A Rather Strong Response to the News

My guess?
He's dead set against our move to Baltimore.

And then there were none...

I'm telling people that Louise decided to leave this mortal coil within six months of Thelma and Itty Bit because living alone with me was too boring.

That's right, I'm cracking jokes because my alternatives seem to be either going numb or wailing. Everyone keeps reminding me that losing three cats within six months is too too much. I know. Cognitively. I prefer not to feel all of the loss all at once and all of the time.

I want my grief in manageable slivers as defined by me. Lord, have mercy, I'm still checking the front window for Itty's face as I pull into my driveway and wondering why Thelma isn't making sure I'm flossing my teeth.

The fact is Louise was either 17 or 18 years old. She had already communicated that her back legs hurt. In addition to not being able to breathe very well, she had started missing her jumps and falling.

I called our blessed vet on Wednesday after it became odoriferously clear that Louise could not get down the stairs to use her litter box. And Louise, being the ever-considerate people-pleasing Louise, chose to take a huge steaming dump on a floor mat rather than the broadloom.

Louise was characteristically such-a-glutton Louise by chowing down prodigious amounts of cat food during her final month of life. I thought it was equally likely that she might explode, but that didn't stop me from letting her eat an entire bowl of cat treats before the vet arrived.

And Louise was characteristically low-maintenance Louise by finding a patch of sunlight away from where Patti and I were sitting. Turning her back toward us, she lay down. (Itty wanted to be held close by me the entire time. Thelma stretched out between Patti and me so we could both pet her.) Out of my need more than hers, I wandered over to rub what I always called her "bunny belly" as Louise drifted into unconsciousness.

Louise's death brings a significant period of my life to a close, one that I probably would not have survived had I not been ministered to by these three fur angels every stumbling step of the way. My tears find their source in gratitude as well as grief and I thank God for that.

The vet returns, this time for Thelma.

"Please don't call me for awhile," said the veterinarian as she left with Thelma's body cradled in her arms.

I don't yet have the energy to clean up the bathroom where Thelma had to be sequestered for the night. Nor do I have the energy to put away extra kitty bowls. All I want to do is write and eat chocolate. I know Thelma would meow "amen" to that.

In the late 1990s, Thelma was featured in an article about pets because of her remarkable paws-on healing ministry. No joke, during flare-ups of my fibromyalgia, she'd gently knead my trapezius muscles. She'd drape herself across my chest if I'd been crying.

Thelma hurled up bloody bile the evening Itty Bit died nearly two months ago and was tested the next week. Although there were treatment options, Thelma was not keen on any of them. During a consult with animal whisperer, Dawn Allen, Thelma could not have been more clear about her end-of-life preferences. Louise could not have been more clear about wanting more wet food on the menu.

So I bought wet food for Louise and let Thelma be Thelma, which she promptly proved to be by slaughtering her first, only, and last chipmunk of the summer season and leaving the carcass on the deck for me to admire. Her health declined rapidly after her last stand as a Warrior Tabby

Today, we said our goodbyes for this lifetime. Since Thelma was on my desk, the veterinarian administered sedation there. I don't know about Thelma, but both the vet and I noticed she was curled up over a copy of the Julian of Norwich icon created by Robert Lentz.

Given the choice, I'd choose veterinary care.

It's mighty quiet around here these days now that Itty Bit is gone.

She had a punishingly loud and extraordinarily insistent meow, probably because she was hearing impaired (aka, deaf) and could not hear herself. But everyone else could and for the past nine years, it was not unusual to have callers exclaim, "Aw, Itty!" and then crack up laughing at the other end of the phone line.

Itty was always yowling for something -- food, kisses, food, head scratching, food and food, mostly. Of course I noticed she was getting more frantic about food, yet losing weight. I noticed other changes. I've been adopted by many cats over the years and know when a cat is dying. I knew this was the case for Itty.

The veterinarian came to my home. She examined Itty, explained options, and listened carefully to me. She let nearly thirty minutes elapse between administering sedation and the injection that stopped Itty's heart. She sat with me the entire time and then went quietly about the business of taking stuff out to her van before coming back for Itty's body. The vet arrived at 6:30 and left at 8:30 PM.

If I become terminally ill, please call my veterinarian.

Photo of Itty Bit by Michael Mancuso