Long story short, we adopted a new rescue cat, who is every inch the opposite of Jake.
Ah, Jake. Will there ever come a day when I do not say or think your name and experience heartache and tears? [lip quivering, eyes moistening]
Jake was a fragile boy of ten years, riddled with end-stage FiV and the onset of renal failure. He was beautiful for all of the oddest reasons, and a sloppy boy who needed constant cleaning and grooming due to the ravages of the FiV.
He was also beautiful because of the most obvious thing - he just simply was. I think it was Jake's soul that shone through all of his ailments and physical scars, and I miss him deeply.
While Jake will never be replaced - can never be replaced - we did invite a new member into our growing tribe. But more about this newbie in a moment.
Hobbes was our one remaining girl from the divorce/move, and bless our little fur mama, she had room in her territorial heart for Jake despite all early outward appearances. When it came time to let Jake go in peace, it turned out that Hobbes had also come to accept (and depend upon) his presence in the house. She did her usual mama-cat thing and wandered the house carrying a mouthful of food for him. Calling to Jake to come eat, her calls of course went unanswered. I can't tell you which of us was more blue, but it was clear to see we needed to find another kitty she could share her family with.
And so it was we opened our hearts and home to a rather large three year old.
Enter the newbie
Booker Sullivan is a huge youngster; healthy and playful. From the looks of him there is a large helping of Maine Coon, but his fur gives away his mixed breeding. Book's temperament and skittishness lead me to believe there was some cruelty in his life, for as much as he desires to be near us, he is weary of contact... unless he initiates it. Lately he is far more social and permissive, but still on guard. Over time I am certain he will come to trust us and forget his past and all that he knew. Until that time arrives we will follow his lead.
In the meanwhile, the approach of the New Year has some of the people in the neighborhood shooting off fireworks simply for the hell of it. Idiots.
Booker is more than worried over those sounds, and has begun pacing and cautiously peering down halls and around corners. Each time we move locations, we've found poor Booker trying to follow; skulking in terror around furniture and into rooms between the bangs and booms. I hope the nearby moron currently lighting the noisy rockets will stop soon. However, I do realize there will most likely be more as midnight approaches. Until then, Karl and I will turn up the televisions to mask the sudden bangs and hisses, and will talk to him and sit with him - if he will allow it - until the arsenals are spent.
Poor lad. Sadder still, I know that there are also vets and dogs who are rattled by the same sorts of noises, but inconsiderate assholes are everywhere. Does no one ever give thought to how the things they do may ill-advisedly affect others? Even more remarkable to wonder is if they even care?
12.31.2016
12.29.2016
Farewell, Jake. Grieving is a long process.
Yes, it's still December, and no, things haven't changed all that dramatically, so no need to fret over what you may have missed. That is, things pertaining to the ol' everyday happenings are fairly status quo, but the projects of a sewing nature have taken shape and advanced. There are photos and words to look at if you're even the teensiest bit interested in the quilts and other handwork. You know where to look for that eyecandy.
More about Jake -
He had FiV (in human terms: kitty aides), and was given a year or so to live - depending upon how he lived and how the disease progressed over the course of time. It was truly all dependent upon the ravages and whim of the FiV. He still had worms even after arriving at our home, so the vet who first saw him was a bit remiss in the examination and treatment of our gentle, sick lad.
The final nail in the coffin, though, was that the FiV had also left him with a lateral physical condition - renal failure. The second vet (our family vet) diagnosed it, and told me that Jake had whatever time the RF would allow. All the blood work showed him to be more in jeopardy from his kidney issue than the upper respiratory infections that clung to him like a vicious gypsy curse. It would truly come to a bit of a toss-up for him in the end, though.
FiV is a cascading illness. A death sentence like no other for an animal, and a bitter pill to swallow for the humans who may love them. Many countless infected FiV animals live and die in anonymity and solitude. No... not "solitude." Loneliness. They die alone and unmourned - and that cuts like a knife to realize after knowing and loving Jake.
Jake was 'found' and rescued literally at death's door. There was no more that we could do for him except make him comfortable and love him, and so that was what we did.
But Jake shone like a royal star. Despite his many ailments he was a beautiful and loving cat; a companion and a giving soul. He hissed once and only once, trying to stand his ground when our 17-year-old girl tried to run off the new 'intruder' in her kingdom. He took the many vet visits like a champ, and was the most mild-mannered boy. The techs and doc loved Jake's weigh-in visitations; even when necessary to draw blood, obtain urine, take a temp (or any other procedure), he kept his cool and allowed the many hands to poke and prod and pinch.
In spite of the antibiotics and plentiful food, the love and safety of a home, and the regular medical care, he finally came to the end of his earthly days. With tremendous sorrow, we drove to the vet last month and put him to rest. It was as hard a task for Jake's sake as it had been for our girls. I always feel as though I'm stealing something of their futures in making that decision, and I ask them for forgiveness as we approach the final moments together.
For now, this is farewell, Jake. Run and find your sisters, Cleo and Flop, and know that someday, years from now, we will all be together. Thank you for your love and trust and beauty.
More about Jake -
He had FiV (in human terms: kitty aides), and was given a year or so to live - depending upon how he lived and how the disease progressed over the course of time. It was truly all dependent upon the ravages and whim of the FiV. He still had worms even after arriving at our home, so the vet who first saw him was a bit remiss in the examination and treatment of our gentle, sick lad.
The final nail in the coffin, though, was that the FiV had also left him with a lateral physical condition - renal failure. The second vet (our family vet) diagnosed it, and told me that Jake had whatever time the RF would allow. All the blood work showed him to be more in jeopardy from his kidney issue than the upper respiratory infections that clung to him like a vicious gypsy curse. It would truly come to a bit of a toss-up for him in the end, though.
FiV is a cascading illness. A death sentence like no other for an animal, and a bitter pill to swallow for the humans who may love them. Many countless infected FiV animals live and die in anonymity and solitude. No... not "solitude." Loneliness. They die alone and unmourned - and that cuts like a knife to realize after knowing and loving Jake.
Jake was 'found' and rescued literally at death's door. There was no more that we could do for him except make him comfortable and love him, and so that was what we did.
But Jake shone like a royal star. Despite his many ailments he was a beautiful and loving cat; a companion and a giving soul. He hissed once and only once, trying to stand his ground when our 17-year-old girl tried to run off the new 'intruder' in her kingdom. He took the many vet visits like a champ, and was the most mild-mannered boy. The techs and doc loved Jake's weigh-in visitations; even when necessary to draw blood, obtain urine, take a temp (or any other procedure), he kept his cool and allowed the many hands to poke and prod and pinch.
In spite of the antibiotics and plentiful food, the love and safety of a home, and the regular medical care, he finally came to the end of his earthly days. With tremendous sorrow, we drove to the vet last month and put him to rest. It was as hard a task for Jake's sake as it had been for our girls. I always feel as though I'm stealing something of their futures in making that decision, and I ask them for forgiveness as we approach the final moments together.
For now, this is farewell, Jake. Run and find your sisters, Cleo and Flop, and know that someday, years from now, we will all be together. Thank you for your love and trust and beauty.
12.05.2016
Well, well, well - that was fast
One year ago I began to set words to this electronic page again after more than a year of silence. I semi-promised to be slightly more diligent in posting occasionally, but as it turned out, I didn't even post infrequently over the course of 2016. Ha! At least, not on this blog. I did keep up (to an extent) on the other two journals, so if you're interested in my quilting, go take a peek.
As for the rest of life, things are fairly status quo - for the most part. The exceptions are time and family members. Time just seems to continue moving faster and faster. Can't quite wrap my head around how long it's been between posts here, let alone the years jumping from one to the next much more quickly. Why is it time can't move quickly when we're kids, and then begin to drag once we are adults and have a handle on life (more or less)? Then we really would have more time to get things done, and still have hours left in a day to enjoy sitting back and relaxing.
Enter Jake, stage left -
We adopted a rescue cat in June. He was a ten-year-old who had been living 'on the streets' for years, and had (barely) survived by his wits and cat skills. Friendly as could be and not a mean bone in his frail body. He once belonged to somebody because he had been neutered, and he loved the company of people, but how he came to be in his pitiful state no one will ever know for certain.
Somewhere along the way Jake contracted FiV - essentially 'kitty AIDS.' As it takes a fair amount of time for the disease to progress in a cats' body - years, in fact - he had to have been on his own for at least the past 5 or more years. What a sad thought for this boy. For our boy. People were known to throw him food and leave water for him, but in freezing weather neither of those did him much good.
Frostbite took the tips of his alert ears, damaged his lips, eyelids and nose; it gave him a mottled look to accompany his unbelievably haunting, marbled eyes. Jake was missing a lot of fur, and reportedly had a severe case of fleas (possibly mange), wicked ear mites in both ears, and raging ear infections too. As if everything else wasn't bad enough, he was also missing most of his teeth, which caused a good deal of drooling, and an oft times lolling tongue.
In his sad state, Jake was photographed and posted online on a facebook page, and that is how I came to know of him. It was, in fact, his gaunt stare which captivated me, but then I caught sight of his frail and damaged body. Impossibly enough, I was smitten.
Before I could get my son to see the photo, it was removed from the page. Behind the scenes, rapid decisions were taking shape as to his future - mostly, whether or not he would have one. Jake's condition was bad - and that's putting it mildly. There were those, though, who hoped for something more than immediate euthanization, they only required someone to commit to giving Jake a place to go home to (following the vet work to get him a little healthier and much cleaner).
Karl and I were that committed home.
We met Jake on the way to a wedding, stopping by the veterinarian office to meet and greet for a few breezy minutes. It was confirmed that I would be picking up the splendid Jake after returning from an energy expo later in June, and Karl and I set about preparing to add a fuzzy face to our dwindling cat population.
We'd lost Cleo and Flop between May and September of 2015, and Hobbes - who was their elder sister by a year - was showing signs of slowing down and growing closer to her eventual departure, too. Jake needed a home, and Hobbes needed a fur-baby to lean on, and as much as we wouldn't allow ourselves to admit it, Karl and I needed to fill the huge void left by the deaths of two of our original family members. 15+ years is a long time for cats to occupy your hearts, your space, and be a part of your every day routine. It's hard not finding those sweet faces waiting for you around a certain corner, or in their favorite places throughout the day. When they're not there, it causes a torrent of tears.
As much as we missed Flop and Cleo, we found there was ample love to invest in Jake. He was hard to resist... and he was so easy to love. The new routines for his care left us less time to focus on the empty corners, and it also meant our brains didn't automatically recall the pain in the losses.
Then time did its grown-up thing, traveling fast and furiously. The summer came and went; fall arrived in the wink of an eye. All the while there were many trips for Jake to the vet for antibiotics; this was in hopes of fighting back the advancing respiratory infection that simply wouldn't let him alone. The improvements to his breathing gradually (but noticeably) subsided after each treatment. Eventually, I would have to make the horrible decision to let him go instead of prolonging the inevitable. Ah, but that's a story for another time.
Besides, we do still have Hobbes, and that deaf little 'bean' needs her own share of doting now.
And so our lives moved forward.
They're still moving forward
As for the rest of life, things are fairly status quo - for the most part. The exceptions are time and family members. Time just seems to continue moving faster and faster. Can't quite wrap my head around how long it's been between posts here, let alone the years jumping from one to the next much more quickly. Why is it time can't move quickly when we're kids, and then begin to drag once we are adults and have a handle on life (more or less)? Then we really would have more time to get things done, and still have hours left in a day to enjoy sitting back and relaxing.
Enter Jake, stage left -
We adopted a rescue cat in June. He was a ten-year-old who had been living 'on the streets' for years, and had (barely) survived by his wits and cat skills. Friendly as could be and not a mean bone in his frail body. He once belonged to somebody because he had been neutered, and he loved the company of people, but how he came to be in his pitiful state no one will ever know for certain.
Somewhere along the way Jake contracted FiV - essentially 'kitty AIDS.' As it takes a fair amount of time for the disease to progress in a cats' body - years, in fact - he had to have been on his own for at least the past 5 or more years. What a sad thought for this boy. For our boy. People were known to throw him food and leave water for him, but in freezing weather neither of those did him much good.
Frostbite took the tips of his alert ears, damaged his lips, eyelids and nose; it gave him a mottled look to accompany his unbelievably haunting, marbled eyes. Jake was missing a lot of fur, and reportedly had a severe case of fleas (possibly mange), wicked ear mites in both ears, and raging ear infections too. As if everything else wasn't bad enough, he was also missing most of his teeth, which caused a good deal of drooling, and an oft times lolling tongue.
In his sad state, Jake was photographed and posted online on a facebook page, and that is how I came to know of him. It was, in fact, his gaunt stare which captivated me, but then I caught sight of his frail and damaged body. Impossibly enough, I was smitten.
Before I could get my son to see the photo, it was removed from the page. Behind the scenes, rapid decisions were taking shape as to his future - mostly, whether or not he would have one. Jake's condition was bad - and that's putting it mildly. There were those, though, who hoped for something more than immediate euthanization, they only required someone to commit to giving Jake a place to go home to (following the vet work to get him a little healthier and much cleaner).
Karl and I were that committed home.
We met Jake on the way to a wedding, stopping by the veterinarian office to meet and greet for a few breezy minutes. It was confirmed that I would be picking up the splendid Jake after returning from an energy expo later in June, and Karl and I set about preparing to add a fuzzy face to our dwindling cat population.
We'd lost Cleo and Flop between May and September of 2015, and Hobbes - who was their elder sister by a year - was showing signs of slowing down and growing closer to her eventual departure, too. Jake needed a home, and Hobbes needed a fur-baby to lean on, and as much as we wouldn't allow ourselves to admit it, Karl and I needed to fill the huge void left by the deaths of two of our original family members. 15+ years is a long time for cats to occupy your hearts, your space, and be a part of your every day routine. It's hard not finding those sweet faces waiting for you around a certain corner, or in their favorite places throughout the day. When they're not there, it causes a torrent of tears.
As much as we missed Flop and Cleo, we found there was ample love to invest in Jake. He was hard to resist... and he was so easy to love. The new routines for his care left us less time to focus on the empty corners, and it also meant our brains didn't automatically recall the pain in the losses.
Then time did its grown-up thing, traveling fast and furiously. The summer came and went; fall arrived in the wink of an eye. All the while there were many trips for Jake to the vet for antibiotics; this was in hopes of fighting back the advancing respiratory infection that simply wouldn't let him alone. The improvements to his breathing gradually (but noticeably) subsided after each treatment. Eventually, I would have to make the horrible decision to let him go instead of prolonging the inevitable. Ah, but that's a story for another time.
Besides, we do still have Hobbes, and that deaf little 'bean' needs her own share of doting now.
And so our lives moved forward.
They're still moving forward
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)