The writer’s life is full of ups and downs.
After coming off my highly successful Novel in Nine class with Michelle Richmond, I had intended on hitting NaNoWriMo with another vengeance. (I’m getting really adept at starting stories – not so good at editing them, but that’s another story.)
Unfortunately, last week life dealt me another hand.
My cat of six years, Purrby, has been struggling with kidney disease since August. Back then, we admitted him to the vet hospital where he spent a couple of days on an IV. After his release, they gave us drugs to try and new food. Due to having previous cats with kidney issues, I’m really picky about food and read labels for the pets more than I do for myself, so I’m not exactly sure what happened.
Purrby perked up a bit after that, but he was never really the same. When we moved to Colorado, he was fat but not obese. (I kept him on a strict diet.) He spent some time outside, because my husband’s not so strict about keeping him in the house. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with his illness, just throwing it out there. Purrbs lost about 4 pounds during his illness, which is not necessarily a bad thing.
Last week, Purrbs took a turn for the worse. Where he didn’t eat much since August, he stopped eating altogether. I think he was still drinking. He took to tipping over my watering cans and sat in the water. Or he’d sit in the kitchen sink. Or in the shower after I’d gotten out of it. I made an appointment to get him in, but then my car tires (yes two) went from slow leak to fast leak, so that day I spent too much time getting replacement tires. The next day (Saturday) I dropped Purrby off early in the morning, figuring an IV would get him almost as good as new.
The vet called about two hours later. Purrby was in the final stages of his kidney disease! I had two options: take him home and watch him suffer, or put an end to it.
I chose to end his suffering. And I was sad.
Oh, I know how I have spoken about and written about Purrby as being a “very bad kitty” – it’s in my brief bio. He was a handsome orange tabby with a personality and then some. When I adopted him, he was six months old – plus. He had the run of the shelter, and let everyone know he was the boss. I liked him; he came right up to me and meowed loudly. Followed me around. He also purred loudly. I spent a bit of time there, looking him and the other kitties over. (An aside: I’d lost the other cat to kidney disease about six months before and wasn’t in a big hurry to get another cat, but I visited shelters. I still visit shelters. You never know.) When I left, he was meowing at me like he was mad. I waited the weekend and came back. He was there on the counter, meowing at me, like he recognized me and was pissed. “Where the hell have you been, human?” And he was purring.
For the first couple of years, Purrby was crazy. N-U-T-S. He could jump six feet or more and knocked over everything in his path. He ate the bread on my counter, so I bought a breadbox. (Purrby was especially partial to croissants.) Do you know how hard it is to find a breadbox? He ate butter, so I started putting butter in the upper cabinet. (I like room temperature butter. Bite me.) Purrby figured out how to open the upper cabinet. I returned home from work one day and he was INSIDE the cabinet eating butter.
He leapt to the clothes rods in our closet and slept on top of them. You’d think that would be uncomfortable, but he liked balancing on the rod. If you left a drawer open, he’d get comfortable inside and you’d never know he was there, until you closed the drawer. THEN he would meow.
Purrby liked to climb inside the Christmas tree and hang out. When I stopped putting the Christmas tree up, he did the same with the evergreen trees outside. He also climbed the houseplants we had in the house. This was fine when he was a kitten, but when he weighed 14 lbs, it was a bit much.
Purrby thought it was great sport to run away from us. I’ve chased him through snow drifts. After a while, I gave up. I’m too old for this. When we first moved here, he went missing for an extended period of time. We went to the Humane Society in a panic and filled out a report. Turns out Purrbs was under a roll-away dumpster we had parked in the yard for our construction waste. He showed up later that night covered in dirt and pine needles.
He was still the same mischievous kitty even at the end. Still running away from us. Still batting Chuy around. Still jumping six feet or more over the neighbor’s wall. Still purring like his motor would never quit.
*sigh*
I took Chuy to the vet to say goodbye to Purrby. Purrbs was weak but still purring and meowing. I like to think he was happy to see us. I couldn’t stay to watch him cross the Rainbow Bridge. Some things are just too hard to do.
Purrby’s last vet visit
You know, you rescue pets, you love them, they get sick, you lose them. You think you’d get used to it but you never do.
So you can see why I’ve been a little deflated since November 1st.
After a week of regret and tears, I’m ready to start writing again, but I won’t be participating in the breakneck speed of NaNoWriMo.
No. I’m going to take it slow. And I’m going to think about things along the way.
