Here I sit, a broken man. Today I had to unexpectedly say goodbye to one of my special needs cats, Sophie. But, she wasn't just any special needs cat. She was my first. She was THE reason I started taking care of special needs cats. A polydactyl, diabetic and having CH with additional neurological issues, Sophie was unlike any cat I've encountered up to this point.
Adopted, moved and returned multiple times to the shelter, Sophie was called things like "broken", "boring" and "not a normal cat". At the time I met her, we had taken some animals out to an adoption event to help find them loving homes. Someone had brought a dog right up to the cat cage and one of the other cats started to attack Sophie out of fear. I reached in and grabbed the first cat I could, who happened to be Sophie. She turned and bit my hand, sending me to the hospital. Now, I wasn't looking for a second cat, but I also know that animals with "bite records" are much harder to adopt out. Almost 11 years volunteering at this animal shelter, seeing tens of thousands of animals with all kinds of issues and problems, and the only animal to ever bite me, was her.
She set me off on a path to see firsthand how amazing cats can be, especially the ones that are overlooked. Numerous other cats with special needs have been in/are currently in my life, some of whom had significantly shortened lifespans. But none have come so unexpectedly into my life or shown me more than Sophie.
Today, Sophie succumbed to diabetic ketoacidosis, brought on by an infection that showed no symptoms until she appeared to be lethargic late last night. But by then, it was too late. As I arrived home with an empty carrier, the sight of my house brought me to tears. I bought a ranch style house, specifically so Sophie didn't have to go up or down stairs. As I walked in, I noticed her empty spot in the kitchen where she would chirp at me as if I hadn't fed her in weeks. Her bowl, which was raised (as she had a tendency to fall over trying to eat with her CH) sat empty on the counter. I walked through the house, picking up all the puppy pads that were placed down because she had difficulty making it into the litterbox sometimes. And as I sit here typing this, wiping tears from my eyes, I look at the empty spot on the couch next to me, where she would lay, while I was having dinner, happily purring away.
I love all of my cats. Always have, always will. But there's a special place in my heart for the one who was so rejected, so ignored, so unwanted. There's a special place for the one who started me down the path of these amazingly beautiful special cats.
All I can hope is that the first person she saw across the bridge was her favorite person in the whole world, my father, who unexpectedly passed from a completely random brain aneurysm less than a year ago. When he didn't come home, I knew she missed him. Now I know they're together again, doing what they always did:
I miss you both.
Adopted, moved and returned multiple times to the shelter, Sophie was called things like "broken", "boring" and "not a normal cat". At the time I met her, we had taken some animals out to an adoption event to help find them loving homes. Someone had brought a dog right up to the cat cage and one of the other cats started to attack Sophie out of fear. I reached in and grabbed the first cat I could, who happened to be Sophie. She turned and bit my hand, sending me to the hospital. Now, I wasn't looking for a second cat, but I also know that animals with "bite records" are much harder to adopt out. Almost 11 years volunteering at this animal shelter, seeing tens of thousands of animals with all kinds of issues and problems, and the only animal to ever bite me, was her.
She set me off on a path to see firsthand how amazing cats can be, especially the ones that are overlooked. Numerous other cats with special needs have been in/are currently in my life, some of whom had significantly shortened lifespans. But none have come so unexpectedly into my life or shown me more than Sophie.
Today, Sophie succumbed to diabetic ketoacidosis, brought on by an infection that showed no symptoms until she appeared to be lethargic late last night. But by then, it was too late. As I arrived home with an empty carrier, the sight of my house brought me to tears. I bought a ranch style house, specifically so Sophie didn't have to go up or down stairs. As I walked in, I noticed her empty spot in the kitchen where she would chirp at me as if I hadn't fed her in weeks. Her bowl, which was raised (as she had a tendency to fall over trying to eat with her CH) sat empty on the counter. I walked through the house, picking up all the puppy pads that were placed down because she had difficulty making it into the litterbox sometimes. And as I sit here typing this, wiping tears from my eyes, I look at the empty spot on the couch next to me, where she would lay, while I was having dinner, happily purring away.
I love all of my cats. Always have, always will. But there's a special place in my heart for the one who was so rejected, so ignored, so unwanted. There's a special place for the one who started me down the path of these amazingly beautiful special cats.
All I can hope is that the first person she saw across the bridge was her favorite person in the whole world, my father, who unexpectedly passed from a completely random brain aneurysm less than a year ago. When he didn't come home, I knew she missed him. Now I know they're together again, doing what they always did:
I miss you both.
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