Hail the Traveler!

 

Mystics caution us to look for the light and seek out the positive.  The universe gives us what we give our attention to. I have spent a year trying to sit and write about all these things but my own, our own, little world tragedies were tugging at my arms and legs every time I sat at my computer. 

BLAISE:

He was sick. It started with some bizarre symptoms. I won't describe it here. His name was Blaise, affectionately known as "Fuzzy Butt" (my boyfriend has to rename everyone and everything, it seems). Up until one morning in February he had been the lovable but crotchety old man of our furry family. At eighteen I didn't think anything would slow him down. He ruled the stairs and often the bed when nighttime fell. Even our collie, Sadie, gave him a very wide berth. But he was a total love bug to us. He enjoyed his belly rubs and nightly treats as well as TV time where he shared my lap with our other older man, Tibbers.

Tibbers was much younger but his actual age was always in question. Both had been adopted but from different circumstances. Blaise had been half of a bonded pair. Toby and Bolt, as he was known in the shelter had been surrendered because their owner had passed away. In July of 2014 when I found them the shelter told me that Toby was six and Bolt, ten.  At the time, I was there to scout out dogs that may have wanted to join our little home, comprised of my Dezi and her Tibbers. They seemed like they wanted some new friends. Dezi is a whole other story! I had always been a cat person but I was open to the idea of a dog. Our house did come with a nice fenced-in yard, perfect for a canine addition. I was still feeling the vulnerability of my single self and thought a dog might offer a little security. But, as I stated, I'm a cat person, and all of the dogs that looked at me with pleading eyes were the greatly misunderstood Pitbulls and pitbull mixes. I confess that I knew myself enough to know I wouldn't be up to the challenge they would have required of me. I couldn't risk Dezi or Tibbers on an unknown that could have been capable of mistaking either of them for something they might have the instinct to hunt. There were no little spitz-type dogs to pick from, only the Pittys. 

Sadly I wandered over to the cat room just to see what might be there. I found a large orange tabby that I thought might want to say hello to me. I was in a glassed-in room designed to get to know your prospective kitty/human. My large orange tabby was not interested in forming a new relationship with me at all. But the large white cat in the next room, however, couldn't take his eyes off me. I smiled at him, all fluffy and proud, staring at me whilst the baby in the room with him kept swatting him with a cay toy. He didn't seem to care. The parents completely ignored the actions of their child,  leaving the poor kitty to fend for himself. 

As my orange tabby and I parted company aided by a staff member at the shelter I bade good luck to the guy. Suddenly I realized I'd walked into a bit of an argument between another staff member and the parents of the tiny cat torturer. They wanted the fluffy white cat but the staff member was trying to point out that he was half of a bonded pair. As far as the shelter was concerned the two had to go together. But the couple didn't want the other cat, just the white one. I was half listening while nodding and thanking the staff member that had helped me. As I was preparing to leave I realized the cage that belonged to the white cat, and his bonded buddy cat was just to my right shoulder. 

Each cage had a little story that told how each pet arrived at the shelter. Their story broke my heart. As I eluded to earlier, their owner had died, they were 6 and 10 years old, one totally white and the other, totally black. If you know cats and shelters you know black cats have a terrible time getting adopted and senior cats even worse. The rejected back kitty would not have lasted too long in the shelter if the staff member was unsuccessful with the little family. The words were out of my mouth faster than the time it took you to read the last paragraph. "I'll take them. I'll take them both!" I blurted out. The mother shot me daggers from her eyes, but I didn't care. The staff member challenged me, "you'll have to take them both right away!"

"No problem!" I was smiling and crying. The black kitty wasn't doing well, it was plain to see. He was hiding as far away from the open door as he could, staring at me in fear. Toby was fine with it.

Early life with them was typical, Bolt hid for three weeks, and Toby just got cuter and cuter. When Bolt emerged we found he'd developed an eye infection. My regular Vet sent me to the Emergency Hospital when the eye drops he'd given me didn't work. The hospital wanted to take his eye out or try some crazy expensive microsurgery. The quotes were anywhere from $2,500 to three times that much. They told me I only had a few days to consider my options and figure out where I could get the money. I left in tears! This poor cat comes into my life and loses an eye? I couldn't bear the thought of it, not to mention the cost!

As luck would have it I had used an animal ophthalmologist some years before for Dezi. I found his number and made the appointment. A different medication, two office visits, and about $500.00 later the eye was saved and healed nicely. One of the nurses in the little ophthalmologist's office was also working at the Emergency Hospital and was there with me in the exam room. I hadn't recognized her but she came up to me expressing joy that I had found my way to her other employer. She told me she could say anything at the hospital but she was very glad for both Bolt and me. It was then I decided to change his name. Bolt felt wrong for him. I wanted him to have some life! So I changed his name to Blaise. It had a similar sound, so as not to confuse but it also felt lighter and happier. He responded well to the change.

I had wondered if the mother of that little boy cursed me for ruining their plans for Toby because his fate wasn't a good one. In August of 2016, he would fall victim to congestive heart failure that he had battled since the previous October. Toby was only eight years old. It was heartbreaking and very expensive for me. Between hospital visits, regular check-ups, and medications, in his short stay with me, I racked up over $6,000.00 in expenses. He was very animated, goofy, and adorable too. Dezi wasn't a fan and we kept them apart but I did enjoy most of his time with me. After his death and coming to terms with his disease, CHF, I'm not sure I would go down that road again for any other animal. As I understand the disease from Toby's case alone, but I asked a lot of questions, in the end, it's a death sentence from the onset of the disease. No one took the time to tell me at the beginning of his illness, but as I was signing the paperwork to put him to sleep I was told the prognosis isn't ever good. Cats only last some nine to twelve months, having multiple attacks, resulting in pain, confusion, and in the end, death. When it was explained to me that my poor Toby was drowning in his own body, I knew I had to bid him goodbye. It was just about nine months from his first CHF attack with me.

Blaise came into his own after the death of his best friend. Dezi had been fighting hyperthyroidism for some time and was also slipping away from me. Dezi and Toby hadn't gotten along. Blaise had always been the punctuation mark on any attack by Toby. He would rush in after it had all happened as if to say, "There!" But by now Dezi was very sick. Her medication hadn't worked for her. Tibbers had always been good friends with Dezi, but really loved Toby and was missing his good friend. After Toby, he didn't find that friend in Blaise. They didn't fight but they were never close.

TIBBERS:

Tibbers came to live with me in January 2013. I was newly divorced and just moved out of what the courts call the marital home. I had taken my Dezi and my bed, clothes, and books into an apartment furnished with things from my mother's house. She had recently gone to live in a nursing home. I had left most things behind me. The Ex had cheated and after 25 years of marriage declared he hadn't wanted to live like a married person any longer. He didn't want a divorce. He wanted the financial benefit of the two incomes. He just wanted to be free to continue his cheating lifestyle out in the open. I could stay in the house to be with our kids, his idea.  No. 

It was all weird. After spending 26 years living with another person and other people as they came and went in our lives, the children, roommates, and assorted hangers-on, plus (at the time of the move) 4 cats. Then, moving out, one cat plus me in an apartment seemed like a void. Dezi felt the effects of being ripped from her kitty friends but the ones we left behind had people in the house that they were attached to. I couldn't have taken them. I missed my children and my kitty friends terribly. My kids were young adults that could have chosen to come with me but for whatever reasons they didn't. They came to visit, but I was so very alone, save for Dezi. I was working then, all hours of the day and night. Dezi would practically tackle me when I did come home. I knew she needed a kitty buddy and that's when Tibbers came to live with us.

PetsMart has an agreement with local shelters to display kitties that need homes and we found him there. His kitty rap sheet told us he had been a stray, found on the streets of New Hampshire and he was probably three years old. Truth be told, he wasn't actually my choice. I had my eye on a beautiful long-haired gray and white gentleman, but my daughter and her friend fell in love with Tibbers, so he came home with us. He had to have been the most chilled out cat I have ever seen.

I can't say it was love at first sight for Dezi and Tibbs but it wasn't war either. Mercifully, Dezi allowed him near her and even shared my bed with him. We had a winner. Over the months they just kept each other company and it was beautiful.  Tibbers never took a swat at her or tested her patience in any way, and that is saying a lot. Dezi's mood flipped on a hair trigger and Tibbs just rode it out.

When the boys, (Blaise and Toby), arrived I found out that Tibbers could stir up some passion as it became quickly clear that he was quite chuffed with Mr. Toby. When Toby passed away after his short time with us I could tell he took it hard, often sitting beside me with his head in my arm. Blaise didn't take Toby's place in favor and occasionally traded harmless swats at each other. Blaise always struck first.

When Dezi died the following spring, peacefully at home, Tibbers stayed by her side.

EARLY JULY:

We knew we would be saying goodbye to Blaise as his symptoms progressed, even with the treatments our Vet tried to give him. Animals have a way of telling their humans when the time has come. Our vet was closed for the holiday and several days after so we were faced with trying to do the best for him. We located a vet that comes to your home to take your pet to the Rainbow bridge and will even take their remains to the local pet crematorium. Despite the expense, we opted for all of it. I had promised to keep Blaise/Bolt and Toby together when I adopted them and I have done that. Blaise and Toby's remains occupy a shelf in my bedroom. 

It was the best and most beautiful way to let Blaise go, peaceful, kind, and gentle. (I urge everyone to look for this option, where ever possible.)

LATE SEPTEMBER:

It was very hard to lose Blaise, but he was 18 and he had a wonderful second chapter with all of us. I wasn't really prepared to lose Tibbers just yet. His hyperthyroidism seemed to be under control. We worked hard to keep the foods he would like to eat so that we could reliably mix in his daily medication. Around the same time, Blaise passed away Tibber's symptoms changed to include behaviors that signaled that he didn't seem to have any sense of self. He would walk in circles, beg to be picked up, beg to get down, circle around, and do it all again, with only a minute or two between cycles, over and over with no relief, and little rest. 

I suppose we could have let the behaviors continue for a few days or weeks more. Our vet tried medication to help alleviate some of the symptoms but it only served to make things worse. Knowing there was nothing we could do. We all made the decision to let Tibbers go too. It was awfully hard. I was filled with guilt wondering if I could have been better or more tolerant but in the end, I knew it was the best thing to do and we called for home services again.

Now the three bachelors (as I came to called them) share the shelf in my bedroom. Dezi and one of her friends from the house I shared with other cats are buried under a cherry tree on a gentle slope by the river in our yard.

The veil between the worlds grows thin as we approach Samhain. I fully expect to feel paws on my bed that don't appear in physical form, I'm hoping so. This will be the first time I'll be celebrating the holiday without my black cats and I surly miss them both as the season deepens.

Hail the travelers!