Two weeks ago, after a two-months long courageous fight with multiple illnesses, my beloved Ruckus, aged 16, went to heaven.
In a way, I'd been preparing for this day since the day I got him. He was already 13 when I started fostering him and his now-departed older sister, Endora. They were a bonded pair and in palliative care from my local shelter; understandably, it was harder to find them a foster home. I was still grieving the loss of my cat, Ashton, and desperately wanted to do something as a tribute to Ashton, so I decided to foster Ruckus and Endora. From the moment they entered my home, they made it theirs. Within the first hour, they started rubbing themselves on my legs and demanding head scratches. And when Endora passed 6 months later, I adopted Ruckus.
So I always knew that my time with Ruckus would be shorter than the average, but that only made every day spent with him more precious to me. I always wondered how his name came to be, maybe when he was a youngster he was a trouble-maker, but as an old man, he was the biggest cuddle bug I'd ever met. Wherever I sat, in whichever time of the day, within 5 seconds I'd see Ruckus sitting beside my chair, looking up at me with his huge eyes, wanting to get onto my lap. As he settled himself into my lap, I would hear his purr loud as a lawnmower and feel the vibrations. Eventually, after having received ample chin scratches to his satisfaction, he'd settle down for a nice long nap. As I felt his warm face against my thigh and my legs slowly going numb, I felt my heart full.
Ruckus loved food, and that made him a motivated learner when I started teaching him tricks. Soon he learned Sit, Down, Paw, and High-five, much to my surprise and delight. He always performed them flawlessly, although sometimes, when he saw his favourite treats in my hands, he'd perform all these movements in one fluid motion without my issuing any of the commands, which always made me laugh.
Ruckus also loved chasing the wand toys. We had two play sessions every day, and when he was galloping after the wand toy across the house, he was a young cat, full of energy and focus. But over time, as he aged, his gallop slowed to a trot, then to a walk. In his last days, he barely showed any interest in any of the toys, nor the birds inches away from him outside of the sliding door.
If I could speak for Ruckus about what was his favourite time, I'd say it was bedtime. I placed a stepping stool next to the bed to help him get onto my bed, and every night without fail, the moment my head touched my pillow, I'd hear him hopping onto the stool. Looking over, I'd see his head popping up, and two seconds later, he'd hop onto the bed, wander over to me, and either push his head into my armpit or rest it on my shoulder. He was always the little spoon, and I'd fall asleep feeling his warmth and his soft fur. A couple of years later I welcomed another cat into the home, a youngster named Sushi, and while they got along, my bed was the one sacred place that Ruckus would not allow Sushi to be on. Poor Sushi tried to join the slumber party many a night only to be chased off the bed and out of the bedroom by Ruckus.
Ruckus had a coarse, rough growl of a voice that belied his sweet sweet nature. He was such a friendly, cuddly and gentle soul. His friendliness was extended to anyone who visited. I never once saw him running from strangers. Be them friends or repairmen or cable workers, anyone was his friend and no one could resist his huge eyes, his head bumps and his demand for scratches. I often wondered what his life was like in his first 13 years, but I believe that he had a good family who loved him and cared for him well, and for that I was grateful. I was also grateful that Ruckus got to spend the rest of his life with me, and felt really lucky that I could give him a comfortable retirement and have the financial means to meet his medical needs.
Speaking of medical, it all started with seemingly inconsequential sneezes at the beginning of July, but as they persisted and worsened, he started eating less and less. His trips to the vet became more frequent, more tests were run, more diagnoses were followed by more treatment plans...the weeks went by like a blur as I focused on doing everything instructed by my vet to care for him, wiping his nose, running the humidifier, enticing him to eat, and later, giving him multiple meds, constantly thinking of new ways to give him meds, tube feeding him. The last week was especially hard, as Ruckus spend three nights hospitalized, and I lay awake at home, missing him and fearing that I was inching closer to the question that my vet had said I should start considering, that it'd come a time when what was best for Ruckus was no longer the medical treatments...
The last few days at home was especially agonizing, as his latest diagnosis painted a grim picture and he continued to respond poorly to the latest treatments, I was faced with the impossible decision of whether to keep fighting or let him go. I had no answer even after crying many tears. Then one morning I looked at him, and it all became clear. He'd been sleeping on the doormat for two months, he'd barely move throughout the day, his breathing was labored, and his head bobbed weakly up and down as he breathed; when I picked him up, he was light as a feather. In that moment, I realized, he'd had enough; any more medical treatment would only be because I wanted to keep him longer--it'd be for me not for him. But the thing that mattered more, the only thing that mattered, was him, was to not prolong his suffering.
I lay down next to Ruckus and told him this decision, and I thanked him for all the love, joy and healing he'd brought me. Much to my surprise, with a force he had not possessed since his health went downhill, Ruckus pushed his head into my chest, and for the first time in two months, he purred. Then he surprised me even further and did something he had not had the energy to do in the last two months--he got up and walked through every room of my house. He even went under my bed and took a brief tour of the balcony. He was saying goodbye.
Life is not measured in length, but in depth. And my life is made richer by Ruckus. Thank you for filling the hole in my heart when Ashton was gone, Ruckus. Thank you for your unfailing love and constant companionship in the last three years. Thank you for all the joy and laughter you've brought me, Thank you for coming into my life. I love you. Now run free with Ashton and Endora in heaven.
In a way, I'd been preparing for this day since the day I got him. He was already 13 when I started fostering him and his now-departed older sister, Endora. They were a bonded pair and in palliative care from my local shelter; understandably, it was harder to find them a foster home. I was still grieving the loss of my cat, Ashton, and desperately wanted to do something as a tribute to Ashton, so I decided to foster Ruckus and Endora. From the moment they entered my home, they made it theirs. Within the first hour, they started rubbing themselves on my legs and demanding head scratches. And when Endora passed 6 months later, I adopted Ruckus.
So I always knew that my time with Ruckus would be shorter than the average, but that only made every day spent with him more precious to me. I always wondered how his name came to be, maybe when he was a youngster he was a trouble-maker, but as an old man, he was the biggest cuddle bug I'd ever met. Wherever I sat, in whichever time of the day, within 5 seconds I'd see Ruckus sitting beside my chair, looking up at me with his huge eyes, wanting to get onto my lap. As he settled himself into my lap, I would hear his purr loud as a lawnmower and feel the vibrations. Eventually, after having received ample chin scratches to his satisfaction, he'd settle down for a nice long nap. As I felt his warm face against my thigh and my legs slowly going numb, I felt my heart full.
Ruckus loved food, and that made him a motivated learner when I started teaching him tricks. Soon he learned Sit, Down, Paw, and High-five, much to my surprise and delight. He always performed them flawlessly, although sometimes, when he saw his favourite treats in my hands, he'd perform all these movements in one fluid motion without my issuing any of the commands, which always made me laugh.
Ruckus also loved chasing the wand toys. We had two play sessions every day, and when he was galloping after the wand toy across the house, he was a young cat, full of energy and focus. But over time, as he aged, his gallop slowed to a trot, then to a walk. In his last days, he barely showed any interest in any of the toys, nor the birds inches away from him outside of the sliding door.
If I could speak for Ruckus about what was his favourite time, I'd say it was bedtime. I placed a stepping stool next to the bed to help him get onto my bed, and every night without fail, the moment my head touched my pillow, I'd hear him hopping onto the stool. Looking over, I'd see his head popping up, and two seconds later, he'd hop onto the bed, wander over to me, and either push his head into my armpit or rest it on my shoulder. He was always the little spoon, and I'd fall asleep feeling his warmth and his soft fur. A couple of years later I welcomed another cat into the home, a youngster named Sushi, and while they got along, my bed was the one sacred place that Ruckus would not allow Sushi to be on. Poor Sushi tried to join the slumber party many a night only to be chased off the bed and out of the bedroom by Ruckus.
Ruckus had a coarse, rough growl of a voice that belied his sweet sweet nature. He was such a friendly, cuddly and gentle soul. His friendliness was extended to anyone who visited. I never once saw him running from strangers. Be them friends or repairmen or cable workers, anyone was his friend and no one could resist his huge eyes, his head bumps and his demand for scratches. I often wondered what his life was like in his first 13 years, but I believe that he had a good family who loved him and cared for him well, and for that I was grateful. I was also grateful that Ruckus got to spend the rest of his life with me, and felt really lucky that I could give him a comfortable retirement and have the financial means to meet his medical needs.
Speaking of medical, it all started with seemingly inconsequential sneezes at the beginning of July, but as they persisted and worsened, he started eating less and less. His trips to the vet became more frequent, more tests were run, more diagnoses were followed by more treatment plans...the weeks went by like a blur as I focused on doing everything instructed by my vet to care for him, wiping his nose, running the humidifier, enticing him to eat, and later, giving him multiple meds, constantly thinking of new ways to give him meds, tube feeding him. The last week was especially hard, as Ruckus spend three nights hospitalized, and I lay awake at home, missing him and fearing that I was inching closer to the question that my vet had said I should start considering, that it'd come a time when what was best for Ruckus was no longer the medical treatments...
The last few days at home was especially agonizing, as his latest diagnosis painted a grim picture and he continued to respond poorly to the latest treatments, I was faced with the impossible decision of whether to keep fighting or let him go. I had no answer even after crying many tears. Then one morning I looked at him, and it all became clear. He'd been sleeping on the doormat for two months, he'd barely move throughout the day, his breathing was labored, and his head bobbed weakly up and down as he breathed; when I picked him up, he was light as a feather. In that moment, I realized, he'd had enough; any more medical treatment would only be because I wanted to keep him longer--it'd be for me not for him. But the thing that mattered more, the only thing that mattered, was him, was to not prolong his suffering.
I lay down next to Ruckus and told him this decision, and I thanked him for all the love, joy and healing he'd brought me. Much to my surprise, with a force he had not possessed since his health went downhill, Ruckus pushed his head into my chest, and for the first time in two months, he purred. Then he surprised me even further and did something he had not had the energy to do in the last two months--he got up and walked through every room of my house. He even went under my bed and took a brief tour of the balcony. He was saying goodbye.
Life is not measured in length, but in depth. And my life is made richer by Ruckus. Thank you for filling the hole in my heart when Ashton was gone, Ruckus. Thank you for your unfailing love and constant companionship in the last three years. Thank you for all the joy and laughter you've brought me, Thank you for coming into my life. I love you. Now run free with Ashton and Endora in heaven.