My marriage five years ago was a "package deal" and brought two cats
into my life. I didn't grow up with indoor cats, and the first year of the marriage involved some very stressful adjustments as the pair of pampered kitties took over my previously calm and predictable household. Slowly, sometimes painfully, I eventually came to tolerate the new additions to the family, and then developed a strong bond with the shy and nervous little slate-gray kitty, Valeria. Perhaps we were just made to be a matched set.
Valeria was a Russian Blue, discarded to the animal shelter for the crime of being born with a small white patch of fur on her chest, which "marred" her pedigree potential. My wife-to-be adopted her from a large litter of squirming little gray and white kittens in 1989. Valeria was always timid and reclusive around strangers, merely a shadow on the run for cover when company arrived. When other animals dared to trespass on her turf, she was fierce and fearless, leaping into any fray to send the intruder on its way. Neighborhood cats, raccoons, and once even a coyote, all turned tail and ran rather than face our little whirling dervish of claws and puffed gray fur as she defended her home and family. Always she returned quite pleased with herself, and usually without a single scratch.
Slowly Valeria came to trust me, and I her. She was full of quirks and odd little mannerisms, many of which I never came to understand. Petting was only allowed in "designated petting zones" - the crinkle paper in front of the hearth, the comforter on the bed, and the table in the laundry room. Sometimes the kitchen, depending on her mood, but anywhere else and she would cringe and scamper out of reach. She would go through great lengths to entice me to chase her to a petting spot, beckoning with a "mew", a roll of her head, or a sideways hop and flat-out run, trying to tease me into a pursuit. It was our little game. Usually the petting was "formal" and she had to stand at attention, rarely sitting or laying down. She would gaze deeply into my eyes and I felt a connection, an understanding, between us that I cannot put into words. As my wife so aptly put it, we were “buddies.†Friends, companions, chums through thick and thin.
Three weeks ago Valeria went to the vet for a broken tooth. The removal was routine, but after her surgery she just moped in the basement, just wanting to be alone. Concerned about a post-operative infection, my wife took her back in for a check-up. All her blood tests came back healthy, but the vet felt an odd lump in her chest. He decided to operate and remove the mass to have it tested. Valeria returned to us a rejuvenated kitty. She was energetic and happy. Only her purr and meow sounded somehow different and her breathing appeared a little labored. We dismissed it as a temporary side-effect of the surgery. A week later, on Saturday, the vet called with the test results. The mass was a lymph node, malignant with cancer. He recommended more tests to see if the cancer had spread. We were stunned, but hopeful since she appeared to be so much better after her surgery.
Valeria didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t make it through the weekend. Sunday evening we heard the pet door as she went outside. My wife and I went for a walk. Upon returning, my wife found her, laying motionless in the yard. In a panic we rushed her to an emergency vet clinic but she was already gone. Hopefully it was relatively quick and painless. A heart attack or stroke brought on by the stress, or perhaps her cancer had already spread very rapidly through her system and it was just her time. She died at home, not under the needle of a well-meaning vet in an unfamiliar office with its scary sights, smells and sounds.
Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m a thirty-eight year old guy. Weâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]re not supposed to cry about a cat, but thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s a pain in my heart that just wonâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t go away. I can pretend to be fine, but just under the surface thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s a burning sorrow that just screaming to get out. My wife and I hold it together through the workday but burst into tears when we get home. Thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s her shelf in the laundry room – empty. Thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s no little chirp “hello†in the kitchen in the morning. I walk down the hall – alone - with no scampering kitty to chase into the bedroom. I ache with all my heart for it to be some terrible mistake – an accounting error to be clarified and corrected with the safe return of my Valeria. But I know its over - sheâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s gone, moved on to the great beyond. I hope to see her again when my time comes. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll chase her to a petting spot and everything will be fine again.
We buried her in the back yard, back in a shady corner where she can keep her eternal vigil. She liked to sleep on a set of concrete block stairs in the yard, so I took them apart to construct her makeshift tomb. I think she would have liked it that way. She is laid to rest on a bed of her cherished crinkle paper. She has a sprinkling of catnip and the kibble she like to swat around the kitchen floor. Her cuddly toy, a small stuffed bear keeps her company.
They say that time heals all wounds. I know in the months and years to come, the stabs of pain and sorrow will become less frequent. Eventually Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll be able to talk about her without choking up. Life will continue to pile on its endless commitments, duties, and chores, and the incredible sorrow I feel right now will slowly get painted over with other concerns. But I will never, ever forget her and the uncompromising friendship she gave me.
I love you, Valeria. Be good, be happy, and stay fierce.
Thanks for letting me talk. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m a new member of your forum and I just come in and dump this. She was such a special kitty and maybe just a tiny bit of her has been passed on to some of you kind people whose hearts she didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t have a chance to touch.
into my life. I didn't grow up with indoor cats, and the first year of the marriage involved some very stressful adjustments as the pair of pampered kitties took over my previously calm and predictable household. Slowly, sometimes painfully, I eventually came to tolerate the new additions to the family, and then developed a strong bond with the shy and nervous little slate-gray kitty, Valeria. Perhaps we were just made to be a matched set.
Valeria was a Russian Blue, discarded to the animal shelter for the crime of being born with a small white patch of fur on her chest, which "marred" her pedigree potential. My wife-to-be adopted her from a large litter of squirming little gray and white kittens in 1989. Valeria was always timid and reclusive around strangers, merely a shadow on the run for cover when company arrived. When other animals dared to trespass on her turf, she was fierce and fearless, leaping into any fray to send the intruder on its way. Neighborhood cats, raccoons, and once even a coyote, all turned tail and ran rather than face our little whirling dervish of claws and puffed gray fur as she defended her home and family. Always she returned quite pleased with herself, and usually without a single scratch.
Slowly Valeria came to trust me, and I her. She was full of quirks and odd little mannerisms, many of which I never came to understand. Petting was only allowed in "designated petting zones" - the crinkle paper in front of the hearth, the comforter on the bed, and the table in the laundry room. Sometimes the kitchen, depending on her mood, but anywhere else and she would cringe and scamper out of reach. She would go through great lengths to entice me to chase her to a petting spot, beckoning with a "mew", a roll of her head, or a sideways hop and flat-out run, trying to tease me into a pursuit. It was our little game. Usually the petting was "formal" and she had to stand at attention, rarely sitting or laying down. She would gaze deeply into my eyes and I felt a connection, an understanding, between us that I cannot put into words. As my wife so aptly put it, we were “buddies.†Friends, companions, chums through thick and thin.
Three weeks ago Valeria went to the vet for a broken tooth. The removal was routine, but after her surgery she just moped in the basement, just wanting to be alone. Concerned about a post-operative infection, my wife took her back in for a check-up. All her blood tests came back healthy, but the vet felt an odd lump in her chest. He decided to operate and remove the mass to have it tested. Valeria returned to us a rejuvenated kitty. She was energetic and happy. Only her purr and meow sounded somehow different and her breathing appeared a little labored. We dismissed it as a temporary side-effect of the surgery. A week later, on Saturday, the vet called with the test results. The mass was a lymph node, malignant with cancer. He recommended more tests to see if the cancer had spread. We were stunned, but hopeful since she appeared to be so much better after her surgery.
Valeria didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t make it through the weekend. Sunday evening we heard the pet door as she went outside. My wife and I went for a walk. Upon returning, my wife found her, laying motionless in the yard. In a panic we rushed her to an emergency vet clinic but she was already gone. Hopefully it was relatively quick and painless. A heart attack or stroke brought on by the stress, or perhaps her cancer had already spread very rapidly through her system and it was just her time. She died at home, not under the needle of a well-meaning vet in an unfamiliar office with its scary sights, smells and sounds.
Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m a thirty-eight year old guy. Weâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]re not supposed to cry about a cat, but thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s a pain in my heart that just wonâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t go away. I can pretend to be fine, but just under the surface thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s a burning sorrow that just screaming to get out. My wife and I hold it together through the workday but burst into tears when we get home. Thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s her shelf in the laundry room – empty. Thereâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s no little chirp “hello†in the kitchen in the morning. I walk down the hall – alone - with no scampering kitty to chase into the bedroom. I ache with all my heart for it to be some terrible mistake – an accounting error to be clarified and corrected with the safe return of my Valeria. But I know its over - sheâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]s gone, moved on to the great beyond. I hope to see her again when my time comes. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll chase her to a petting spot and everything will be fine again.
We buried her in the back yard, back in a shady corner where she can keep her eternal vigil. She liked to sleep on a set of concrete block stairs in the yard, so I took them apart to construct her makeshift tomb. I think she would have liked it that way. She is laid to rest on a bed of her cherished crinkle paper. She has a sprinkling of catnip and the kibble she like to swat around the kitchen floor. Her cuddly toy, a small stuffed bear keeps her company.
They say that time heals all wounds. I know in the months and years to come, the stabs of pain and sorrow will become less frequent. Eventually Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]ll be able to talk about her without choking up. Life will continue to pile on its endless commitments, duties, and chores, and the incredible sorrow I feel right now will slowly get painted over with other concerns. But I will never, ever forget her and the uncompromising friendship she gave me.
I love you, Valeria. Be good, be happy, and stay fierce.
Thanks for letting me talk. Iâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]m a new member of your forum and I just come in and dump this. She was such a special kitty and maybe just a tiny bit of her has been passed on to some of you kind people whose hearts she didnâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji]t have a chance to touch.