Hope

If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter, then you know that I had to put Hope to sleep in early September – the 2nd? It already feels like it was 10 years ago. It was unexpected. She was only 12 years old. Her sickness came over her suddenly – or at least it presented suddenly. I had hoped the puffiness of one side of her face was a bad tooth or an inflamed gum or something. But the vet said it was 99% a tumor, she had seen this before, and to confirm whether or not it was a tumor would have required major surgery through the roof of Hope’s poor mouth. I was in Rhode Island when this happened, with Hope, because my family is also going through a major tragedy at the moment and I am trying to do my best to help carry the load, even with Corona. So I had to make the decision: surgery to confirm what the vet already knew … and then chemo, which probably wouldn’t work, or just buy her a couple of months … or to move into the palliative care phase. I made the second choice, even though it killed me. Then followed three weeks of sitting in my mother’s house, with Hope, watching the deterioration, and trying to be mindful of when it would be time. To let her tell me. She was hiding in the closet. She still had her appetite, and she still enjoyed lying on the porch in the sun, watching the birds and squirrels. But I could tell that she was just not feeling well, and soon her appetite would go and I just didn’t want to put her through that.

Being in Rhode Island, away from my apartment for so long, was surreal and somehow helped me make the decision. We were uprooted from our lives.

I brought her home with me in 2008. She had been abused and then abandoned by her former owners. I documented every second of her life back then, here on the blog, as I slowly got her to trust me, and come out of the bathroom sink, her refuge.

Eventually she trusted me to the degree that she would throw herself on the floor in front of me, belly up, displaying herself for pats. She loved belly pats. Except when she didn’t, of course.

She was such a sweet creature, loving and kind, and loved sitting in my lap, and following me around from room to room. (“Oh. Okay. She’s going in here now. So I guess that means I’m going in here now too.”) She slept beside me every night. A little ritual.

I still feel a sense of expectation when I get into bed every night, listening for her little trotting footsteps as she followed me into bed. Quarantine would have been unthinkable without her. There were weeks when I didn’t leave my apartment. I had never spent so much concentrated time with her. Our rhythms completely synched up. She was full of love, and she was at my side when I went through some of the most difficult years of my whole entire life. She was comforting. And I hope I was comforting to her too. Her life was hard before me. She only knew bad humans.

Here is the first picture I took of her when I brought her home. I can see in her eyes: the anxiety … she doesn’t know if I am safe and nice yet.

She got to live a safe and happy life with me. She got to be herself. She didn’t have to hide. When she was relaxed, she went whole hog. She loved to sit on my lap, and if I ever had my laptop in my lap, she’d sit across the room from me, staring at me, waiting for me to put away the laptop and clear the runway, so to speak.

On her final morning, I woke up early. She sat out on the porch, staring at the yard. I took what would be the final picture of her.

I was so sad. I am so sad. Not just about Hope but about everything. To lose her now … in a time of such anxiety and uncertainty … has been very hard. For the last two weeks or so, Hope had been avoiding me: no longer sitting near me (like before), or sleeping with me. She just didn’t feel well. But that last morning … out of nowhere … she came and sat on my lap. And she stayed there, no word of a lie, for three hours. That’s way longer than she normally would sleep in my lap. My leg fell asleep. She fell asleep. I pet her body gently and she purred.

I am convinced she knew. And she felt my sadness, because she was always so in tune with my every move, my every mood. She came to comfort. The sound of her purr was like a balm to my ears. It was her goodbye. I am convinced.

The vet let me come inside to be with her when it happened. She was calm, and I held her in my arms the whole time, and she stared up at my face, and she purred a couple of times. We were together and she felt it. She had no idea where she was, or what that thing was in her front leg, and she was of course also afraid, because everything was so unfamiliar, but she knew I was there.

She was such a good girl. My apartment – I’m now back here – is so full of her presence it’s almost overwhelming. I won’t be here much longer. I got rid of most of the vestiges of her, her treats, her litter box, her toys … but I’m still finding more things, tucked away in places. Random bizzy balls. A cannister of cat nip. Her cat brush. And also the GIGANTIC bag of cat food I bought when it became clear back in March I was going to have to go into lock-down. I was so paranoid about running out, or there being a “run’ on cat food like there was on disinfectant wipes or whatever.

So it’s been very hard. I miss her so much and I am grateful for the time we had together. She added so much to my life.

I didn’t christen her Hope. She came with the name. I was not a fan of it, at first – I never would have chosen such a hokey name as “Hope”, but I didn’t change it. She was a year old when I got her. It didn’t feel right to change her name. Now I know she couldn’t have had a more perfect or more a propos name.

Goodbye, little furry friend. A good good friend.

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29 Responses to Hope

  1. I’ve enjoyed your Hope posts so much over the past year. The two of you clearly had something special. I’m so sorry.

  2. MFS says:

    I am so very sorry for your loss, Sheila. Thank you for being such a good human to Hope; you were fortunate to have met one another.

    • sheila says:

      MFS – thank you! There were times when I’d be rubbing her belly – or she’d be sprawled on my lap and I’d remember her fearful cringing self when I first got her – and I’d have a moment of real pride, that showing her I was safe and she was safe now is something I’m really proud of.

      And it was that way up until the end! She knew I was there with her and that makes me feel better in a way.

      Thanks again.

  3. tracey says:

    Ohh, I didn’t know this, Sheila. I’m so so sorry for this loss. It’s huge. I’m crying for you. What a sweet girl, a little furball of light for you. I wish I could take this away for you. I’m just that sorry. Much love.

    • sheila says:

      Tracey!! Hello! xoxoxo I’m not on FB anymore – the place is a nightmare. But I miss things about it, like getting to stay in touch. So glad to see you here.

      and yes: very very sad news. It happened so suddenly! I was not ready for it at ALL. She was so sweet, such a positive thing in my life – the apartment feels so empty without her. Not used to it at ALL.

      Thank you again. It means a lot.

  4. Clary says:

    Hi Sheila
    September is a sad month regarding death. Too many.
    It’s really sad news, I hope you won’t feel too alone, but that she’s accompanying you somehow. Much love.

    • sheila says:

      yes, September is a very sad month. To quote Green Day – wake me up when September ends.

      I honestly think that her jumping on my lap that last morning and hanging out there for three hours did a lot to jumpstart healing. I’m glad I didn’t wait too much longer to let her go – she would have stopped being able to be with me at all. She was still capable of it and she took her moment to cuddle with me and … I don’t know, it just makes me feel better to think about it.

      But boy I miss her!

      I’m planning on moving early next year – moving in a pandemic should be interesting – so whenever I land wherever I end up – unclear at the moment – I think I’ll be ready to get another cat. I want a rescue cat, again. It means a lot to make a difference in an animal’s life. This is the sucky thing about having a pet. We outlive them. My awesome cat Sammy – from my Chicago/grad school years … He was also the best. It so hurts when they go!!

      Thanks, Clary.

  5. Myrtle says:

    Oh I’m so sorry. A similar thing happened to me in early August. We had to put our girl down too. She (Cassie) & her sister (Shiraz) came to us around 2 months old. Eventually my mom was her person, and I was her sister’s person. The latter was very possessive of me. Scorpios you know. Shiraz was the clingy, jealous, but really loving Scorpio type. Occasionally she’d start fights with her sister if she saw her getting too much affection from me. Honestly. She got some type of liver disease 2 years ago. But you really know your cat loves you when she tries to jump onto the bed to curl up with you, even when she’s feeling like crap. Even when she doesn’t really want to move around anymore. An animal’s trust is such an amazing thing.

    Cassie was the aloof Scorpio. She would jump onto my mother’s lap, but acted like she basically tolerated the rest of us. Very soft fur though, so too bad for her, we were gonna pet it. We weren’t sure how she would handle being an only child. But she thrived hahaha. She came out of her shell once wasn’t she wasn’t getting swiped by Shiraz. She was still The Bitch sometimes, gotta keep up her reputation, “I will look down on you even if I am 1.5 feet tall.” But we bonded way more. I was house-sitting a lot for my travelling parents, and turns out she needed her fix of tactile affection, even if she was too proud to ask for it. Somehow I started to figure out when she wanted affection lol. She got much more tactile, even affectionate, over time.

    But she started losing her balance, and when it got bad we took her into the vet. It happened over just a few weeks. He was pretty certain it was a brain tumour. Same decision to make as yours. She was already having trouble with balance, and pissed off about it, so we just took her home overnight. We put her in box and took her to her favorite spots in the house, and outside in the garden. A few times she tried to lift her head, and I supported it, and I could tell she was so MAD her body wasn’t working. I was oddly glad for that. She was herself enough to have Strong Opinions. She’d always had so much Attitude in life. I’m glad she had that to the end.

    And again, I could tell how much she trusted me by that point. I’d really worked for it, so I was very touched. And that I could read her so well that I could tell when she started to feel off (she wasn’t enjoying cuddles anymore). But I miss her, grumpy bitch. She had a lot of personality. It happened so fast. But I didn’t want her quality of life to suffer. At least she didn’t have to deal with her body betraying her for very long.

    Xoxoxo. It’s tough. I’m glad you had people around you then. Please take care. I hope fall will be okay for you.

    • sheila says:

      Myrtle – awwwww I’m so sorry to hear about Cassie. She sounds wonderful. Grumpiness is so funny in cats – I respect it! Really sorry. It’s so hard to let them go but it’s part of our responsibility as pet owners – the hardest part!!

      Thank you – I am so glad I was in RI when all this went down and not back where I live where I am 100% isolated from human contact, lol. It really helped.

      Her presence is still so strong here in my apartment. It’s amazing how the sense of her lingers. :(

  6. ANNE WHITEHOUSE says:

    Dear Sheila,
    It is so hard to lose a beloved pet. Esp. Now. I send you condolences and sympathy.

  7. regina Bartkoff says:

    Sheila

    Oh no! I started reading your blog and found out about Hope! I am so sorry. I have seen all the pictures and read all about Hope so much I feel like I know her. Oh it’s been such a terrible time I hope everything is okay with your family as you mention something is going on, I think everyone who checks in here feels like we know your family too. It sounds like a good idea to get out of here but I don’t want you to! I know that makes no sense. You’re such a sweetheart and Charlie and I adore you and love your writing. You know all that. We are with you in all you do. Better times are coming, and fuck 2020!

    • sheila says:

      Regina!! Please say hello to Charlie for me – and just know I am with you two in all you do too! So thankful our paths intersected – and more to come!!

      Fuck 2020 for real. My God this year. And we still have three months to go. I feel beat up!

      Thanks for the kind words on Hope. Still getting used to her not being here – so glad I have so many pics and little videos of her purring and things. I was very lucky to be her owner. She was such a good sweet creature, and I loved having her around and I know she felt the same way – particularly in quarantine – she was in HEAVEN, I was always RIGHT THERE – lol –

      And when I leave I won’t be going far! I just need a change of scenery and the writing thing I can do anywhere!

      how are YOU two doing? hope you two are hanging in there as well as possible. You’re a great team!

      xoxo

  8. Rije says:

    I’m so sorry for your loss! Hope seemed like the best cat, and I’m glad she had such a good life with you!

    I think you did good with the palliative care. It is THE hardest decision to make, when to let go, but also the most honest I think. I always hate that responsibility as a pet owner, but seeing your beloved pet in pain or suffering is even worse.

    I hope ( :-) ) you find, when the time is right for you, a new furry friend to love.

    2020 has been more than horrible (a few months ago we found out that my dad has stage IV cancer) and I’m so glad I have my cat Simmer. She’s the best and in her own way always there for me. Also a rescue cat btw, I got her a few years ago from an animal shelter. She was one of many, many abandoned kittens.

    • sheila says:

      Rije – I am so sorry to hear about your dad.

      Cats really are great comforts even though they have this reputation for being haughty and not giving af. I mean … that’s part of the fun of them. But they also are so giving. I’m glad you have Simmer in this very hard time.

  9. Frances says:

    Oh Sheila — too much. It’s all too much. Hugs to you.

  10. Terry says:

    Condolences, Sheila.

  11. Jessie says:

    I find the story of your last long cuddle so moving, such a deep gift to each other in these rotten times. I’m glad you had the chance to say goodbye to each other. All the best for you and your family <3

    • sheila says:

      Jessie – thank you! Yes, I couldn’t believe it when it was happening. She had been keeping her distance for weeks. So I think somewhere she knew, she could feel it. Animals aren’t afraid of it! Very grateful we had that last morning together – it has made the aftermath easier to bear – since that was basically her last experience on earth. So I’m happy for her for that.

      And let’s hear it for the amazing vets and techs who keep their doors open … or … well, it’s really curbside pickup, dropoff – but they let me come inside for the final moment. They were all so deeply compassionate and caring, and it was their idea to give me Hope’s paw prints – something I never would have thought of myself!

  12. DBW says:

    I’m so sorry to read about Hope, Sheila. I didn’t know before this. She seemed like such a little sweetheart. It’s difficult to explain to people who don’t share their lives with animal companions just how much they come to mean to you, and how much you mean to them. I’m glad you had her as long as you did. If I might give a little advice–do NOT do what I did when I lost my cat, Miles. I was so broken up about it that I vowed to “never go through that again.” I wasted more than 15 years before I finally gave in to my wife, and we got our little canine wonder, Brody. I know it probably seems like you just couldn’t replace Hope, and the truth is you don’t replace them. What you do is open your heart to a new friend, and they fill up so many of the empty places in there. Remember, they need someone like you just as much as you need them. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.

    • sheila says:

      DBW – thank you!!

      You know, someone else on Twitter said the exact same thing to me – after their cat died, they waited another 10 years to get another one – and they regret it now.

      I will for sure take your advice. And I will go the rescue route again – which I found very gratifying, since Hope had been mistreated and so I got a chance to give her a new start where she could be happy and just be herself. That meant a lot to me.

      The next couple of months are going to be really crazy. I’m moving. I have no idea where, I just know that it is so. So whenever I land wherever I land … one of the first things I’m going to do is get a cat.

      My apartment is still so filled with memories of her and her presence so I think … moving into a new place would be a good time to get a new one.

      As Christopher Smart wrote in his 1759-ish poem to his cat:

      “For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.”

      • DBW says:

        Incomplete is the proper word. Our home was incomplete without a furry companion, and now we are whole again. Good luck on the move. Wishing you well through difficult times.

  13. I continue to be so very sorry. I, like many, enjoyed reading about Hope through the years.

  14. Therese says:

    Shelia, I am so, so sorry about Hope….its a year after her passing, and I am just now finding out about it,…..I have tears in my eyes as I write this…You and your cozy, sweet, beautiful little kitty, in your cozy apartment….always did my heart good….I am so sad about this. No matter how long they live, a beloved pet never lives long enough. I have missed touching base with you in this blog, but I am back now, to continue to visit my brilliant soul-sister, who loves Elvis as much as I do….

    • sheila says:

      Therese – thank you so much for your very kind note. Hope is always close to my heart but she definitely has been on my mind this past week, since September 2 is the anniversary of her passing. It feels like forever ago and it feels like yesterday. We had such a great bond, she was a really wonderful creature, so loving and caring and … funny! so quirky and yet soooo set in her ways. Do the same thing in the same order every day or the whole world will spin off its axis. If I laid on my right side in bed as opposed to my left side, she wouldn’t join me. It was too upsetting for her. lol She was so wonderful and I miss her!!

      Thanks again.

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