Thank You and Good-bye

Today I said good-bye to Sassy.  She was my first Maine Coon, my first purebred cat, my introduction into the world of the cat fancy.  As my vet relieved her from the mammary cancer which had taken over her body, I thanked Sassy for all she has given me in the past 12 years. 

We got Sassy about the same time we obtained our Golden Retriever, Chardonnay.  The two remained friends all these years although Chardonnay has picked up a few more feline friends through the years.  I’d always assumed Chardonnay would go first, but other than an arthritic knee that slows her down, the dog is doing okay.

As a kitten, Sassy was simply beautiful with rabbit-soft fur and a painted-on classic tabby pattern.  She developed into a large female, a fact the judges noticed, earning her the title of a CFA Grand Champion in three shows.  She later earned the title of Distinguished Merit by producing five kittens who were also shown to Grand Champion.  Through Sassy, I met my fellow Maine Coon fanciers and became hooked, for better or worse, as a breeder and exhibitor of a one of the most popular kinds of cats.  

For the first five years of sharing our home with Sassy, she was a breeding female.  It was during this time period that Sassy taught me so much.  I learned to read Sassy’s expressive face, the intelligence in her eyes penetrating beyond, almost like she was trying to communicate with me telepathically.  I knew when Sassy was experiencing PMS and when she was in the early stages of labor just by the intensity of color in her pink nose.  I learned that an intact cat is a whole different animal, a victim of their hormones.  Having now known many Maine Coon mothers, I realize that Sassy remains the smartest and most diligent when it comes to caring for newborn kittens.  Cats are naturally good mothers, and unlike their canine counterparts, very conscientious about not lying down on a baby.  When Sassy had her first litter, two red girls, she was exhausted afterward.  But rather than lying down and resting, she slept sitting up, afraid of hurting the little beings who clung to her belly. 

Newborn kittens wander around the nesting area blindly crying when separated from their littermates or their mother.  Most cat moms will call to their babies to try to get them to come to them where they lie nursing the rest of the litter.  The kitten has no idea, being blind and deaf, where mom is and can spend a lot of time crying and crawling in circles.  Sassy is the only queen I’ve seen who actually reached out to her wandering kitten with her paw and pulled it into her.  Once when she couldn’t reach the straggler, she got up and carried the kitten back to the rest of the brood.  It seems like common sense to a watching human, but cats just don’t seem to know what to do. 

When the Japanese photographer Tetsu Yamasaki and his wife Hiroko, came to our home this summer to do a photo shoot, Sassy was the first to greet them.  Hiroko fell in love with “the old one” and had her pose for pictures also.  It was only fitting that Sassy’s picture made it on page 18 of Tetsu’s Cat’s Catalog for 2014, just above a picture of her 5-week-old great, great grandchildren.  Her granddaughter was on the cover of the same catalog in 2005. 
Sassy has struggled for the past several years with Irritable Bowel.  She was diagnosed with asthma and cancer in May.  After talking to others who’d gone through the same cancer diagnosis with their cats and given Sassy’s other ailments, we decided against surgery as treatment for the mammary tumors.  Sassy took Prednisone for her asthma and I’ve just kept watch for signs of discomfort.  Her decline became increasingly apparent the past couple of weeks.  For any of my kitten buyers who have one of Sassy’s descendants as a pet, you have the reassurance that breast cancer is much less likely in females spayed before the age of one year and therefore your cats fall into a low risk group. 

Sassy’s legacy carries on in Tippet, the one breeding descendant I still have.  Tippet doesn’t have the same face as her great-grandmother, but she does carry the gorgeous pattern, spunk and opinionated intelligence.   

So for Tippet, I thank Sassy.  For opening the door of the cat fancy world for me, I thank Sassy.  For being our dog’s first buddy and proving that cats really do rule and dogs drool, I thank Sassy.  For allowing a 6-year-old Kelsey to hoist her up to the top bunk every night and remain with her head sharing the pillow until the child fell asleep, I thank Sassy.  For the 17 kittens she gave us, I thank Sassy.  For all the kittens she grandmothered after she retired from breeding, I thank Sassy.  For her love of occupying empty boxes, no matter how small, I thank Sassy.  For inspiring awe when prospective kitten buyers came over and saw how friendly, affectionate, and awesome a female Maine Coon could be, I thank Sassy.  After 12 years I wouldn’t trade for anything, I have to love and respect her enough to let her go.

 

Farewell Nick

Last fall I started working for my neighbor, Roberta, by helping out with her two Appaloosa horses, Nick and Tacoda. Roberta has an idyllic home for a horse, with acres of open green pasture, a ring and paddock areas and a three-stall barn nestled in the woods. Even though the horses aren’t ridden, they are babied.

Roberta’s concerns have centered around Nick, a vintage horse of 33 years. Horses live an average of 24 years so Nick’s advanced age is the equivalent of a 93-year-old man. Nick has multiple health issues, but even with his bum leg, could manage a canter and buck off 12-year-old Takoda’s efforts to herd him if necessary.

Lately, however, it had become apparent that Nick’s body was giving out on him. He became sick again and Roberta decided it was time to let him go rather than wait for an emergency. A backhoe operator was hired to dig a grave in the pasture where Nick would rest and the vet was called in. With an animal as large as a horse, euthanasia requires logistical planning. As morbid as it sounds, it is much easier to walk a horse to his grave to put him down than to have to drag his body later.

I decided my job on Nick’s final night was to keep his barn buddy, Takoda, busy. I groomed and walked him, trying to keep his attention diverted from Nick being led away. Once the deed was done, Takoda seemed okay as long as he was eating, whinnying from time to time to call Nick. Roberta spoke to the vet about how to deal with Takoda’s need for companionship. Horses are herd animals and consequently, need to have some sort of herd companion. The vet said in extreme cases where two horses had bonded very closely, she’d had to sedate the healthy horse so the sick one could be lead away to be put down. She said Takoda would need someone, a goat, even a chicken if Roberta didn’t want to add another horse. Fortunately Takoda’s love for Nick wasn’t a life-long friendship. Ironically, Takoda had been brought in four years ago as a companion for Nick when his other buddy, Mirage, had to be euthanized. Roberta knew she’d have to put out feelers in the horse community for a new friend for Takoda.

Takoda and Nick

The next morning when Roberta turned Takoda out of his stall, he whinnied frantically and raced to Nick’s gravesite where he remained for quite a while. When I came for my normal visit in the afternoon, Takoda was in another part of the pasture , but he called to me. It was if he was saying, “You’re here as usual, so where is Nick as usual?” The next couple of days, we witnessed Takoda’s grief and anxiety. He continued to call out for Nick, visiting his grave or just looking depressed. It was heartbreaking to watch.

Nick passed away on a Wednesday night. By Friday, Roberta had found a horse in need. Her name was Shamrock “Shammy”, so named because she was born around St. Patrick’s day. Shammy was in a situation where the owner’s family had been trying to convince her to give up her neglected horses. Homes had been found for the other horses, but Shammy needed major TLC. Shammy also happens to be Takoda’s half sister as they share the same sire. I tried to convey the happy news with Takoda on Friday night; that his sister was coming and everything would be better, but he didn’t understand. Poor Takoda, a horse I normally describe as being like a big, goofy Dalmation, hung his head and looked away.

Shammy arrived Saturday morning and an entourage of horse women led her up the hill to her new home. Even though they couldn’t see each other yet, the two horses started calling in anticipation. The woods echoed with loud whinnies.

Shammy and Takoda were put in adjoining paddocks so they can touch without him trying to play too roughly until his sister builds up her strength. Shammy is a predominantly white paint mare with one blue eye, very underweight, her hooves badly needed trimming, her legs covered in swamp mud; she had reportedly been living in a small space covered in rock piles and wetlands. Within the first week of her arrival, Shammy had seen the ferrier, had her teeth done and received her physical from the vet. She eats constantly, as if she’s not sure when she’ll be fed again.

We miss old Nick, but having Shammy there has breathed new life into the barn. The mare probably feels like she’s the one who has gone to heaven. Her brother from another mother, Takoda, is just happy to have someone to horse around with again.

Takoda meets Shammy

Too Many Good-byes

In the past two months, my family has had to say good-bye to four pets. For some people, four would be ALL of their pets, but since we have chickens and a Maine Coon cattery plus a few others added to make our lives more challenging, there are still a large number of furred and feathered family members. Thank goodness for them or the void may be even larger.
I don’t know yet if I can write too much yet about losing Cassie, the Maine Coon I often proclaimed was my favorite, the one I would keep long after she retired from breeding. Cassie's death was caused by a family member who didn’t see her jump into the dryer. It was a horrific accident which will haunt us forever and one I can’t dwell on. I have written before about how special Cassie was to me, how she’d jump from the floor into your arms, or onto your back when you least expected it. Cassie loved everyone and her love was reciprocated by all.

Cassie died on June 15th. Fortunately we went on a family vacation a week later as I desperately needed the change in scenery. The grief over Cassie’s death was overwhelming at times. However, vacation was good therapy and I felt I was finally able to move on when we came home.

Then Kelsey’s Russian tortoise, Eli, got out of the outdoor cat run where he lives during the summer. We looked all over, somewhat reassured that the stone walls which border either side of our property would keep him out of the woods. Being a tortoise has its advantages also, I told Kelsey. His greatest enemy would be the road and our driveway is a quarter of a mile long. For good measure, we informed our two neighbors who also live back in the woods about Eli, describing him as the size of a box turtle, but more blond in color and with faded paint on his shell from when Kelsey painted him over a year ago.

Meanwhile, Charlie the hamster’s enclosure was left open and he escaped. As soon as it was discovered, the cats were removed from Kelsey’s room and a towel was used to plug under her door. Charlie had gotten out while we were on vacation, but he’d been found safe in the closet. After an exhaustive search of Kelsey’s bedroom, I advised her to sit and listen for Charlie, certain we’d find the little guy, and I headed for bed. There I found Charlie in my bathroom, but not before the mother cat inhabiting my room found him. Charlie was not so lucky this time.

Our luck seemed to change when our neighbor was mowing the grass on the side of the shared driveway and noticed a tortoise with paint on his shell. Eli was back!

Meanwhile, our beautiful bantam Cochin hen, Millie, was sick. At first I thought her labored walking was due to her very short legs and her picking up balls of dirt and poop which hung to the ground between her legs. I trimmed those off and bathed her. We kept a closer watch and noticed that she had stopped hobbling over to the area under the deck and just remained in the coop. Then Millie could no longer get up to roost at night, nor could she get down in the morning by herself.

I got the name of a vet in Mystic who specializes in birds and exotic pets, Dr. Cindy Brown at Northeast Veterinary Hospital. Dr. Brown said Millie had a neurological problem which kept her from balancing. The cause could be Vitamin D (Purina recently recalled their chicken layer pellets due to a Vitamin D deficiency). It could also be caused by tumors or many other ailments. We decided to treat for a Vitamin issue to see if it helped. Millie received two vitamin injections and was put on antibiotics, vitamins and a homemade diet.

Within a week, it was apparent that Millie was getting worse. She would no longer drink, even when I dipped her beak in the water. She had to lean against the side of the small cage I’d put her in to protect her from the other hens just to stay upright. She was constantly flapping her wings in an effort to balance. I decided that Millie needed to be relieved from her pain and had her euthanized on a Tuesday.

The following Sunday, we had yet another loss. Jay and I were getting up from watching television and our 13-year-old cat Remy collapsed as she neared the top of the basement stairs, meowing frantically in pain. Remy had lost a lot of weight over the past couple of years and after normal blood test results our vet could only conclude that she probably had cancer. Once a rotund 18-pounder, Remy had slimmed down to a reasonable 11 pounds. Not ones for veterinary heroics when the end result is the same, we had decided we would just watch Remy. I had weighed her just a few days before and her weight had remained stable for the past couple of months.

Remy joined the family back when we lived in Florence, South Carolina, before I became a Maine Coon breeder. I had recently lost my cat from my college years, Yoda, to cancer and felt desperate for a kitten to distract me from my grief. The animal shelters were practically empty in January, but my neighbor mentioned that a school teacher she knew had been raising a litter of kittens which had been abandoned under a bush in her yard. I chose the kitten with the pink nose and Remy came to live us, purring through two young children, my divorce, the move to my mother’s then to Connecticut, sleeping on Kelsey’s face, tolerating the Maine Coon kittens which played with her striped snake of a tail, the dogs who played too rough, greeting strangers, not caring when we made fun of her tubbiness and called her “Remy-lard” and knocking over the dogs’ water jug on their waterer when it got too empty.

When I saw that Remy’s hind legs failed her, I knew she’d thrown a blood clot. I’m so careful to screen the hearts of my breeding cats to prevent cardiomyopathy in my kittens, to try to protect any of my kitten buyers from experiencing what I saw before me. Remy was a domestic short-hair who’d never had a heart murmur yet here were textbook symptoms of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM). Her hind legs were cold, she was in tremendous pain. Jay held Remy steady on the kitchen counter as the cats and dogs gathered around her in concern. It was a Sunday afternoon, when all medical emergencies seem to occur. I called the number for Stonington Vet, knowing that their answering service would have the doctor on call get in touch with me. I have avoided the emergency vet all these years and didn’t want that to change now. Fortunately, Dr. Karen Brown, my go-to vet, was on call. I almost burst into tears when I heard her voice, thank God it’s you! I asked if she could come to the house, but she didn’t have the meds for euthanasia at her house if it came to that (too dangerous with her children in the house). She agreed to meet me at her office.

I was in full panic mode. I yelled for Tyler and Kelsey and told them to say good-bye to Remy as I was sure this was her time. Kelsey became hysterical. The vet had said she was okay, she argued. This is different, this is her heart.

Jay drove to the vet clinic while I held Remy in the carrier on my lap. Remy was able to use her legs to squat and pee on the towel, so I began to second-guess my diagnosis. Once there, Karen tested my fear. She pulled out a pair of nail clippers. Jay asked me if I didn’t just clip Remy’s claws last night. Karen told me not to be mad at her then she clipped one of Remy’s hind claws really short. “You’re checking to see if she can feel anything?” Remy hadn’t flinched. No. Then I realized, although I could clearly see the quick of her nail, it wasn’t bleeding at all. With a cut that short, her claw should have been bleeding profusely. There really was no circulation in her back legs, blood clot confirmed. Shit! I was right.

Within about 45 minutes of Remy’s collapse on the stairs, it was over as she lay peacefully on my lap. In retrospect, we had noticed that someone, probably Remy, had vomited a lot of bile that morning. Remy probably felt worse than we knew and her heart gave out. I comfort myself by remembering that at least we were there for Remy, we didn’t have to go through the long wait of cancer, watching her grow skinny, guessing her quality of life before making that phone call.

Probably 85% of my kitten buyers contact me because they’ve recently lost a cat. The void is painful and a new life helps to fill that void. I strongly encourage them to select a kitten which does NOT look like their previous pet. There’s a helpful article on grieving pet loss here. Losing the two favorite cats so close together has been really tough though the emotional breakdowns are gradually easing up. Even losing a hamster and a chicken hurts. I’m sure having other animals around has helped my family and me. I have been hugging them more and threatening them to stay safe, healthy and alive.

The dogs’ water jug was empty this morning. Remy wasn’t here to knock it over and let us know it was getting low.

Roller Coaster of Life

The past week or so has been an emotional roller coaster for my family and me.  In one day, I found out three bad things happened.  Logan, the service dog I blogged about last year when she and her owners came to visit their future kitten, had surgery to remove her oral cancer.  I had just been thinking about Logan the day before as I hiked through the woods with our Golden Retriever, Chardonnay.  Logan is not only valuable because of the job she does for her person Suzan, but she is a beautiful, gentle animal who captured my heart when I met her.  I will continue to think positive thoughts for Logan as she goes through treatment. 

The same day, we got news that Kristen, my kids' cousin, was very sick and in the hospital.  It turns out she apparently had toxic shock syndrome and her condition was very serious.  I'm happy to report that Kristen is now home and doing better. 

Then, Kelsey came home from school with the news that Mr. Conlon, a Ledyard High School math teacher was found dead in the woods after missing for two days.  Mr. Conlon had hanged himself.  Fortunately, Kelsey never knew Mr. Conlon, but Tyler considered him the best math teacher he ever had so he was pretty upset.  We don't understand the full story behind Mr. Conlon's pain and don't expect to; he had a wife and 10-year-old daughter he left behind.  The students and teachers who loved him are confused as to why a grown-up who apparently had everything going for him would take his own life. 

Then, my mother called to report that she had an MRI done to look at the half of her liver which was subjected to chemoembolization treatment in September.  The MRI shows that all signs of cancer on that half of her liver are gone!  This is the same liver that was "covered in malignant lesions" originally.  Modern medicine is incredibly hopeful sometimes.  Mom had the other half of her liver zapped yesterday in Chapel Hill.  The same positive results are expected by her doctors.  I started a blog (what else?) for my mom soon after she was diagnosed called The Organ Within Me to keep her friends and family updated.  My mother's news was certainly a welcome change from the way things seemed to be going early last week.

On Saturday afternoon, as I stepped out of the shower, Olivia greeted me with repeated meows.  Hmmmm.  She definitely wanted my attention.  Olivia's kittens weren't due for another two days at least....but there was no mistaking her urgent behavior.  Sure enough, within a couple of hours, we had a blue tabby boy.  Next came a solid black girl.  "Mine!" Kelsey immediately claimed.  Kelsey has been wanting a solid black Maine Coon ever since we lost our black domestic short-hair, Creole, a few years ago to kidney disease. 

Kelsey left the room and I called a friend to report the arrivals so far while Olivia rested and waited for the next round of contractions.  I had predicted, based upon Olivia's size, that she was carrying 3 to 4 kittens.  As I was happily chatting away, Jay came in and indicated with a finger drawn across his throat that I should cut the conversation short.  After I got off the phone, he told me that while he was outside, he witnessed a hawk striking our red Silkie chicken, Frodo, killing her instantly.  He was too far away at the time to prevent the attack, but Jay and Chardonnay did manage to keep the hawk from carrying Frodo's body away. 

We only had Frodo for slightly more than 6 months, but during that time we came to care for her deeply because she was so obviously handicapped.  I've blogged about Frodo a few times, in fact my last blog was about Frodo and her first egg.  True to her nature, Frodo was out in the yard by herself, the rest of the flock was elsewhere.  She had no idea the hawk was approaching.  Of all the chickens to meet such an awful demise, we ask, "Why our favorite one?" all the while knowing that she was the most likely to be attacked as she was more vulnerable than the other chickens.  Frodo is now buried beside Kelsey's favorite rock.  We don't have to worry about her anymore, put her up to roost at night because she can't fly up there by herself, look around for her well after the rest of the flock has come in, provide her with a ground-level nesting box for her eggs....it's amazing how one little chicken stole our hearts with her neediness and cute little squawking face. 

Frodo's Grave Marker

After the news of Frodo's death and consoling a very distraught teenage girl, I still had to deliver Olivia's kittens.  She had 3 more - a black boy, another black girl, and a silver tabby boy (bonus!).  All are big and healthy and growing like they're supposed to.  We have a choice of 3 black kittens to choose from for our breeding program.  It makes more sense to keep a girl, but then again, a solid black male who looks like his grandfather Bugger would be hard to pass up.  Kelsey came up with a Poet theme so the kittens are named accordingly:  Edgar Allen Poe, Shel Silverstein, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, and Langston Hughes. 

And so we move forward, accepting that we can't change the past, just how we deal with it.  Here's to the emotional roller coaster of life and all that it offers. 

Olivia with Her Little Poets

As some of you know, our black cat, Creole, was diagnosed with kidney disease almost 2 years ago. Yesterday our vet came to the house and humanely put her to rest in my lap, sitting in her favorite rocking chair. Creole was 15 years old and had diminished from a fat 12 pound kitty to less than 5 pounds in the past couple of years. She will always be remembered as the kitten who slept on my very pregnant tummy, who played chase with Tyler when he got old enough to walk, who hung out under Kelsey’s chair in the hopes that she’d “accidentally” drop food for her, who was feisty and defiant when it came to getting her off the counter, who tolerated many moves and transitions in our lives, who answered when you called her, who comforted my mother when she learned Granddaddy had died, who put up with litters of Maine Coon kittens stalking her black snake of a tail, who would still steal food off an unprotected dinner plate up until last week, and who would always get up from her bed in the bay window to sit in whomever’s lap that had just occupied the rocking chair in front of the television. Creole’s passing is like the passing of an era in my life. We have good memories, but will miss her for a long time.




Sharon