It's been a while since my last blog post. So much life (and loss) has happened since I last wrote that if I tried to write down all of the rambling monologues that have gone on in my frantic mind it would be... well, a very, very long post.
There is so much in my head and heart that I want to share about countless topics, but right now the most important words I want to put to paper are about the lost of my sweet cat, Thayer.
Years and years ago an online friend of mine was telling about his search for a cat companion at his local shelters. I felt inspired to check shelters in my area, mostly out of curiosity to see what kind of cats where looking for their forever homes. As I scrolled through pictures of sweet feline faces I was blind-sided by the biggest, roundest, greenest, most curious eyes I'd ever seen, Eyes that seemed too big and too bright for the precious kitten face they belonged to. I was HOOKED, line and sinker. Instantly I thought, "surely this absolutely adorable little baby has already been spoken for, it won't hurt to send an inquiry of interest because I'm certain the response is that he's already going to his new family - they probably just haven't had a chance to update the website yet." Kittens are in high demand, especially at shelters where they are often outnumbered by middle-aged, senior-aged, or special-needs cats. I was shocked when I got a reply asking when I wanted to meet this potential adoptee.
I already had Zen and she was a very happy only child (we had lost my little Min Pin puppy, Spud, not long before). I did not need, or had much business wanting, another pet of any kind. Still, I needed to meet the kitten with the huge leaf-green eyes. I arranged to meet him at his foster mother's home within the week. I sat in this woman's living room and she brought out a tiny ball of fluff to meet me. As you can imagine most kittens to be, he was ADORABLE! Sweet, soft, and spunky, but the most memorable part of meeting him was his stuffed monkey. One of those electric green, gangly things with the droopy limbs and paws that you could velcro around your neck in a hug. The toy was almost twice the size as he was but he carried it with him everywhere - in his mouth with all four lanky limbs dragging along under his tummy for him to trip over every other step.
He was too young to come home with me right away but I told his foster mom that I was ready to take him whenever she said it was time. A couple of weeks later the green-eyed kitten and his green stuffed monkey came home with me. We did not keep that stuffed monkey forever, but it did inspire his myriad of nicknames: Monkey, Monkey Face, Monks... most of which were used at least twice as often as the name I kept for him from the shelter, Thayer.
Thayer very quickly learned exactly how to push the buttons of his older fur-sibling, Zen. He knew every precise way to drive her crazy, but she was still the master of the house and was not above putting him in his place. They eventually learned how to tolerate sharing my lap peacefully: Zen curled on my thighs while Thayer settled for my boney shins.
From day one and tripping over that ridiculous monkey, Thayer was... special. He could -see- things. Few things were as disconcerting as being alone at home at night only to have Thayer suddenly startle awake in my lap then STARE, with those massive green eyes, at an empty space above my head. I was so certain he saw something that I would turn to look at the seemingly empty wall behind me.
He never did anything partially. Even when he would jump from the floor to a surface, like my desk, he would do so with such force and flair he always landed with his rear feet. It was like watching a barely controlled explosion of energy that propelled him through the air. He always ended up looking so surprised at his arrival, like he forgot he had decided to jump, or that he had made it successfully. This cat must have been part kangaroo in another life, he could clear a baby gate with several inches to spare.
Thayer was also what one of my dearest friends, and veterinarian, might call 'touched'. She would definitely call him crazy. He would suddenly, and seemingly without provocation, get absolutely wild-eyed then tear around the house as if the devil himself had grabbed his tail. On more than one occasion I witnessed him tear off as if launched from a canon, plow face-first into an immovable object, then bounce off and redirect himself without slowing down. He also had a few times where he channeled his inner Garfield and stuck himself to my rear end (remember those Garfield window suction cup toys in the 80s/90s?). Yeah that, but with cat claws into flesh instead of suction on glass.
He scared me a year or two ago when he pulled a Zen and suddenly stopped. Stopped moving, didn't want to eat, just so lethargic and not himself. He reminded me so much of Zen's sudden decline in her last days that I was sure then we were losing him. Another very dear veterinary friend agreed to see him for me very late one night, and my mother rode with me on a long, scary drive to Maryland, holding Thayer in her lap and giving him comfort while I drove. Turns out he must have tweaked something in his back and was down due to injury and discomfort, rather than sudden illness. I had been prepared to say goodbye to Thayer that night, but my friend was able to give us much happier news, some pain management, and a lot more time together.
Sadly this past week his sudden decline was ever so slightly less sudden. His age had been starting to show much more, especially after that late-night injury ride. He was slower, not as hungry, less interested in doing much more than curling up in a sunny corner to snooze. In the last couple of days he just quit. Quit moving, eating, drinking, couldn't make it to the litterbox. The one time I did witness him walking he looked like he was drunk on a small cruise ship during a very aggressive storm. He dropped weight like it was a hot pot. I scooped up his tiny frail frame and we spent one last night together, curled up in a toasty blanket it my lap for maximum loving head scratches.
On Wednesday morning Clif and Kaileigh drove me with Thayer in my lap to the vet hospital to say our thankful goodbyes. It was as calm and smooth and loving as it could possibly be for such a difficult situation. No matter how many times I've stood in that room with other families while they say goodbye to their own beloved pets, sometimes even in place of those families who couldn't stand to stay for the final moment (which I more than understand), it never gets easier, especially when it's your own loved fur-kid.
The staff at the hospital took paw print impressions for me and stamped Thayer's name across the top of the clay disk, which I've baked and hardened. They also placed a small tuft of his fur in a tiny glass globe pendent. Kenya and Teva were buried together in our yard, but Thayer will have a private cremation with a return of ashes in a small wooden box and I will place him lovingly in a secret, safe place, alongside his sister, Zen, and my tiny Spud.
Thayer had been a part of my life longer than Clif and part of all of our kids' lives. They miss him, we all do, but we talk about how he has joined our other pets before him and will be waiting for us in Heaven. We are thankful for all of the time and love we had with such a special, funny, awesome creature and will treasure his memories.
Our very dear friend offered to take some final morning photos and I'm so glad she convinced me to let her.
