| Ancient Sassy's: How much love is enough? |
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One day we look at our velvet-foot, and see grey hair and wrinkles on the beloved face. In my case, or rather, my regal Siamese’s, "Minou", that 'cronehood' day has been some two years ago.
Cats don't seem to age gradually. One day, they butt their head into your face, and you see their shiny eyes surrounded with wrinkled skin, muzzle less sharply defined, and skin gone lax. Hasn't it only been yesterday I yowled at the feel of needle sharp claws as a fluffy kitten climbs up my bare legs? A decade gone by unnoticed, filled with laughter, torn toilet rolls, and love. Minou is every bit as temperamental as she was 15 years ago, only, the attitudes last, say, a few short seconds, rather then a whole hour. And secure in her role as elder, she demands respect more aggressively from the other adult cats. Only little Romeo can still get away with invading her space and plop down half on top of her without having to fear a shredded face. Any warm surface is not only commandeered but defended with grim determination. I am lucky if I ever get some hot air going AROUND the cat from the bathroom heater. Some days I am afraid a neighbor will turn me in upon seeing her singed fur (I usually don't notice until she starts smelling crisp, THEN get her off the darn thing). Who would believe she does it to herself? Sometimes she is so hot to the touch, I have to drop her, and fast. Talk about heat seekers. Oldsters also sleep more deeply. Not a snowball chance in hell to walk up unnoticed to a sleeping cat in her prime. Minou? Sometimes I end up shaking her fearfully, until she opens one glaring, resentful eye, just to know she's still alive. When she is out, she's out, alright. There comes a time where each one of us is ultimately faced with the question how much is enough? Enough cuddles, purrs at night, enough time spent together .. The nights seem shorter, and the little body closely pressed to my face in its compact silkiness is somehow more precious; for those moments are numbered. How determined can one be to keep one's sister around? I have always struggled to find a way to explain why I don't feel differently towards my feline companions than to human family members. Would you put your mother down when she was diagnosed with, say, MS? Would your sister choose to die rather then have insulin injections each day? I don't think even the realists among us need to answer that (the dreamers knew better anyways), and I might as well point out that the statement: (huffy voice) "Well, that is NOT the same as an animal" doesn't impress me one bit. Isn't it? I know it is, for I HAVE a kitty which has so-called terminal diseases, and lived with it for, oh, 6 years or so. At first, at a regular checkup/blood test, Minou was diagnosed with FIP. (for more info on this and other cat illnesses, visit my catsite: http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Troy/7456 ). FIP sends out the same emotional shock wave that Aids does for the two-legged folks. It basically burns down to the same thing, total break down of the immune system, except that it is deadly within weeks. Wait, hold that thought, make that is SUPPOSED to be deadly within a matter of weeks. My vet suggested to put her down and spare her the trouble before she shows symptoms. Helloooo? Scoop up kitty, find new vet, pronto! Since then, continuous tests have shown that she is 'only' a carrier, with a low titer (the count that determines how bad it is) in her blood. In a little ritual I began to transfer energy and love into my little furball, but instead of closing the ritual, I left an open and unlimited link to my own life force. And despite all prognosis, Minou lives, sometimes with the added healing boost of caring friends around the world when an all-time low occurs. By now, there is also a vaccination available, and while vets continue to argue whether it's a good or bad choice to make, all my other cats have received theirs. And yes, stubborn as I am, I'm STLL breeding my beloved Maine-Coons, with not one kitten (or grown up of the family, for that matter) ever showing anything but perfectly healthy in their final checkups. Take that, Buster ! If FIP wasn't enough, last year Minou has been diagnosed (and barely saved, thank you from the bottom of my heart, Dr. Luft) with kidney malfunction slash failure. The only life prolonging measures are bothersome, and very expensive - there is no cure, at least, none ethical. Sure, one could kill a stray to get its kidneys to implant them to the lucky cared-for feline; that is, if one can face the karma AND the bill, so, never mind - That means it's low protein diet, dialysis, and medication (try to convince a carnivore to go vegan, and face the fury of a VERY pissed turkey lover). Since we noticed it so late, the liver was already damaged, so add a daily dose of pills to the schedule. (Note: Any cat past the age of 8 needs a low protein diet, or the kidneys WILL fail eventually. Kidney failure is the number one cause of death in cats over 10). But still, my cat lives. Too much, you ask? Too painful, too unnatural? I had her saved to have some time to say goodbye. To 'get used to the idea' of being without the companion of my growing-up years. And in the weeks of decision making of how much is enough, I was faced with a happy, attentive cat, who kept looking at me 'that' way. Minou, sensing my thoughts, feeling my heart, and so I softly probed her own mind for an answer. The unexpected power of her life force, her lust for life, left me tingling. There IS no understanding of suffering in an animal (forgive me if I'm mistaken, this is only one cat speaking). No thought along the lines of, tomorrow I'll feel worse. There is no concept of having to endure pain, or having an option. There is only acceptance. Animals don't think past the present, nor do they envision a future. There is only today. There is only life. And life is what my soft footed sister wanted. With every fiber, every breath, every purr, and SCREW the kidneys. So the weeks transformed into months, with a few blessed souls from America sending care packages of Kidney-Diet cat food, until I finally found the product in Europe. By now, we're going into the second year. There is the look I have to endure when she mewls for her food and is given 'that' stuff. And settles before it with a sigh only too human, wishing for the days of BigMac treats. There is the daily struggle with swallowing one huge, gall bitter pill (think I wouldn't lick my finger to find out WHY she's shredding me to pieces? Bet again J. I'm lucky Minou has lost all her teeth a few years back, so at least, she can't impale me on her fangs as she used to in younger days when vitamins were due). Yes, she's pissed, she hates it. And she has NO qualms whatsoever to let the world in general and me in particular know about it. But does it hurt unduly? The answer is no. Not any more than it does any of us who are forced to take various medications. There is the daily IV with saline fluid in lieu of dialysis. Does she growl and howl up a storm? You BET! But does she settle after a minute and wait for the bottle to empty? Most certainly. She knows her routine by now. The bi-weekly shots (again, thanks to 'da vet-lady', something I can do myself by now) of detox-agents don't cause either of us to blink an eyelid. I have since had to face the realists quite a few times. Those, who deem an animal's life not worth saving if said animal is not healthy. Those, who think they can make the decision which life is not worth fighting for. Money, time, trouble. So what? It was our choice. And I can only encourage you to stand true to your own hearts when the time comes. I know from experience that our friends are quite capable of letting us know, without a doubt, when it is time to go. Until then, use what magick is afoot, and be grateful for choices. For there is no such thing as too much love. Brightest Blessings, and always a full bowl of cream on thy tables (or in Minou's case, soymilk). © Sorceress SummerWind, April 1998 |
