tried it since, although I am going to try again at a reduced dose. Let me tell you, though! Trying to cut a small tablet into eighths is next to impossible!

We’ve been keeping Jack and Mia apart, one behind a closed door at all times. Mia spends about half her time in the master suite (large bedroom and bath with walk-in closet.) Some people live in efficiency apartments the size of our master bedroom and bath, and she has what she needs in there. She does, however, lack her freedom 24/7. Jack spends about half his time in the basement with the door closed when Mia is out and about in the house. Again, all he lacks with the arrangement is his absolute freedom 24/7.

The two of them accidentally encountered each other in the kitchen last Sunday when Jack got the incompletely latched basement door open, and the same scenario repeated itself. Mia hissed and Jack charged at her. They fought. Dale pounded them with a pillow to get them to disengage. Mia ran and Dale grabbed Jack (getting some scratches in the process) and tossed him back in the basement.

This is our life right now.

I hate it. I grieve for the peace and love that filled my home several months ago. If someone were to hand me the ultimate clock that would turn back the hands of time, I’d give that baby a good hard crank. How far back would I turn it? Well, what a loaded, philosophical question that is! If I turned it back too far — say, to when Katie was still alive — I’d erase Mia and Ralphie, and would I want that?

Anyway, that’s completely a moot and fantastical concept. Life goes on. There are no magical clocks, and right now, the challenges of getting my homelife back into peaceful, working order seem overwhelming. I grieve for what was, and I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel for what currently is.

Jack is part of our family. He called to me for a reason. He’s not merchandise that can be returned if he doesn’t coordinate with the home decor. Mia is also our girl. Goes without saying. This is her home, and we love her very much. Somehow, we’ve got to get these relationships functioning again so that we all can live in this house with the doors open, cats and people being able to come and go freely without fights breaking out.

It tries my patience. We’re not even three months into it, and the voice of those who know say that this could take many more months before it finally smooths out. At least once a day, I’m ready to throw in the towel and find someone a new home. Perhaps that someone should be me!

And then I think what I might be missing if I don’t give it the time, patience, effort and love that I gave Katie and Bubba 19 years ago. I owe everyone at least that much. I owe it to myself because I was the lucky one in the end. I was the one who reaped the blessings of their love and companionship.

Posted September 21, 2013 by StPaulieGrrl in cats

Tagged with , ,

Two Months Since the World Changed   1 comment

P8210006 by Lady Birchwood
P8210006, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

It’s been two calendar months now since Bubba left this world, nine weeks tomorrow. I haven’t said too much about him, unlike when Kate, his sister, died in Feb. 2011. When she died, I wrote and wrote about her. Bubba hasn’t gotten the press time, but his death has been no less painful.

Bubba was the cornerstone of our feline family these past two-and-a-half years since Katie’s death. We brought Mia into the family four weeks after Katie’s death, and Ralphie was adopted 15 months after Mia, bringing the cat-family size to three for the first time. But Bubba was the kingpin, the Alpha Cat, the priority on which decisions were made and the world revolved. The last two-and-a-half years of his life saw me tending to his every need, telling him countless times a day how much he was loved and special he was. He was priceless, loved beyond measure.

Losing him has crushed me, even though we all knew we were counting his days. Watching him struggle for that last breath and holding his still body close to me, rocking him in my arms as I had done thousands of times over his 19 years, sucked the spirit right out of me. A part of me died with him that morning, and my world has gotten a little grayer.

He was my Buddy Boy, my Twinkle, my Snowflake. He was the Big Guy, the Dude, the A-Number-One Tomcat. His spirit was huge and his presence filled this house with an enduring warmth. I sometimes envision him now sitting in the sunshine, the rays shimmering off his soft white coat. He’s surrounded by that healing white aura. That was and is his essence.

I and the cat family (of which I am the mom of the pride) are at odds right now. We’ve lost the center of our universe. A new member has been added, Jack, and we are struggling with the new configuration. We’re just a collection of pieces right now, hoping that somehow it will all fall into place again. The two young guys, Ralphie and Jack, have paired up, but the two girls — Mia and her mom — are screwed up and stressed. We’re both on Prozac! If she feels a fraction of what I feel, it’s no wonder she wants to beat up on the world right now.

Yes, I feel guilty that a cat’s death and the reconfiguration of my family has bothered me so much.  There are massive world problems right now that make this seem ridiculous.  There are individuals and families in crisis that make this seems like a gnat on an elephant’s ass.    And I’m crying because a cat has died and the 3-year-old and the new guy are at odds?  Sorry…. but we all have our places to go to regroup and gain strength in this often-crappy world, and my place of peace has been profoundly shaken. Finding that new place has been difficult.  Might be working on that one for a while.

Loved Beyond Measure
3/27/94 – 7/1/13

Posted September 1, 2013 by StPaulieGrrl in cats, Mental Health

Tagged with ,

Photographs and Memories   Leave a comment

Bubsie 001 by Lady Birchwood
Bubsie 001, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

I came across this photo while looking through our many photos for ones of Bubba after he passed away July 1. This one just gripped me, and I can’t believe that it never made it into the favorite cat photos collection. This one was taken as he sat in front of the Christmas tree in 2009, several months away from his 16th birthday.

His health had been good then. We had him on a twice-a-day potassium supplement because it seemed to run low, although no one was really sure why. All his other blood chemistries and electrolytes were fine. With the exception of that, we had dealt with no other health issues throughout his life.

Then came the day in February 2010, just some weeks after this photo was taken, when I picked him up and I suddenly felt that he seemed awfully light. He had always been a big guy, 16-and-a-half pounds in his prime, although he had lost a little weight and had dropped a pound. At 15-and-a-half pounds, he was still a big cat! But he didn’t feel so big that morning, and I got the scale out and stood on it with him. I was shocked to find out once the math was done that he had lost three pounds since his last check-up which hadn’t been that long ago. I was immediately on the phone, making an appointment to take him in to see our vet.

A couple of days later, we had the verdict that he was hyperthyroid. I had a moment of panic, knowing that friends had lost a cat years earlier to hyperthyroidism, but my vet assured me that it was treatable. We started him on the medication methimazole right away. His thyroid level came down and regained a pound within a month or so.

By the end of 2010, even with his thyroid hormone controlled on medication, he continued to lose weight. He was down to 12 pounds by Christmas of 2010. The vet didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure that we needed to do anything, although something didn’t feel right to me. I had the ominous feeling that he was slowly slipping away and we didn’t know why!

Then his sister, Katie, died in February 2011, he just seem despondent and withdrawn. He didn’t have much of an appetite. He was having trouble maintaining his weight at 12 pounds. I took him into the vet in May because he seemed so fatigued and depressed. When the lab work came back normal, I refused to take “everything’s fine” as the answer. I insisted that it wasn’t fine. Something was wrong. After this discussion, the vet ran a test for pancreatitis and it came back elevated. We had him evaluated at the University for underlying causes, but with the exception of a cyst in his chest, everything came back looking pretty normal. He had changes consistent with both chronic pancreatitis and possibly inflammatory bowel disease. We didn’t pursue any treatment. None was suggested.

I decided then to go ahead with the radioactive iodine treatment to cure his hyperthyroidism. We could get him off the medication and eliminate that as an aggravation and possible source of him not feeling well. He did perk up after the treatment in July 2011 and regained some weight. Actually, things went pretty well for about 10 months, until his appetite dropped off and a flare-up of pancreatitis was diagnosed.

We then started prednisolone to control the pancreatic inflammation. He had a bout the summer of 2012 of his white count soaring and an abdominal abscess was suspected. An antibiotic brought that back down to normal. We kept him on the prednisolone, kept increasing it, put him on an antibiotic when he was uncomfortable. I took him in to the vet in March 2013 when a sudden weight loss alarmed me. He had developed diabetes.

We were in to the vet every week or so, trying to get his blood sugar normalized. He was hospitalized for two days over Memorial Day weekend 2013 after a sudden pain attack and difficulty breathing. He recovered, came home, and life went on with the daily regime of prednisolone, an antibiotic, and insulin. Then something respiratory set in a couple of weeks after we brought him home from that hospitalization. We couldn’t get rid of the wheeze and rattles with the antibiotic he was on. He got worse. He went into respiratory distress the last weekend in June and died the morning of July 1.

I love this photo of him. It is the last one of him whole and apparently healthy, before all the ailments started, before the long, slippery slope to decline and death loomed before us. I just want to reach out and stroke his head, run my hands through that soft, silky fur , still luxurious and healthy. My heart just aches with my longing to touch and hold him again, at a time when chronic illness wasn’t a part of our daily lives together.

“Photographs and memories
All the love you gave to me
Somehow it just can’t be true
That’s all I’ve left of you…”
–Jim Croce

Posted July 21, 2013 by StPaulieGrrl in cats

Tagged with

Repose   5 comments

Repose by Lady Birchwood
Repose, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

In the spring of 1994, when we still lived in South Minneapolis, I was feeding a feral pregnant cat who gave birth under a neighbor’s porch. When the two (surviving?) kittens were five or six weeks old, she brought them to the food dish on our front porch. I spent the entire summer of 1994 earning the trust of two feral kittens who were terribly afraid of humans. By Labor Day, they were in our home and a part of our family. Since our nearly-19-year-old cat, Mandy, was in failing health, I called these kittens my “kittens from God.” Mandy was my first cat as an adult, adopted when I was 20, and her death in late September was devastating. We were a childless couple, and Mandy was the third member of our family. If it hadn’t been for my “kittens from God,” I don’t think I would have pulled through that loss as well as I did — which wasn’t at all well at times. However, Katie, the little calico, and Bubba, the bigger white guy with the black ears and tail, taught me about the healing power of love and the need to move on.

Katie died two years and four months ago from chronic kidney disease and end-stage renal failure. Bubba and I struggled on, bringing 8-month-old Mia, a brown tabby, into the family four weeks later. In a very short amount of time for a senior cat, he had accepted her as a baby sister. A year ago, we added then-3-month-old Ralphie, an orange tabby, into the family, and Bubba accepted him as well. Ralphie looked up to him as the figureative patriarch that he was.

Bubba coped these past few years with chronic health issues. He had hyperthyroidism that we successfully treated with radioactive iodine (I-131) and essentially cured this disease process. He also had issues with chronic pancreatitis these last couple of years which we tried to control with prednisone this last year. The chronic inflammation eventually led to the development of diabetes. He was diagnosed with this the day after his 19th birthday in March. We were trying to get that under control with daily insulin injections when respiratory problems set in a few weeks ago. In spite of antibiotic therapy, he developed pneumonia and died from respiratory distress on the morning of July 1.

He was very, very loved and he is now very, very missed. A huge, wonderful presence is now gone from our lives, and we’re all trying to pull it together now. Particularly this grieving mama.

I made this slideshow video for Bubba on Monday after he died. If you’d like to view it, please do so. I share it with love in his memory.

Posted July 4, 2013 by StPaulieGrrl in cats

Tagged with ,

Bubba Remembers Kate   Leave a comment

Bubba Remembers Kate by Lady Birchwood
Bubba Remembers Kate, a photo by Lady Birchwood on Flickr.

I spent a couple of hours last night, writing a letter to an elderly friend in Akron, Ohio. She is in her late 70s and resides in her small apartment with her two cats, Mindy and Annie.

Dear Colleen,

Happy Spring! I hope that this letter finds you, Mindy, and Annie doing well.

You’ve come to mind many times over this past year as a kindred soul who would understand what I’ve felt since my Katie-cat died in February of last year. Not everyone understands the bonds that can exist between humans and their furred or feathered companions in life. For us, these companions are someone with whom we share our daily lives, enjoying their closeness and their comforting rituals. Their sudden absence leaves a huge void, both in our living space and in our hearts.

I feel that Katie’s death for me was very much like losing a child. I would explain it as being similar to adopting or fostering a child when she’s young, a child with special needs who is not going to live out a normal life expectancy. Due to her inborn genetic programming, she will do well to live to see her 18th birthday. If her life goes exceptionally well, she may live to 20 or 21. Does knowing that from the beginning of the relationship make the loss any less painful when the inevitable finally happens? No, it doesn’t. Through all those years together, you played and loved and enjoyed life with each other. You took care of her needs with loving attention, never missing a chance to give a hug or say, “I love you, sweetie,” because the knowledge was always there that you would outlive her; your days together were numbered. The love was all the sweeter and more poignant for those handful of years you may be granted together. And when the end comes, the pain is shattering, even though you knew that day would arrive. The pain is as intense as the love and devotion.

That’s how I felt about Kate. She came into my life in the spring of 1994 as a feral kitten, born under the neighbor’s porch, her mother a feral queen. Both she and her brother were very fearful of human contact. Neither kitten was touched by human hands until he/she was five months old. That was when I took them into our home. Bubba adjusted well to life with two humans and enjoyed the holding and snuggling. Katie remained aloof. I was patient and gentle, never forcing contact with her, always trying to respect her boundaries whenever possible. Slowly, she grew to trust me, eventually seeking my closeness and my touch, although until the very end, she never wanted to be held. Over the years, we became an “item,” a pair of interspecies soulmates. She never trusted anyone else but me. I was told by a close friend who took care of my cats when Dale and I were gone that Katie would stay on my side of the king-size bed, her body huddled against my pillow. She would allow someone to approach her if she were in her “safe spot,” the spot that she and I shared when I was home. She found comfort and security in me, and I loved her with my whole heart. I loved her without reservation or conditions. My sun rose and set with her.

I’ve struggled with this aching loss. I am a woman who seldom cries, but the tears started to flow from the moment I got the lab results that she was in kidney failure, and I cried at all hours of the day and night no matter where I was or what I was doing for about a year after her death. I talked aloud to her. I begged her to come back to me in some form if she could. I was completely incredulous that a love for a being could be so deep and powerful and yet be totally unable to stop the inevitable – that one day she would simply be gone, never to return. How could this possibly be? I spent a lot of time thinking about what happens after death. I’m a Unitarian-Universalist agnostic with Buddhist leanings and I don’t have much faith in an afterlife. I wish I did. I yearned this past year for such a thing to exist so that somehow we would be together again.

Life does go on in spite of loss. Four weeks after Katie died, I stopped at Petco that Saturday to buy cat food for Bubba. Petco was sponsoring a pet adoption event with adoptable cats there from a local no-kill shelter called Caring for Cats. Of course, I had to stop and look at the nine or so cats they had there. A pretty little 8-month-old tabby was there. She and her brother had been found in a window well as very small kittens. Eventually she and her brother found their way to Caring for Cats. Her foster mom told me all about her and how happy and friendly she was. She encouraged me to pet her. This kitten rolled over on her back with her feet in the air and wanted me to rub her tummy. She purred and purred and purred! I walked away saying that I wasn’t sure I was ready to adopt another cat just yet, but an hour later, I was dragging Dale back to Petco to see this kitten. We put a deposit on her to hold her for 24 hours while we talked about it, and the following day we went back, paid the rest of her adoption fee, and brought her home. I named her Mia. She has been a delightful addition to our family. She is so loving and trusting, so playful and energetic. So funny and entertaining! We’re really glad she’s here.

Katie’s littermate brother, Bubba, has struggled this past year as well to the extent that I thought we were going to lose him soon after Katie. He was listless, losing weight, seemed withdrawn and depressed. He had no appetite and had to be coaxed to eat. I had him into the vet numerous times for blood work, wondering if his hyperthyroidism was not under control on the Tapazol. It seemed okay. We had him into the University of Minnesota Small Animal Clinic for an evaluation. He was diagnosed with pancreatitis of unknown cause but no other obvious problems other than his controlled hyperthyroidism. I finally made the decision to have his thyroid treated with I-131, a radioactive form of iodine that destroys the hyperactive thyroid tissue. He had to be hospitalized for four days, which was hard on all of us. When he came home, he was no longer on medication and all his bloodwork was normal when checked a month after the treatment. He started to perk up. His appetite improved. His mood has improved and he hangs out with us again and purrs when we pet him and hold him. He’s put on a pound-and-a-half over the past eight months. We celebrated his 18th birthday on March 27 and are just so grateful that he seems to feel well again. He and Mia are getting along fine. We think that he likes having her around!

In February, around the time of the first anniversary of Katie’s passing, I enlisted an award-winning tattoo artist to put her portrait on my upper back. He did an exceptionally nice job, working from a photo I had given him. Getting this tattoo was of course very symbolic. It was my way of saying that she would always be a part of me.

Overall, I’m doing better now. My depression has eased this spring. Life is feeling more “normal” again – whatever that is! I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. There is only one thing you can count on in life – it never stays the same. Things are always changing.

Blessings to you, Colleen. Take care!

Posted April 6, 2012 by StPaulieGrrl in cats, hyperthyroid cats

Tagged with , ,

Curse of the Basement Cats   1 comment

My calico, Katie, died in February of this year.  I’ve been quite amazed that I haven’t had any dreams about her since her death, at least none that I recall upon awakening.  I had my first one last night, and it was reminiscent of the frequent ones I had after Mandy died in 1994.

To set the stage, a bit of background is in order, although these are facts I’ve mentioned before in other posts.  My wonderful pair, Katie and Bubba, were feral kittens, born under a neighbor’s porch in South Minneapolis in 1994.  There was a little feral cat population going on in that inner city neighborhood at the time.  Their mother, simply known as Mama Cat, was a feral cat.  We had a feral male cat whom we called Splotch because of his patches of white and black who I believe at one time was part of a mess of cats populating freely in the house across the street.  They were just left to roam, jumping in and out of open windows of that house and receiving no veterinary care such as spaying or neutering.  Eventually, Splotch was just wandering the streets, earning his title of Alpha Tomcat.  It’s possible that he fathered at least one of my kittens in 1994 and no doubt contributed to Mama Cat’s litter that was born around Labor Day that year.

We put our house up for sale in September of that year, a couple of weeks after Mama Cat’s second litter of that year was born.  I had just officially taken Katie and Bubba into the house.  The house sold quickly and we moved Thanksgiving weekend to the house that we currently live in 13 miles away.  As the time to move drew near, I worried more and more about Mama Cat and Splotch.  Mama Cat still had one of her kittens with her from that September litter and I had never been able to get near to this kitten, as much as I wanted to.  I was not going to trap her and take her away from this kitten.   Trapping Splotch wasn’t even on my radar.  I was inexperienced in the care and management of feral cats, knowing far less then than I do now.

What I did know was that I had been a steady and dependable source of food for them since that winter of 1993-94.  I always put out a large bowl of dry food everyday.  During the time when Katie and Bubba were kittens, I put out a large 10 ounce can of cat food every evening that whoever got it was welcomed to have.  I knew that I was pulling this reliable source of food out from under them when we moved in November.  I did all that I felt I could do at the time — told neighbors of the plight of these cats and asked if they could spare a bowl of food now and then.  I felt horrible about leaving.  I even went back a couple of times after the move and put food out in spaces other than the porch of the old house because I knew that the new owners didn’t like cats.  I remember sitting in my car in the alley behind the old house with tears running down my cheeks, pounding the steering wheel in frustration because there was nothing else I could do.

The “basement cats” dream started.  Stray cats were living and breeding in an old, dark, musty basement in this dream.  They were just left to fend for themselves.  They were like hobos, camping out wherever they could to get in out of the cold and the rain or snow.  I have no idea what they were eating.  Whose basement was this?  It had some characteristics of the old basements in the house I grew up in and later the house we lived in for 17 years in South Minneapolis.  I might have been living in that house with the feral cats in the basement, but I seemed largely unaware of their presence.  Their presence would startle me at odd times.

The startling thing was when I would discover my deceased cat, Mandy, living in the cellar with these cats.  She died in September 1994 at the age of 18 years and 7 months, just two months before we moved out of our South Minneapolis home.  In these dreams, I had neglected her, forgotten about her, but there she was, living a life of neglect in the damp, ugly basement with these other forgotten cats.  These were horrible dreams.  I had them intermittently for years after she died.

My first recalled dream now about Katie five months after her death was a similar dream.  It took place in an old house with a back stairway that spanned several floors, leading down to a dank basement.  Cats were everywhere, hiding in nooks and crannies, milling about in the neglected spaces of the basement area.  I was searching for Katie and Bubba.  These cats were obviously interbred with many similar markings.  There were many calicos, most of them bizarrely colored.  I was looking for that special calico, the one with the very pretty markings and the little black nose, the one that was so beautiful she would surely stand out from that motley crowd.  I finally thought to call for her for she surely would come to me if she heard her name.  I wandered among the hoard, calling, “Katie-cat!  Kaaatie-cat!  Katie-cat!”  I thought I saw her a time or two, but I was never sure.    I just felt she was there somewhere.  I never found Bubba, either.  I thought I saw him, a large, fluffy white cat with that beautiful plume of black for a tail, but when I picked him up and turned him to me, his face was a gray-marked face of another cat.

I always feel so empty and distraught after these dreams.  I feel like a neglectful cat-mom, losing her cats, forgetting about her cats.  In real life, that would never happen.

What kind of dream I’d love to have is one in which Katie comes to me, whole and healthy and beautiful, and tells me that she’s forever with me, that she loves me and will always remember me and what we shared.    She’s always warm and safe and loved in my heart, never abandoned in some dark recess of my frail and forgetful mind.

In memory of the happier times when my family was all together on a Sunday morning:

Bubba and Katie with Mom


Posted July 31, 2011 by StPaulieGrrl in cats

Tagged with ,