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- Jan 1, 2006
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Last year, our kitty Pounder passed away from cancer.
Pounder in 2002
Pounder during chemotherapy in 2005
He had fought for months, struggling through surgery and chemotherapy. When he became so sick that he could no longer eat, we fed him a liquid diet through a syringe. In the end, he couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t even make it to the litter box, so we had to clean him up several times per day. On April 27, 2005, when his body finally began to shut down, Pounder and I both cried as he quietly passed away in my arms. My wife had raised him since he was a little kitten, so she was especially devastated when he passed. He had slept with her every night, and cuddled with her every day. I often felt like she loved him more than she loved me, but that was o.k. I understood. Pounder was her baby, her kid, and he was so personable, so loveable, so full of life and excitement, that you couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t help but love him. He would get so excited when he saw his Mom that he would shake his tail like a rattlesnake, and then waddle over (he was chubby) and head-butt her leg until she picked him up and hugged him. I quickly grew to love Pounder like she did.
A few days after Pounder passed away, I told my wife that I wanted to get another cat. She immediately protested and said that she simply couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t deal with another kitty passing away like Pounder had. We had seven other cats, so I knew that she would have to deal with it again anyway. She wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t ready for another kitty, and she was so devastated that I wondered if she would ever recover. One afternoon in early May 2005, while my wife lay in bed crying (as she had constantly done since Pounder passed away), I snuck out of the house with a list of local animal shelters and started driving. The first couple of shelters I went to were really nice, “no-killâ€, private shelters. These private shelters actually sent their employees to the public city/county shelters every week and rescued as many animals as they could. An employee at one of these private shelters explained that they could only save a fraction of the animals at the public shelters though. He assured me that all of the kitties at the shelter he worked at would be properly cared for and eventually adopted. At that moment, I knew that I had to go rescue a kitten from the public shelter. So, I went to the City Animal Control office.
When I got to the Animal Control office, I found LOTS of dogs and cats – row after row of cages. I also noticed a big furnace behind the building. When I got to the area where the cats were caged, I saw maybe 20 kittens in a long row of cages. I almost immediately noticed a tiny gray kitten with short hair, white “Bugs Bunny†paws, and a white belly. He looked exactly like a baby version of Pounder. The gray/white kitten was in a cage with his brother, who was all gray, and his mother, who was also gray. I decided then that I would adopt the one that looked just like Pounder. This kitten would soon be named “Oliverâ€, after my Dad. As I tried to figure out how I was going to adopt Oliverâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s brother and mother, I remembered that a friend of mine had recently mentioned that he wanted a kitten. So, I called him and spent 20 minutes trying to convince him to adopt Oliverâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s brother. An hour later, my friend arrived at the shelter and we each adopted a kitten.
When I got home with Oliver, my wife was PISSED … for about two seconds. She immediately fell in love with Oliver though, and we started doing everything we could to make sure he was comfortable and happy. He got all of the best toys, the best food, the best bedding … our house was his. From his first day home, we noticed that he was extremely personable – more than our other kitties. He insisted on playing with all of the kitties, and constantly sleeping and cuddling with them. He was the most outgoing, and fearless, kitten that I had ever seen. In fact, he was so brave that he would start “play fights†with our biggest, meanest kitty “Scrapperâ€. Scrapper was about 15 lbs of pure muscle, and loved to fight. One day, my wife decided that Oliver needed a nickname, because “Oliver†just didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t sound right; it wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t a typical kitty name. So, she came up with the name “Chickenbuttâ€, or just “Chicken†for short. What an ironic name – he was anything BUT a “chickenâ€; he was a fearless cat. Somehow, the name Chickenbutt stuck though. It sounded funny, and there was no good reason for a name like that, but in some twisted way it worked.
Chicken's first day in his new home
Chicken at play
The week after Chickenbutt arrived at our house, I took him to our family veterinarian for his first checkup. Everything was fine … until the doctor listened to his heart. She heard a distinct heart murmur, and was concerned that Chicken might have a congenital heart defect. So, she referred me to a feline internal medicine specialist at a local veterinary specialty clinic. The specialist ran a few tests, checked out the heart with x-rays and ultrasound, and determined that Chicken did in fact have a heart defect. Corrective surgery was theoretically possible, but would be very dangerous and expensive. The doctorâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s recommendation was that we just raise Chicken normally and check out his heart again after a year. The doctor said that Chicken could die at any moment, or could live 7-8 years; there was no way to accurately predict what would happen. So, I took Chicken home, and we raised him like any other cat.
Chicken really loved Scrapper
As months passed, Chicken continued to be an incredibly playful, friendly, and loving kitten. You couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t help but love him when he would crawl up on your chest, flop down, and start licking your face. He did this constantly. In fact, this was the technique that he utilized to wake me up for work every morning after my alarm went off (and I hit the snooze button). I would pretend that I was still asleep so that he would keep licking my face … until he eventually got tired and fell asleep on my chest. Then I would fall asleep with him on my chest, and I would wake up an hour or so later (late for work of course) when he started licking my face again. He was ready for breakfast, and then a play fight with Scrapper, Little, or Kitty, and then maybe a nap with his Mommy. He would crawl up on her chest too and fall asleep in her arms. My wife would spend an extra hour or two in bed every day because Chicken was cuddled up, fast asleep, beside her in bed. She didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t want to wake him, and she wanted some quality cuddle time with Chicken.
Chicken and Scrapper
All of our kitties are indoor cats, because they stay healthier, safer, and have a longer life expectancy as indoor cats. I knew that Chicken wanted to go outside though, so I bought a “pet stroller†to take him for walks in. The pet stroller was basically just a large bed with a soft net enclosure. Chicken could easily see everything around him, breathe the fresh air, and be absolutely fascinated by the world that we explored. I took him for walks in the park, to the coffee shop, and through the restaurant and shopping districts. I wanted him to see, smell, and experience as much as possible. He smelled all of the restaurant smells, he drank milk while I drank coffee at the coffee shop, and he even got to the world famous “Plaza Christmas Lights†in Kansas City for his first Christmas.
Chicken loved watermelon
and Chicken loved a good nap after eating watermelon
Chicken, and his seven “brothers and sistersâ€, all had it pretty good. The house was theirs. They got to claw the furniture, sleep on the bed, pee on the stove, poop in the sink … and they still got a feast of albacore tuna every Saturday night. If albacore tuna had provided a well-balanced diet, they would have gotten it every day of the week. They only got it once a week though, and I think I enjoyed giving it to them almost as much as they enjoyed eating it. So, tonight, on New Years Eve, I left my friendâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s party early so I could come home and give the kitties their Saturday night treat. When I got home, I ran to turn off the alarm as soon as I walked in the front door. Then, I took my jacket off and walking around the house to greet all of the kitties. That is when I noticed Scrapper sitting in the middle of the living room floor, looking down at the lifeless body of Chicken. Before I even touched him, I knew Chicken was dead. I used the stethoscope that I had bought right after Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s initial diagnosis to check his heart anyway. I checked over and over but couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t find a heartbeat. I finally called my wife and told her. She immediately left work and came home. We sat on the living room floor and cried for hours … until all of the warmth had left Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s body. Then, I wrapped Chicken up in a soft sweater and took him to the 24/7/365 animal hospital so they could prepare him for cremation. My wife wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t ready for me to take him away, but I reminded her that the other kitties were probably eager to get their tuna dinner. I could hardly drive, because I kept breaking down and sobbing, but I knew I had to take Chicken to the vet.
As I drove home, sobbing uncontrollably, I kept trying to make sense of Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death. If you have ever experienced the death of a loved one, you know that there are no answers, nothing you can say, or think, or rationalize to help yourself feel better. The death of a loved one is the most traumatic thing I have ever experienced, and I guess only time can heal, because I just recently began to accept and come to terms with Pounderâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death. While thoughts of sadness, possible explanations, God, and hopelessness raced through my head, I suddenly realized that Pounder died for a reason. Pounder saved Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s life. Chicken was saved from an almost certain death at the animal control center only because Pounder had died. Pounderâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s legacy is that his final act was to effectively save the life of a helpless kitten. Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s final act will also be to save the life of a helpless kitten. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m going to the city animal control center on Monday to ensure that Chicken will have a legacy – something to remind us of Chicken and of Pounder. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll probably never completely recover from Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death, and Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll miss him every day for the rest of my life. The only consolation right now is the thought that Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s final breath saved the life of another kitten.
R.I.P. Chicken
January 15, 2005? - January 1, 2006
Pounder in 2002
Pounder during chemotherapy in 2005
He had fought for months, struggling through surgery and chemotherapy. When he became so sick that he could no longer eat, we fed him a liquid diet through a syringe. In the end, he couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t even make it to the litter box, so we had to clean him up several times per day. On April 27, 2005, when his body finally began to shut down, Pounder and I both cried as he quietly passed away in my arms. My wife had raised him since he was a little kitten, so she was especially devastated when he passed. He had slept with her every night, and cuddled with her every day. I often felt like she loved him more than she loved me, but that was o.k. I understood. Pounder was her baby, her kid, and he was so personable, so loveable, so full of life and excitement, that you couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t help but love him. He would get so excited when he saw his Mom that he would shake his tail like a rattlesnake, and then waddle over (he was chubby) and head-butt her leg until she picked him up and hugged him. I quickly grew to love Pounder like she did.
A few days after Pounder passed away, I told my wife that I wanted to get another cat. She immediately protested and said that she simply couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t deal with another kitty passing away like Pounder had. We had seven other cats, so I knew that she would have to deal with it again anyway. She wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t ready for another kitty, and she was so devastated that I wondered if she would ever recover. One afternoon in early May 2005, while my wife lay in bed crying (as she had constantly done since Pounder passed away), I snuck out of the house with a list of local animal shelters and started driving. The first couple of shelters I went to were really nice, “no-killâ€, private shelters. These private shelters actually sent their employees to the public city/county shelters every week and rescued as many animals as they could. An employee at one of these private shelters explained that they could only save a fraction of the animals at the public shelters though. He assured me that all of the kitties at the shelter he worked at would be properly cared for and eventually adopted. At that moment, I knew that I had to go rescue a kitten from the public shelter. So, I went to the City Animal Control office.
When I got to the Animal Control office, I found LOTS of dogs and cats – row after row of cages. I also noticed a big furnace behind the building. When I got to the area where the cats were caged, I saw maybe 20 kittens in a long row of cages. I almost immediately noticed a tiny gray kitten with short hair, white “Bugs Bunny†paws, and a white belly. He looked exactly like a baby version of Pounder. The gray/white kitten was in a cage with his brother, who was all gray, and his mother, who was also gray. I decided then that I would adopt the one that looked just like Pounder. This kitten would soon be named “Oliverâ€, after my Dad. As I tried to figure out how I was going to adopt Oliverâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s brother and mother, I remembered that a friend of mine had recently mentioned that he wanted a kitten. So, I called him and spent 20 minutes trying to convince him to adopt Oliverâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s brother. An hour later, my friend arrived at the shelter and we each adopted a kitten.
When I got home with Oliver, my wife was PISSED … for about two seconds. She immediately fell in love with Oliver though, and we started doing everything we could to make sure he was comfortable and happy. He got all of the best toys, the best food, the best bedding … our house was his. From his first day home, we noticed that he was extremely personable – more than our other kitties. He insisted on playing with all of the kitties, and constantly sleeping and cuddling with them. He was the most outgoing, and fearless, kitten that I had ever seen. In fact, he was so brave that he would start “play fights†with our biggest, meanest kitty “Scrapperâ€. Scrapper was about 15 lbs of pure muscle, and loved to fight. One day, my wife decided that Oliver needed a nickname, because “Oliver†just didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t sound right; it wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t a typical kitty name. So, she came up with the name “Chickenbuttâ€, or just “Chicken†for short. What an ironic name – he was anything BUT a “chickenâ€; he was a fearless cat. Somehow, the name Chickenbutt stuck though. It sounded funny, and there was no good reason for a name like that, but in some twisted way it worked.
Chicken's first day in his new home
Chicken at play
The week after Chickenbutt arrived at our house, I took him to our family veterinarian for his first checkup. Everything was fine … until the doctor listened to his heart. She heard a distinct heart murmur, and was concerned that Chicken might have a congenital heart defect. So, she referred me to a feline internal medicine specialist at a local veterinary specialty clinic. The specialist ran a few tests, checked out the heart with x-rays and ultrasound, and determined that Chicken did in fact have a heart defect. Corrective surgery was theoretically possible, but would be very dangerous and expensive. The doctorâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s recommendation was that we just raise Chicken normally and check out his heart again after a year. The doctor said that Chicken could die at any moment, or could live 7-8 years; there was no way to accurately predict what would happen. So, I took Chicken home, and we raised him like any other cat.
Chicken really loved Scrapper
As months passed, Chicken continued to be an incredibly playful, friendly, and loving kitten. You couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t help but love him when he would crawl up on your chest, flop down, and start licking your face. He did this constantly. In fact, this was the technique that he utilized to wake me up for work every morning after my alarm went off (and I hit the snooze button). I would pretend that I was still asleep so that he would keep licking my face … until he eventually got tired and fell asleep on my chest. Then I would fall asleep with him on my chest, and I would wake up an hour or so later (late for work of course) when he started licking my face again. He was ready for breakfast, and then a play fight with Scrapper, Little, or Kitty, and then maybe a nap with his Mommy. He would crawl up on her chest too and fall asleep in her arms. My wife would spend an extra hour or two in bed every day because Chicken was cuddled up, fast asleep, beside her in bed. She didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t want to wake him, and she wanted some quality cuddle time with Chicken.
Chicken and Scrapper
All of our kitties are indoor cats, because they stay healthier, safer, and have a longer life expectancy as indoor cats. I knew that Chicken wanted to go outside though, so I bought a “pet stroller†to take him for walks in. The pet stroller was basically just a large bed with a soft net enclosure. Chicken could easily see everything around him, breathe the fresh air, and be absolutely fascinated by the world that we explored. I took him for walks in the park, to the coffee shop, and through the restaurant and shopping districts. I wanted him to see, smell, and experience as much as possible. He smelled all of the restaurant smells, he drank milk while I drank coffee at the coffee shop, and he even got to the world famous “Plaza Christmas Lights†in Kansas City for his first Christmas.
Chicken loved watermelon
and Chicken loved a good nap after eating watermelon
Chicken, and his seven “brothers and sistersâ€, all had it pretty good. The house was theirs. They got to claw the furniture, sleep on the bed, pee on the stove, poop in the sink … and they still got a feast of albacore tuna every Saturday night. If albacore tuna had provided a well-balanced diet, they would have gotten it every day of the week. They only got it once a week though, and I think I enjoyed giving it to them almost as much as they enjoyed eating it. So, tonight, on New Years Eve, I left my friendâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s party early so I could come home and give the kitties their Saturday night treat. When I got home, I ran to turn off the alarm as soon as I walked in the front door. Then, I took my jacket off and walking around the house to greet all of the kitties. That is when I noticed Scrapper sitting in the middle of the living room floor, looking down at the lifeless body of Chicken. Before I even touched him, I knew Chicken was dead. I used the stethoscope that I had bought right after Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s initial diagnosis to check his heart anyway. I checked over and over but couldnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t find a heartbeat. I finally called my wife and told her. She immediately left work and came home. We sat on the living room floor and cried for hours … until all of the warmth had left Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s body. Then, I wrapped Chicken up in a soft sweater and took him to the 24/7/365 animal hospital so they could prepare him for cremation. My wife wasnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t ready for me to take him away, but I reminded her that the other kitties were probably eager to get their tuna dinner. I could hardly drive, because I kept breaking down and sobbing, but I knew I had to take Chicken to the vet.
As I drove home, sobbing uncontrollably, I kept trying to make sense of Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death. If you have ever experienced the death of a loved one, you know that there are no answers, nothing you can say, or think, or rationalize to help yourself feel better. The death of a loved one is the most traumatic thing I have ever experienced, and I guess only time can heal, because I just recently began to accept and come to terms with Pounderâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death. While thoughts of sadness, possible explanations, God, and hopelessness raced through my head, I suddenly realized that Pounder died for a reason. Pounder saved Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s life. Chicken was saved from an almost certain death at the animal control center only because Pounder had died. Pounderâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s legacy is that his final act was to effectively save the life of a helpless kitten. Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s final act will also be to save the life of a helpless kitten. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m going to the city animal control center on Monday to ensure that Chicken will have a legacy – something to remind us of Chicken and of Pounder. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll probably never completely recover from Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s death, and Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll miss him every day for the rest of my life. The only consolation right now is the thought that Chickenâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s final breath saved the life of another kitten.
R.I.P. Chicken
January 15, 2005? - January 1, 2006