Well, you’ve heard the saying, “Life imitates art.” Here’s an example.
My mom took this photo of Creampuff, our ditzy calico housemate, sound asleep on her favorite chair. Her body language says, “Don’t bother me while I’m sleeping.”
From this angle, Creampuff looks like a piece of abstract art. My mom was intrigued by the idea.
As far as I’m concerned, Creampuff’s a piece of work. No argument there.
Here’s what happens on a Sunday evening. We’re all tired. Mom’s been working and she moved her laptop to the living room so we could all be together.
Ophelia, our new housemate, got tired of hanging out in the laundry room. So she moved to the closet. And today she
scrambled up on the couch. A classic takeover.
And what am I doing? My mom took me on a long walk today. It was very warm. As you can see, I’m exhausted.
Cathy was so thrilled. Our family is coming together again. Ophelia is fitting in.
Cathy’s got a pile of books to read. She’s always looking for books to recommend to her readers, she says. But I know she’s got a murder mystery tucked away for times when she goes brain dead. Which, in my opinion, happens whenever she spends time with the cats. She isn’t crazy about Ophelia’s name but we can’t think of anything else.
And where’s our other little family member? Yep…sound asleep on her chair. I told you we were all exhausted. That’s how Ophelia gets away with it.
My mom Cathy has been feeling sad lately. Our housemate, Tiger the tabby cat, has been walking around on her last paws, as they say. She’s getting ready to cross the bridge, my mom says. More likely, that great sandbox in the sky.
Tiger has been the dominant force in our household since I joined up. She gets into my crate. She takes over my favorite dog bed. She bosses everybody around.
But Cathy says, “Tiger has been with me for just over 14 years. That’s a large chunk of my life. She’s just such a great cat.” She pats Tiger and says, “It’s okay, Tiger. You’ve served your mission. You can go peacefully.”
I’d like to say Tiger is past caring, but in fact she’s pretty alert, especially for a cat who’s probably close to 20. (Cathy adopts only older animals. At three, I barely qualified.) That’s 91 in human years. Tiger still jumps up on the couch. She snoozes in the sun. She finds the litter box (thank goodness).
But she’s not eager to eat her dinner. She might nibble a few bites from a freshly opened can. And then she gets that look in her eye like, “I don’t need this anymore.”
Cathy was telling someone, “Intellectually, I know it’s time to say good-by. I know she’s had a great life. Most cats would give their right paws to have a life like Tiger’s. But…she’s so special.”
So Cathy’s giving Tiger sub-Q fluids. She’s waiting for her regular vet to get back for a final opinion.
My job is to insist that we carry on. We must continue to go to the Dog Park as often as possible. And I bark at Tiger, just to keep things normal around here. Tiger still hisses but she’s lost the spark.
Luckily Cathy has a new teleseminar series — lots of work. It will be good for her. And I have to admit, she’s a pretty darn good seminar leader.
My mom Cathy finally recognized her limits as a caregiver. She advertised on craigslist for a special needs pet sitter who could help give Tiger fluids. Sure enough, a delightful former vet tech named Jen answered her plea.
Jen came over Wednesday and walked Cathy through the process. She came back today and said Cathy’s doing much better. She even complimented Cathy’s ability to shove a big pill down Tiger’s throat.
Cathy was so excited because Tiger jumped up on the counter and ate a few mouthfuls of food without being prompted. What’s the big deal? I eat all the time, don’t I?
But I absolutely adore Jen. While she was talking to my mom, she gave me a full body massage. She rubbed my tummy and talked to me in soothing tones, clearly recognizing my royal stature.
Cathy offered to help Jen develop her website when Jen gets ready to expand her practice. My mom has a one-track mind.
Jen did offer a parting shot as she headed out.
“You could give Gracie low-calorie carrots instead of her usual treats,” she said. “Dogs don’t know the difference.”
Who said the f-word? I’m not fat. I’m just becoming royally queen-sized.
On Monday afternoon my mom dashed into the UrbanVet office. She carried a cage with our ailing (and wailing) housemate, Tiger. Cathy was supposed to give fluids to Tiger. She gave up Saturday after stabbing her own finger.
Cathy is terrified of human doctors so she panicked. It took several emails from an online support group to convince her she was going to live.
So what was I doing at the vet? Mom took me along to our vet because she thought I had been paying entirely too much attention to my … um…rear parts. No comment.
The vet tech poked around in places that are never publicly mentioned by Canine Urban Princesses (CUPPIES) like me. Yuk.
But as we were leaving, that nice Dr. Kira stopped by to say hello. She adores me. She told Cathy, “I’m so glad you adopted Gracie.”
Me too, most of the time.
But then Dr. Kira looked at me with a whole different expression.
“Gracie, you’re getting a little chunky here. Better watch it.”
“Right,” my mom said. “She gained about 7 pounds since I adopted her. Time for a diet.”
Oh no. The D-word. Just what I don’t need. I get so much exercise…what more do they want?
This time, I didn’t get a treat on the way out.
My mom Cathy has been very sad the last few days. Our roommate Tiger has not been eating. She just kind of nibbles at her food. She still jumps up on the sofa and keeps me in line, but she’s more interested in sleeping than eating.
Yesterday Cathy saw Tiger snoozing peacefully in a patch of sunlight. “That’s how I’d like to end my days,” she told me. “Sleeping peacefully in the sun.”
Mom’s going to take Tiger to the vet. She’s not happy to be stressing out Tiger but she wonders if it’s something that might respond to a few pills. Tiger is tough.
Frankly, I think Tiger is a useless parasite, but my mom thinks Tiger is…well, the cat’s meow. They’ve been together 14 years (longer than some marriages, Mom says).
Tiger’s had 3 airplane rides and crossed an international border. She endured interstate moves in a packed Toyota from the vantage point of her cat carrier. She’s lived in at least one Canadian province and 5 US cities. She’s recovered from liver disease and pancreatitis. She has outlived 3 feline roommates and 1 canine roommate.
When Cathy moved to New Mexico, Tiger spent a few months with her friend Bob, a statistics professor in Florida. Bob made sure there were no significant differences in the way he treated Cathy’s two cats. Both were spoiled equally rotten.
Not bad for a cat who found herself in a Humane Society cage at age 5.
So I better keep my opinions to myself. Luckily, today’s my day to run in the park with my Aunt Sara. Mom needs to focus on Tiger for awhile.