{"id":161506,"date":"2020-09-20T10:31:30","date_gmt":"2020-09-20T14:31:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=161506"},"modified":"2020-09-20T10:40:09","modified_gmt":"2020-09-20T14:40:09","slug":"hope-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=161506","title":{"rendered":"Hope"},"content":{"rendered":"

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\nIf 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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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\nEventually 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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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\nShe 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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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\nI 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<\/i>. 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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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. <\/p>\n

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<\/em> name. <\/p>\n

Goodbye, little furry friend. A good good friend. <\/p>\n

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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 … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3,23],"tags":[67],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/161506"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=161506"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/161506\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":161519,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/161506\/revisions\/161519"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=161506"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=161506"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=161506"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}