I Want To Come Back As One Of My Cats

Jim, Yellow Bear, and 
Teeny Puppy. Buried with him.

 (As of August 13, 2021, Jim has passed away. He was a tough old guy, and went quietly).

Back in 2007, we rescued an abandoned cat. 

His name was Jim.

He was already a full-grown cat when we got him, so in 2021, he was at least 20.

BUT - his weight was good, and he was happy.

True, his pupils didn't expand or shrink at the same time or rate, and at night he wandered the house yelling, with a stuffed toy named Yellow Bear in his mouth, all of which signaled dementia. Well, I don't know if Yellow Bear was part of that, but he participated.

Jim had some kind of large mass in his belly - possibly in his spleen or liver - but he was too old to have an operation, and the vet didn't think she could reach it anyway. 

He loved to sleep under his red light by the stove.

We kept him home until he passes away, very quietly, lying on comforters next to the stove.

Till the last hours, when he called for us, we were there for him. He even purred.

In our house, we have a saying: "I want to come back as one of my cats."

We should all end up so good.

Old Shadow Fading But Happy

Old Shadow with Betsy the Stove

Our old Shadow cat is finally fading. He has renal failure - but of all the cat deaths we've dealt with, when this one is controlled and monitored, it is far less painful than many of the others.

Shadow keeping warm

Shadow's sister, Fearless, passed away last year, of heart failure, after a long life of thyroid problems. She was a tough little thing. 

Both of them were called the Potatoes, because when they were very little, and held in one hand, upside down, their little bellies looked like potatoes.

So we have one last Potato left. He's also the last of the Bremerton cats. 

He's happy, he's doing okay. And if we get a cat all the way to renal failure, we win. Because we all die of something, and renal failure has always come late. He was born in something like the autumn of 2001, so that's not bad, making it so far in 2017. 

I know we'll get good wishes - and huge thanks to all of you, who extend them. They are much appreciated.

Sammi says Goodbye

Sammi all a-sparkle

Our good old cat, Sammi, passed on, on Saturday, June the 18th, 2016. He'd been suffering from diabetes, and was quite old. We got him back in 2001, and we think he was already a couple of years old. 

He was possibly a Norwegian Forest Cat, caught feral and adopted from Animal Rescue Families, in Bremerton, Washington State. His name was that of the Lap people of the Norse lands. Although I think they originally spelled it "Sammy," to match his feral mother and sister, Sally and Kelly.

Sammi relaxing at dinner

The top photo shows him in the sparkly sweater that was part of his grave goods yesterday.

Along with our big old white cat Leo, he was the surviving partner of the Boys of the Look, named for the way the two of them would stand side-by-side and look intently up at us.

Sammi was sweet, self-possessed, and a good bed-warmer for the other cats. 

We all love you, Sammi. We'll miss you.

(Thank you, DiabeticCatCare.com for helping us keeping him alive for so many months. Thank you, Roberta Gregory, for recommending the site to us.)

Sammi is our Darlin'

Our Sammi - 18 years old - has diabetes. It's been rough and up and down, but he's hanging in there.

Today he claimed the catfood-closet door by face-rubbing, and smacked Kiki (the calico fluffernutter) in the butt.

So, good hopes.

He has no blood, so it's hard to measure glucose levels, but we're trying. I just have to remember to rub his toes really well before taking blood for testing.

He's possibly a Norwegian Forest cat, so we think the name is after the Indigenous people of Scandinavia, otherwise known as Laplanders. He was captured feral as a young cat, and is finally getting over his fear of blankets.

Goodbye, Leo

In 1995, some kids in a Bremerton street were playing with kittens like they were toys. Let's leave it at that. Animals are not toys.

Leo and Fearless

Leo was one of them. Tiny, skinny, white, with wispy soft fur and sore sunburned ears. Got him home, and he drank and drank water, ate as much as he could hold, and passed out on the couch asleep. 

Reason for name: He had a charcoal upside-down V on his head, a "mark," and St. Mark's animal is the lion, so, of course - Leo. I'm a Leo, too. The mark faded over the years, until he was completely white.

We had a lot of desperate rescue cats underfoot. Food and water sat on the kitchen floor. We were busy. By the time anybody noticed what had happened, Leo had ballooned up into the Fat Boy he'd be the rest of his life. In his last days, he was called regal.

Leo and Bluebear

He was with us for 20 years.

Many of you remember the lordly, bossy, white - and possible - Turkish Van who purred up at you from the couch or floor when you came in the door.

As a half-grown boy, he terrorized a block watch meeting with great glee and verve. And an obviously long-dead robin chick, that came apart more every time he dashed through the back cat door and came flipping about its increasingly disarticulated and lengthening carcass, throwing feathers and panic, before tearing back through the door with a great clack.

Fearless and Leo

The third time he stormed in, he was swinging the appalling leg-waving bird like a golf-club. It was the end of the blockwatch meeting, as everybody jumped back to miss the pair of them.

One woman - a nice church lady who would never swear - leaped to her feet and roared, "Get your nasty-ass dead bird out of here!" Leo romped back out, swinging his horrible avian toy like a victory flag. His work was done.

He was mother to all the new cats, especially to two tiny kittens nicknamed The Potatoes - Fearless and her brother Shadow. He even let Shadow suckle on him. Shadow and Fearless kept him warm and snug until the end.

Shadow and Leo in the Snuggery

Bluebear, a stuffed toy found at the mouth of the Clallam river, showing signs of having come from Japan the hard way, was cleaned, re-stuffed, and soon became Leo's best toy.

When Leo was diagnosed with failing kidneys in January, 2015, I began to pet Shadow a lot more. Shadow was always shy and scary, but Leo was his best friend. They snuggled and hugged themselves to sleep a lot. I knew Shadow would miss Leo badly before long, so I made a point of petting and holding the reluctant Shadow. He got so he liked being petted. This worked when the time came.

Last summer, Dan and I got very sick. Some kind of 'flu. And could do nothing but lie in the sun in backyard, or sit in a chair and read.

Leo sleeping in the yard.

When the neighbor's dog came down the yard and Leo got up to hiss him away, I finally got the materials to built a backyard fence, and put it up quickly, sick or no. Then I let the cage chickens loose and they joined us all, Leo making sure they stayed off his plastic carpet. He loved having his family out in the sun on a blanket, under the California Lilac's dappled shade.

After the sunny days ended, in October, we never thought Leo would get another day in the sun, but this year he did, and grumped when we made him come in out of the evening cold.

On March, 2, 2015, Leo passed from us in front of a wood stove, on an old Marine blanket, after a year of fluids and medication and treats. He got a last summer in the sun in the back yard. A local store drained beef-liver blood so he could have it to lap up in a bowl. It did him good.

Big Mo, Leo, and Jim in the yard.

He probably died as the sun topped the ridge. His blanket was still warm. His right paw was curled in contentment. His last moment had been a good one.

So many people in social media  - old friends and new -  wished Leo well, and genuinely helped with suggestions and instructions. 

We miss him so much.

Maybe more later.

Goodbye Leo. Goodbye, sweet man.

Leo in bed. Red is his color.

Vampurr!
Beef blood drained by a local store for the old man.
Note the tiny red Van Dyke.

My 60th Dragon Birthday - More Cakes Than Anybody

I'm a Dragon, in the Chinese calendar. This is my 60th year.  I had the most fabulous birthday anyone could wish for.  Well, I did.

Firs of all, I had a cake that frosted itself, when Wendy Emlinger sent me this fabulous birthday card.

Best Reuben ever.

Then we toured Seattle's Fremont neighborhood and had lunch at Homegrown restaurant. An accidental choice, made for the elegant and soothing decor. But the food was a revelation. The best Reuben sandwich I'd ever had (and I had a truck-driver dad who used to drive me about to taste pies and Reubens in rural Washington), combined with an arugala-hazelnut-almost-too-many-figs salad. Goodness.

Roberta Gregory took me to the King Tut Exhibit in Seattle, and we discovered that an ancient prince had accidentally speared his beloved - and no doubt sacred - hunting cat. This was very sad, and we read it in words and pictures on the cat's sarcophagus. Ancient drawn books coming alive. Well, you look at it and tell us that's a cat's tail - usually carved so smoothly and elegantly by the Egyptian sculptors - and not a rigid lance head. We felt so sorry for the cat and the prince.

Afterwards we discovered Morfey's Cakes, and the adorable and sprightly (sprite-like?) baker, Erin Blanchard. Morfrey should be filming her for their site. She's completely excited by her art. While I didn't taste any of it - I am 60, after all, and now it's about the eyes - in this case it was truly about the eyes.  Ooh la la.

Erin Blanchard and The Blue Cake.. 

The cake tower - with Rainbow Cake.

Too - many - cakes.

The gray cake. The Eifel tower atop it had melted in the heat.

Only pretending to taste. Om imaginary nom.

Someplace in the course of the day we did truly tasty coffee at the wonderful El Diablo Coffee Company.

We ended up at the Oddfellow's Hall restaurant, where Maggie Bloodstone shared the icy top sip of all her champagne flutes with me. Marvelous.

Finally, Ron Austin sent me the link to part of his amazing international comics-author series. Right when I needed it for an interview.

A Tail of Jim

Jim are not happy.

Jim's home!

Yesterday we discovered Jim had scraped an inch-long trench in the end of his tail, possibly even broken it.  We thought he'd gotten his tail caught in the door, but now we're not sure.

Anyway, he's home, with stitches in his tail.  

The vet's assistant, Naomi, said she came THIS close to putting a pink ribbon bow on the tail.  So maybe he'd better think next time.  

Vet bill, of course, so am trolling for commissions.  Nice black and white drawings (including rough and scan) for $30.00, $12.95 shipping, handling and insurance (Within the US and Canada -- a bit higher overseas).  If you want more figures, or color, we can talk; hit the email address (on my profile, here).

Or donate a beer at the Desert Peach site!

Note:  PLEASE DO NOT REQUEST COPYRIGHTED CHARACTERS.  Using other people's or company's characters for money is copyright infringement and THEFT.  I hate to have to say this again, but people still need to learn this is wrong and illegal.  I DO NOT STEAL FROM OTHER ARTISTS.

Price -- The Day After

Here's my Facebook Page entry (with additions):  "Thank you so much, everybody. We had a lovely funeral, walked the beach, waded around in the mouth of the Clallam river, then went to the Clallam Bay Inn for MacNJack and Fish and chips.This morning I bumped into an invisible kitty hock and accidentally put down the same number of bowls (which I left; I figured he'd get the spirit food). 

Thank all of you so much for all your prayers and thoughts for him. I think funerals let us cry for ourselves, too (why dry-humored Britain went to pieces over Princess Di). I'm sharing the t-shirt quote. It gave me the first laugh today."

The T-shirt line:  "All our kitties and our favorite t-shirts are waiting for us in heaven."  

After a thorough washcloth bathing the night before, and being formed into a comfy posture and left to cool down and compose himself on a red towel in the back bathtub,  Price was wrapped in a grey, silver-shot pashmina I'd found years ago scrunched down in a knot in a filthy muddy hole  in a Seattle sidewalk and not only resurrected, but wore for years.  His outside wrap was one of Dan's maternal grandmother's quilts, on the bed for years and beginning to fray (We use respected old fabrics as funeral wraps). They were both handled by us and the cats, so they would smell familiar.  As we dug the grave, he got to lie in the middle room on the guest bed, which he'd always loved.

The grave was in sand, bedded with salmon-berry branches, then the mummy bundle -- head to the west -- topped with a wooden bowl with milk, margarine and a chunk of freshly-cooked salmon, wrapped in a red silk shirt I'd been saving for a funeral, covered with peach and plum twigs and some sword fern, then more salmon berry, then filled in carefully with goodbyes and hopes.  On top went a crystal vase with a red wrapped beeswax candle, surrounded by four Rainforest incense sticks.  The candle burned all day.  The salmon-berry birds sang in the woods into evening.

We should all get such funerals.

Good traveling, Price.

Price in my Seattle Pashmina

Goodbye Price -- Running to Catch Up

I won't go into all yesterday's details, but Price has gone beyond all pain.

We sat outside with him all yesterday in the sun.  I asked a good client for time, and was told not to worry (Thank you!).

My editor emailed me at one point and said he needed details for a Fun Days story.  I whipped downtown on my bike and while there, picked up a nice pink salmon from the Jack Mackerel Seafood Company.  Put the body down in salt for smoking, micro-waved the head and tail.  Price hadn't been eating, not really, for days, nor drinking water, so I didn't have much hope of him sampling the food.  He was at the stage where they take a sniff and turn away in disgust.  I ran a little warm water over it, in case he would take some liquid.

This time, his neck arched and he jetted his face into the salmon, gobbling chunks and slurping up the salmon water.  We were surprised and a bit worried; "Is he just packing for the last journey?"  Clouds came over the sun as the afternoon passed, and we all went inside, where I set him up on his nice plaid blanket.

He'd been doing so well, I took a break and went to the beach for a walk.  There, the beautiful rainbow of a sundog pulled me into watching the sun set.  I was probably gone fifteen minutes.

When I came back, I was shocked to hear Dan choke, "He's safe.  He's gone where he can never hurt again."  

Right at sunset, he gave a little meow, that Dan says sounded like, "Wait for me!"  His legs -- all four of them -- ran a few steps as he lay there, and, as Dan said, "He just ran out of his body."

His heart stopped, and he was gone.  Maybe he zipped down to the beach to say goodbye to me, in his brand-new spiffy young spirit body.  But I can't see spirits, I can only hear them; in two weeks or so, Dan should see him run down the hallway and look at him before romping off.  We've done this a lot.

Funeral today.  Thank all of you for the kind thoughts and hopes.  Thank our good vet and his staff for helping us so much.  We remember.

Final video from yesterday: Price licking his favorite rock (loadable to IPad).  This is so Price.

Price The Good Cat - He Wins.

Don't want to bum anybody out, but many people have been rooting for Price.  We did, however, know what was coming.

Price has really stopped eating, drinking or grooming himself.  I'm not going to bother him with his wheelchair any more; that can be saved for the next problem in another cat.  If he wants to go outside, he can limp along pretty well at this point; he has his little bootie on his limp foot.

Here he is, after a little Diazapan, freshly washcloth-bathed, on his comfy sofa.  The gray blanket is one of two, at this point being used like a diaper.  Sometimes he'll take an edge of the plaid blanket on his back.  This is just before the drug kicked in.  It's a very small dose; just enough to relax him and let him sleep in comfort.

There's a point where you stop bugging the old person and let them work on their last job.  He's 16 years old, warm, safe, relaxed, pain free.  As we say on Facebook:  Price wins.

Price's First REAL wheelchair.

The only reason I'm not posting Price's first tryouts in his real wheelchair is because these folks asked me not to until we'd gotten it properly adjusted and working. We ordered the cart in the PM and got it in the AM the next day (admittedly, they're kind of around the corner from us, but it still came by a circuitous route and still made it).

Been monkeying with the adjustments, after watching the CD that came with the cart. Every piece of the cart adjusts.  About 2:40 on Youtube you can see one of the carts in action.

Yesterday, when he was in the cart, along with all the griping and complaining, he headed for the door.  "Let's see what this babe will do on grass!"  I told him he had to practice a few days first, and get adjusted right.  Instead, he spent the day behind the solar panels by the house, curled up in the grass, enjoying being outside with Dan, who was doing yard work or reading.  Dan needed some sun, anyway.

Price never was much of a touchy-feely cat, and he wouldn't take being covered with a blanket. He now spends his days and nights on the couch, tucked in with a plaid blanket.  In the evening, he wants to be snuggled up under my chin, purring and getting petted. So I have to lay on the couch petting Price rather than getting any art work down, and that's just how it is.  Gonna have to just change my ancient schedule, I guess, retrain my brain to do art in the daylight.  I'm glad we have sets of DVDs, like Treme, from the library.

Price ate very well yesterday, but not today.  He seems to be eating and drinking every other day.  We'll give the adjusted cart another try today, and film it for K9.

I'm quite worried about a hard lump in his belly, but the vet says it's probably scar tissue -- and he just didn't want to cut on him any more. Not after the massive surgery he's already had.  How much suffering do we want to put an old person through?  

In the meantime, he's resting and wanting outside occasionally.  Yesterday he almost got away from me, three legs and all, as he slipped out the door past me and whipped down the stairs.  There's life in the old cat yet.

Price Living With Bad Leg

Price's bad leg is dragging and making it hard for him to lie down.  So I put it up in an old-fashioned sling.

Because he's gotten used to lying around and feeling sorry for himself, we've been noodging him down the hallway to strengthen his good hind leg.  There is much whining and complaining, but now he can actually get to the litter box and the water without the dragging leg slowing him down.  We take the sling off at night, so he won't have a chance of catching it on things, or at least when he's without or supervision.  

Then afterwards there is purring.  Right now it's ling cod season, and I caught my first ling cod ever yesterday.  I have to fish when I can because Price loves fresh fish, and the Old Cat gets what he wants.

Price is Good for Now

Price and Leo on the couch.

Okay. Whew.  Here's the latest:

Price is 16 years old.  The lump in his belly is probably scar tissue from the operation (didn't find it before, because of the burn).

Only one of his legs is bad; the vet guesses an embolism, which isn't uncommon in cats his age.  This help explains a bad situation about three years ago, when a cat lost use of both hind legs.  Price is okay; he can walk.  Nothing can be done about it, but he's happy and gets around.

He's eating, drinking, doing everything he's supposed to.  The vet and we have decided no more cutting or desperate measures.  From now on, it's goodies and time in front of the fire for the old man.  

And thank those of you who had good thoughts for our old guy.

Price not doing well

Uh oh.  Price's hind legs are more wonky than ever, even though he's getting meds and massage. 

Just found a hard lump in his belly.  Hopefully it's scar tissue from the operation.  

Taking him to the vet today.  Hopes and prayers welcome.

Price and Leo - by request (and pizza)

 

A friend wanted to see a picture of our Leo, who can muscle his way out of the door and nearly knock you over before you can get the door closed.  He'd eat a postman for breakfast -- if he wasn't so nice, and if we had postmen.

Left:  Price, Leo, Shadow, on our bed.

Woodstove pizza.  Just a little partly-wholewheat crust, tomato paste with oregano, green peppers, garlic-basil olive oil, black pepper, and a scattering of Monterey Jack cheese.  Pretty much your original peasant version, a little bit of ingredients stretched to seem like more.  Which is where all the good stuff comes from, including onion soup and pancakes.

We Just Live Here

Why the drying clothes are not directly in front of Betsy the Woodstove.  

Actually, I need to get to her to stir the beans or have some tea, so I'm just kidding, Price!  (But don't tell him.)

 

His wounds are almost gone; this is how a melting kitty in front of the stove looks.  The big scar down his middle is from the operation.  He don't care.

Price -- Many thanks to our good neighbors

I need to thank a neighbor for allowing me to talk her out of a couple of pounds of fresh local meat for Price. 

The vet said he needed protein, and this was the most high-quality protein I could think of, and the closest to mice; a mouse is to the antelope family what the rock hyrax is to the elephant: the closest living relative.  Closest  to the natural diet without setting mousetraps (then again, I think the maple tree having 81% of the same DNA I have is very close and very cool).

We've been feeding Price a 1/2-mouse-load of ground flesh an hour, following it with enough of his dry food to bind up the fat in his digestive system so it doesn't give him runny bowels.

Price has laid on a layer of flesh, and his fur is soft and gleaming.  He's still thin, but he's not scary desperate thin.

Price's recovery is very much due in large part to their priceless generosity.

Price's Burn Healing Properly

The burn is dry, and doesn't smell.  It's beginning to granulate and sluff away.  The vet was quite happy with this photograph of the healing burn.  It's on his white belly, so it probably won't even change his hair color there.  He goes in next week to get the final checkup on his stitches and removal.

His system now rejects extra fat, which means he doesn't need it any more.  He needs protein.  So it's lean meat next.

And I had to chase down his smart-alecky butt today to give him his meds.

Price Up And At 'Em

Price gobbling up canned catfood and chicken fat.  Oh, how thin!

Now we've eaten, time for Nips!

The boy gets fed every hour on the hour, with anything high calorie, although he wants the canned food with all the added vitamins, minerals, and Taurine.  Fish, chicken, milk, mayonnaise, whatever he'll eat - doesn't matter.  He doesn't get any of the shellfish, in this case mussels, because healthy humans handle those better than sick kitties.

Twice a day, Dan puts on heavy leather gloves, and I wash his belly down with a solution of nettles, dill and catnip, then apply antibiotic ointment.  He gets antibiotics for his gut resection three times a day.

We should all hope we get treated like this when we're sick.

Looking up Chinese herbs for helping with the other tiny tumors that were found in the ultrasound.  Price had a low-level facial tumor removed about 3 years ago.  He was found in a parking lot in 1998, as a half-grown boy.  And we're living in Clallam Bay -- an industrial forestry area.  We might as well be living with pulp mills.

Tough Titty Said The Kitty

Price with his halogen lamp, Steve.

ARGGHH!

Why the Robert Newton imitation?  Because Mr. Price (General Sterling Price) was just doing fine with his bowel resection surgery.

Why the horrible-looking belly discoloration?  That he whined so miserably about when I tried to look at it? ("Oh no!  His gut has burst!  He's rotting!")

He fell asleep on the low setting on the heating pad.

Yep, they really can burn us like we've always been warned.  So after another 60-mile round trip, and a mindset that had me considering Cutting and Dan throwing up waiting for the news, we found out he's just fine, just needing some ointment and aloe or honey or dill washes to clean him up.

Hope this really jump-starts his immune system, like the Southerners claim of a springtime sunburn does in the winter bugs.  Yeah, that's what it's good for.  All three of our little lamps warm up nicely at low wattage, so he's buddying up to them, now.

And thanks to all of you for the power wishes and care; couldn't have done it without you.