It’s been 10 years, and I’ve tried, but I’ve never been able to go to the Rainbow Bridge and write about Gracie. But, I’m going to try to say a proper goodbye to Skyy.
Ten years ago in June, after we lost Gracie, we went to the shelter. And spent a couple hours with the adult cats. I opened the door to the crate of a beautiful brown tabby, and in her dignified way, Brownie walked over and climbed into my arms.
While we sat on the floor of the large area, visiting with the cats, one tiny dynamo raced around the room, heckling the other cats, and generally being full of energy. Suddenly, she raced over and jumped on my wife Pat’s lap. That was Skyy. She was a tiny gray blur, weighing less than three pounds even though she was over six months old.
So, having been adopted by these two, we spent the next ten years together. They travelled in our RV, ran around the house, dealt with remodeling, and generally brought noise and life to the house.
Skyy was a tiny cat, weighing a little over 5 pounds as an adult, but she had a huge personality. There was nothing she loved more than finding loose items on the island in the kitchen. If she could move it, it ended up on the floor. And she’d stand at the edge and watch it land. You couldn’t yell at her because she looked at you with a big, silly cat grin that said “Did you SEE that. Was that not the coolest thing EVER?” And, of course, once they were on the floor, they were fair game for swatting, chasing, pouncing on, and generally enjoying!
The whole world was a carnival to Skyy. She loved balls and toys that made noise. She loved to hang on my shoulder and get her fur scruffled. In the RV, she slept on Pat’s pillow, battling nightly to see who was going to get the most space. And anywhere there was activity, there was Skyy. Remodeling a bathroom, Skyy was there to help. Fixing something on my computer, I had a gray fur face sitting on me with her head in the box to see what was going on. Pizza delivery, there was Skyy at the door to see what the new excitement was.
Once, while camping in Lanesboro, a red-winged blackbird took up residence outside the back window of the RV. Skyy spent the weekend watching the bird from her perch on the back of the couch, getting ready to pounce, quivering in anticipation, then looking at us as if asking “What’s the deal with the noise black thing out there?”, then turning away and going back to her nap.
She was my first model for cat portraits. And being a complete ham, she was a terrific subject.
For ten years she brought us joy and laughter, and occasionally a sore foot as we discovered some item she’d pushed under a throw rug after knocking it off the counter (trust me, stepping on a AA battery under the rug at 6 a.m. will definitely wake you up.
Recently, she started losing weight. Less than a month ago she was down to 4 ¾ pounds from 5 ½, a large loss for such a tiny cat. The vet ran tests, did blood work, urine tests, and recommended we try a different food and some supplements in the hope that her weight would increase.
Over the last couple weeks, Skyy went from being her normal self to being quieter, not as active, spending a lot more time in one of her cat beds, on Pat’s lap or mine. When we did projects in the house, she no longer raced into wherever we were to make SURE nothing ever got done without her presence.
In the last week, she had a couple episodes where she would make a sort-of hacking cough, gagging noise, and she spent more time just laying on our laps, leaning on my shoulder, or curling up in my arms for long periods. Yesterday, Pat rubbed her throat gently while Skyy lay on her lap, and Skyy let out that loud cough, throat-clearing, gagging noise. So today we went back to the vet.
In the last three weeks, she’d lost ANOTHER half-pound, and the vet wanted to do an x-ray and examination of her throat. He found a bony mass in her throat, into the inner ear area, and said it was making it difficult for her to swallow, that it wasn’t an abscess or something that could be cured by antibiotics or steroids, and was most likely already causing her some pain. He offered to refer us to the U of M vet center, but admitted that the chances were extremely high that it was terminal, and that there wasn’t going to be any good way to make her comfortable so she could eat and play and continue to enjoy life.
So, we made the decision that eventually confronts anyone who is lucky enough to have a companion animal they live with and love. We drove back to the vet and I held Skyy in my arms as she purred while the sedative put her to sleep, then both Pat and I gently rubbed her fur and told her how much we loved her and how much we’ll miss her as they administered the anesthetic. A minute later she was gone.
She gave us so much for ten years, and I hope we reciprocated with love and care. I promised her that as long as either of us has memory, we’ll remember her, just as I remember Gracie every day, and Tigger and Gizmo, who we had for over 20 years before Gracie.
Skyy, you have crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, but your memory will live on in your staff, who love you and miss you.
Ten years ago in June, after we lost Gracie, we went to the shelter. And spent a couple hours with the adult cats. I opened the door to the crate of a beautiful brown tabby, and in her dignified way, Brownie walked over and climbed into my arms.
While we sat on the floor of the large area, visiting with the cats, one tiny dynamo raced around the room, heckling the other cats, and generally being full of energy. Suddenly, she raced over and jumped on my wife Pat’s lap. That was Skyy. She was a tiny gray blur, weighing less than three pounds even though she was over six months old.
So, having been adopted by these two, we spent the next ten years together. They travelled in our RV, ran around the house, dealt with remodeling, and generally brought noise and life to the house.
Skyy was a tiny cat, weighing a little over 5 pounds as an adult, but she had a huge personality. There was nothing she loved more than finding loose items on the island in the kitchen. If she could move it, it ended up on the floor. And she’d stand at the edge and watch it land. You couldn’t yell at her because she looked at you with a big, silly cat grin that said “Did you SEE that. Was that not the coolest thing EVER?” And, of course, once they were on the floor, they were fair game for swatting, chasing, pouncing on, and generally enjoying!
The whole world was a carnival to Skyy. She loved balls and toys that made noise. She loved to hang on my shoulder and get her fur scruffled. In the RV, she slept on Pat’s pillow, battling nightly to see who was going to get the most space. And anywhere there was activity, there was Skyy. Remodeling a bathroom, Skyy was there to help. Fixing something on my computer, I had a gray fur face sitting on me with her head in the box to see what was going on. Pizza delivery, there was Skyy at the door to see what the new excitement was.
Once, while camping in Lanesboro, a red-winged blackbird took up residence outside the back window of the RV. Skyy spent the weekend watching the bird from her perch on the back of the couch, getting ready to pounce, quivering in anticipation, then looking at us as if asking “What’s the deal with the noise black thing out there?”, then turning away and going back to her nap.
She was my first model for cat portraits. And being a complete ham, she was a terrific subject.
For ten years she brought us joy and laughter, and occasionally a sore foot as we discovered some item she’d pushed under a throw rug after knocking it off the counter (trust me, stepping on a AA battery under the rug at 6 a.m. will definitely wake you up.
Recently, she started losing weight. Less than a month ago she was down to 4 ¾ pounds from 5 ½, a large loss for such a tiny cat. The vet ran tests, did blood work, urine tests, and recommended we try a different food and some supplements in the hope that her weight would increase.
Over the last couple weeks, Skyy went from being her normal self to being quieter, not as active, spending a lot more time in one of her cat beds, on Pat’s lap or mine. When we did projects in the house, she no longer raced into wherever we were to make SURE nothing ever got done without her presence.
In the last week, she had a couple episodes where she would make a sort-of hacking cough, gagging noise, and she spent more time just laying on our laps, leaning on my shoulder, or curling up in my arms for long periods. Yesterday, Pat rubbed her throat gently while Skyy lay on her lap, and Skyy let out that loud cough, throat-clearing, gagging noise. So today we went back to the vet.
In the last three weeks, she’d lost ANOTHER half-pound, and the vet wanted to do an x-ray and examination of her throat. He found a bony mass in her throat, into the inner ear area, and said it was making it difficult for her to swallow, that it wasn’t an abscess or something that could be cured by antibiotics or steroids, and was most likely already causing her some pain. He offered to refer us to the U of M vet center, but admitted that the chances were extremely high that it was terminal, and that there wasn’t going to be any good way to make her comfortable so she could eat and play and continue to enjoy life.
So, we made the decision that eventually confronts anyone who is lucky enough to have a companion animal they live with and love. We drove back to the vet and I held Skyy in my arms as she purred while the sedative put her to sleep, then both Pat and I gently rubbed her fur and told her how much we loved her and how much we’ll miss her as they administered the anesthetic. A minute later she was gone.
She gave us so much for ten years, and I hope we reciprocated with love and care. I promised her that as long as either of us has memory, we’ll remember her, just as I remember Gracie every day, and Tigger and Gizmo, who we had for over 20 years before Gracie.
Skyy, you have crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, but your memory will live on in your staff, who love you and miss you.
