Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m glad to have found this forum, I have been wanting to tell my kitty's tale to someone. Most in my life think me a bit dramatic for my reaction to the death of my cats, I can see from reading some of the posts that is not uncommon. I feel for you all. Where to start?
Fifteen years ago I was moving from my parents home to spring out on my own. My brother showed up at my door with a house warming present, a skinny tiger kitten with a too large head and green eyes. He was too young to be taken from his mother and needed to be nipple fed. I immediately fell for this cat, he was like a soul mate. I never felt alone with him around. Moshie, I named him because he looked like a pensive little rabbi all the time. He loved to rub his face against my cheek and sit on my shoulder while I studied or typed on the computer. But this immensely sweet behavior was only for me. He did not like the company of other people and mostly hid when I had company.
Not long after I was in my first apartment with Moshie a friend decided to visit for a month with her cat. She had not yet named the year old pure white creature with haunting yellow eyes. Nor was she taking proper care of him. Needless to say that when her trip ended and she left, the cat stayed. I named him Azlyn. While Moshie was my heart, Azlyn was my clown. He would sit up and beg for food like a dog, his favorite was cheetoes. He was a cat possessed for anything with fake cheese powder and was known to open my cabinets to rip into a bag of smartfood or cheezeits. He also cried relentlessly every morning unless I gave a cotton ball to play with. He would hold said cotton ball between his paws and lick it all day like a mother kitten.
At first Moshie pouted and sulked about the new addition. But Azlyn won him over as he did all creatures, feline or otherwise. The years spent with them were so full of changes, they were the constant and anchor in my life. About eight years ago I met and fell in love with a wonderful man, Joshua. Josh did not like cats. His only flaw. However, Azlyn was determined to win him over. He would force Josh to pet him by shoving his wet nose into Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s closed hand, opening his fist and then rubbing his body against Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s palm – as if to say, “Here dummy, here is how you pet me.†Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s annoyance would melt into laughter and lame cries of “help this cat is raping me.†Moshie mostly hid at first. But soon he was sitting on Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s lap. Josh and I became engaged and six years ago we were married. Every morning I would awake to find the self confessed cat hater sound asleep with no pillow because Moshie was stretched out on it and Josh didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t want to disturb him.
Josh and I bought a house with large windows and our aging fat cats loved laying around in the sun. We added a dog to our family. Gizmo. Azlyn and he became friends. Moshie used every opportunity to hiss, swat and otherwise put Gizmo in his place.
Three years ago we discovered with much joy that I was pregnant. Well into my pregnancy Moshie began to eat less and slowly loose weight. I brought him to the vet but she could not find anything wrong with him. Then he refused to eat even tuna for two days. I took him back to the vet to find that he had a tumor in his stomach. Moshie had surgery right away. The tumor was malignant and much larger then the vet previously thought. She had to remove some leg muscle and stomach wall to completely remove it. The incision was so large that it looked as if Moshie had been cut in half around the middle and sown back together. It was so horrifying and heart breaking. Being pregnant I also didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t feel like I could take as good of care of him as usual. His incision became infected and even the satellite like collar around his neck to keep him from chewing his wound didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t stop him from tearing the stitches out. It took months for Moshie to recover from the surgery. By the time I gave birth to our son, Max, Moshie was healed of his surgery but never seemed fully recovered to me. By the time Max started to crawl the tumor returned.
I am not usually the type of person who has trouble making a decision of the importance of the one now facing me. It was very doubtful that Moshie could survive another surgery. He was now 14 or so years old. But I just couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t bring myself to put him to sleep either. I would keep telling myself, just one more night of cuddling, just one more day to lay in the sun and then Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll do it. But I didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t. Soon the tumor became large enough to see it protruding from his skin. But he was still eating well, still using the cat box, still purring when I touched him. He still seemed happy to me, so I still kept giving him one more days reprieve. Then one morning I found a trail of blood leading to my closet. Moshie was there, bleeding from the mouth, but purring still as I pulled him out of the closet. I drove him to the vet and still kept looking down at him, thinking “this is the last time I will look into those eyes.†He always looked at me with such unadulterated love and admiration. I held him as the vet gave him the shot to end his pain. It worked so quickly, faster then I thought. His body just went limp immediately and he was gone forever. Too upset to drive, my brother came to collect me. How fitting that the one who brought Moshie into my life now brought me home after Moshie having left it. That was three years ago and I am still crying, even now as I write.
Several months after Moshie died Azlyn also began to lose weight. Thankfully, it was only diabetes which was remedied with an insulin injection twice a day. For over a year I nursed Azlyn and watched over his blood sugar with obsessive detail. Still it wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t enough. One day he to wouldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t eat, which for a diabetic is very bad. I rushed him to the vet to find that he too had a tumor in his stomach, not that much different from the spot where Moshie had his. Too old and sick to have surgery (and remembering how Moshie suffered after his) I opted to put Azlyn to sleep too. I spent one last night with him, spooning on my bed, awake, petting him and hugging him all night. Then in the morning he died in the same room as Moshie. That was one year ago.
Am I a crazy drama queen for still crying at least once a week for my babies? The hole in my life left by their absence is physically painful. Like a person who looses an arm in a horrible accident but still feels the “phantom limbâ€, I still feel Moshie rubbing his face against my cheek or Azlyn sleeping on my feet. I donâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t know how to end this so I will just end it here. Thanks for listening.
Fifteen years ago I was moving from my parents home to spring out on my own. My brother showed up at my door with a house warming present, a skinny tiger kitten with a too large head and green eyes. He was too young to be taken from his mother and needed to be nipple fed. I immediately fell for this cat, he was like a soul mate. I never felt alone with him around. Moshie, I named him because he looked like a pensive little rabbi all the time. He loved to rub his face against my cheek and sit on my shoulder while I studied or typed on the computer. But this immensely sweet behavior was only for me. He did not like the company of other people and mostly hid when I had company.
Not long after I was in my first apartment with Moshie a friend decided to visit for a month with her cat. She had not yet named the year old pure white creature with haunting yellow eyes. Nor was she taking proper care of him. Needless to say that when her trip ended and she left, the cat stayed. I named him Azlyn. While Moshie was my heart, Azlyn was my clown. He would sit up and beg for food like a dog, his favorite was cheetoes. He was a cat possessed for anything with fake cheese powder and was known to open my cabinets to rip into a bag of smartfood or cheezeits. He also cried relentlessly every morning unless I gave a cotton ball to play with. He would hold said cotton ball between his paws and lick it all day like a mother kitten.
At first Moshie pouted and sulked about the new addition. But Azlyn won him over as he did all creatures, feline or otherwise. The years spent with them were so full of changes, they were the constant and anchor in my life. About eight years ago I met and fell in love with a wonderful man, Joshua. Josh did not like cats. His only flaw. However, Azlyn was determined to win him over. He would force Josh to pet him by shoving his wet nose into Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s closed hand, opening his fist and then rubbing his body against Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s palm – as if to say, “Here dummy, here is how you pet me.†Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s annoyance would melt into laughter and lame cries of “help this cat is raping me.†Moshie mostly hid at first. But soon he was sitting on Joshâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s lap. Josh and I became engaged and six years ago we were married. Every morning I would awake to find the self confessed cat hater sound asleep with no pillow because Moshie was stretched out on it and Josh didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t want to disturb him.
Josh and I bought a house with large windows and our aging fat cats loved laying around in the sun. We added a dog to our family. Gizmo. Azlyn and he became friends. Moshie used every opportunity to hiss, swat and otherwise put Gizmo in his place.
Three years ago we discovered with much joy that I was pregnant. Well into my pregnancy Moshie began to eat less and slowly loose weight. I brought him to the vet but she could not find anything wrong with him. Then he refused to eat even tuna for two days. I took him back to the vet to find that he had a tumor in his stomach. Moshie had surgery right away. The tumor was malignant and much larger then the vet previously thought. She had to remove some leg muscle and stomach wall to completely remove it. The incision was so large that it looked as if Moshie had been cut in half around the middle and sown back together. It was so horrifying and heart breaking. Being pregnant I also didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t feel like I could take as good of care of him as usual. His incision became infected and even the satellite like collar around his neck to keep him from chewing his wound didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t stop him from tearing the stitches out. It took months for Moshie to recover from the surgery. By the time I gave birth to our son, Max, Moshie was healed of his surgery but never seemed fully recovered to me. By the time Max started to crawl the tumor returned.
I am not usually the type of person who has trouble making a decision of the importance of the one now facing me. It was very doubtful that Moshie could survive another surgery. He was now 14 or so years old. But I just couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t bring myself to put him to sleep either. I would keep telling myself, just one more night of cuddling, just one more day to lay in the sun and then Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll do it. But I didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t. Soon the tumor became large enough to see it protruding from his skin. But he was still eating well, still using the cat box, still purring when I touched him. He still seemed happy to me, so I still kept giving him one more days reprieve. Then one morning I found a trail of blood leading to my closet. Moshie was there, bleeding from the mouth, but purring still as I pulled him out of the closet. I drove him to the vet and still kept looking down at him, thinking “this is the last time I will look into those eyes.†He always looked at me with such unadulterated love and admiration. I held him as the vet gave him the shot to end his pain. It worked so quickly, faster then I thought. His body just went limp immediately and he was gone forever. Too upset to drive, my brother came to collect me. How fitting that the one who brought Moshie into my life now brought me home after Moshie having left it. That was three years ago and I am still crying, even now as I write.
Several months after Moshie died Azlyn also began to lose weight. Thankfully, it was only diabetes which was remedied with an insulin injection twice a day. For over a year I nursed Azlyn and watched over his blood sugar with obsessive detail. Still it wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t enough. One day he to wouldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t eat, which for a diabetic is very bad. I rushed him to the vet to find that he too had a tumor in his stomach, not that much different from the spot where Moshie had his. Too old and sick to have surgery (and remembering how Moshie suffered after his) I opted to put Azlyn to sleep too. I spent one last night with him, spooning on my bed, awake, petting him and hugging him all night. Then in the morning he died in the same room as Moshie. That was one year ago.
Am I a crazy drama queen for still crying at least once a week for my babies? The hole in my life left by their absence is physically painful. Like a person who looses an arm in a horrible accident but still feels the “phantom limbâ€, I still feel Moshie rubbing his face against my cheek or Azlyn sleeping on my feet. I donâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t know how to end this so I will just end it here. Thanks for listening.
