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- May 16, 2014
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The first week of May 1999, Forest and I were traveling a back road in New Mexico on vacation. Forest (being a guy) had to pee. We pulled off the road next to a scraggly little tree - the only tree in sight. We got out of the truck and I heard a "Meow!" and I said, "Oh, my god, a cat!" A slender little tabby and white cat slipped down off a branch, and then I heard a tiny "Mew!" "Oh, no, kittens!" Just one kitten, actually, a tiny copy of her mom, not even weaned, clinging to a limb. A handful of cheap dog kibble was thrown at the base of the tree. These two girls had been dumped. Forest was already getting out a water dish (we had our two dogs with us), I picked up the mom, and she drank and drank and drank. I don't think we even said anything, just started moving camping gear around and folding up some towels to make a nest for these two. And home they came with us. Mom cat was dubbed Mrs. Chippy, after the brave cat on Ernest Shackleton's ill-fated ship Endurance, caught in Antarctic ice. Her daughter was named Phoebe, after the Say's Phoebe (a bird - I'm a birdwatcher) I had seen the day before. Mrs. Chippy took to the life of a domestic goddess as to the manner born. A lovely mackerel tabby with immaculate white shirt front, we called her Forest's paramour because she would stretch and loll and gaze at him with bedroom eyes lined with perfect black mascara. She was also known as The Voluptuary, for her sensual bliss when being groomed and petted. She became matronly, even (dare I say it?) Junoesque. Phoebe was always small and a little frail - we speculated she was the sole kitten with little to no prenatal care. As they aged, Phoebe developed inflammatory bowel trouble, and I developed a raw food mix that kept her healthy for some years. Finally her kidneys started to go, and as she remained forever semi-feral, there was no way on earth she could be pilled or given fluids. She finally stopped eating, dwindled to a mere five pounds, and we helped her on her way in February, 2014. Two nights later, Mrs. Chippy suddenly wandered through the house at midnight, calling for her daughter. And then, dignified queen that she was, she was fine.
This past Sunday, Mrs. Chippy would not eat. The pleasures of the table were among her favorites, though she could be very finicky. At the age of 16, we just agreed she could have whatever she wanted, so it was often Fancy Feast, alternating with Tiki Cat chicken or tuna. Sunday night her temperature was 102.5, not enough to panic, but... Monday it was over 103, and our vet saw her on Tuesday. It was over 104 by then, and fluids, antibiotics and an appetite stimulant did nothing. She simply lay in her bed, not purring, not answering us. A chest xray was done: a large mass, taking up a third of her chest cavity, wedged between her heart and lungs. It doesn't matter what it was, it wasn't fixable. She was miserable. She could not get comfortable. She urinated where she lay - a cat of utmost dignity and cleanliness, too weak to bother. Her sufferings were worse than ours in losing her. I held her and we cried and whispered our love and goodbyes, and she is at peace.
Rest in peace, Mrs. Chippy. Helen Mirren with a large dollop of Norma Desmond: imperious, demanding, immaculate, voluptuous, brave and dignified. She graced our household and we are grateful.
Love, Julie and Forest
This past Sunday, Mrs. Chippy would not eat. The pleasures of the table were among her favorites, though she could be very finicky. At the age of 16, we just agreed she could have whatever she wanted, so it was often Fancy Feast, alternating with Tiki Cat chicken or tuna. Sunday night her temperature was 102.5, not enough to panic, but... Monday it was over 103, and our vet saw her on Tuesday. It was over 104 by then, and fluids, antibiotics and an appetite stimulant did nothing. She simply lay in her bed, not purring, not answering us. A chest xray was done: a large mass, taking up a third of her chest cavity, wedged between her heart and lungs. It doesn't matter what it was, it wasn't fixable. She was miserable. She could not get comfortable. She urinated where she lay - a cat of utmost dignity and cleanliness, too weak to bother. Her sufferings were worse than ours in losing her. I held her and we cried and whispered our love and goodbyes, and she is at peace.
Rest in peace, Mrs. Chippy. Helen Mirren with a large dollop of Norma Desmond: imperious, demanding, immaculate, voluptuous, brave and dignified. She graced our household and we are grateful.
Love, Julie and Forest
