I'm way too old for this. Nobody gets his first pet in his sixth decade.
Then again, I'd always known pretty much everything I needed to know about why I wasn't remotely the pet type. I value my independence. I don't like the smells. I hate the inconvenience, the one more reason you can't do this or have to hurry back from that: put out the food, freshen the water, take the walk, scoop the litter box, clean up after the inevitable accidents, and so on.
And so on.
And then we got Dustin.
Dustin D. Cat, a.k.a. "Mr. D," a.k.a. "Dust Man," a.k.a. "Favorite Feline," a.k.a. "Dust Bunny," a.k.a. "The Dustinator."
We got Dustin, and Dustin got us. This was four years ago. I was not a happy camper.
"He's yours," I informed my marriage-mate. "You wanted him, you're going to take care of him." I'd be available in an emergency, I allowed, but the major responsibility for kitty care was all hers, for work and play alike. Even for play, I made clear.
"He's yours."
Then he started trying to climb up my legs. That was during the day -- or at least during the parts of the day when he wasn't following me from room to room, or nestling in behind me on my desk chair, or playing swat-the-finger under the bathroom door. At bedtime, he'd set up shop right between our pillows and spend the night there.
It was ridiculous. Cats value their independence. (Why does that sound familiar?) Cats don't need human company. They certainly don't enjoy human company. But nobody had told Dustin.
He hung out with us -- and not just for the food and the treats. When friends came over, he sat in on the conversation. When repairmen arrived, he greeted them at the door, and then followed them to the basement to watch them work their magic. We talked about getting him his own tool belt. We talked about how convenient it would be to have a plumber's apprentice living right on the premises.
I fell for him hook, line and catnip.
That thing with the pillows, though -- that may have been the clincher. He settled in right between the pillows the very first night he spent in our home. And the very last night, too, which came just this week -- too quickly, and much, much too soon.
The swollen lymph nodes were the first sign, only days ago -- swollen lymph nodes around his neck, and his appetite seemed off. The vet poked him and prodded him and found more swelling elsewhere. In minutes, her choice of words went from "concern" to "great concern." Then it went to "lymphoma." She took blood samples and tissue samples and sent them off to the lab. She suggested that we see a veterinary oncologist.
Did you know there were veterinary oncologists?
We made an appointment, and then -- "You might not want to wait," the vet advised us. We moved it up. The oncologist came in on her day off. She couldn't have been kinder. She couldn't have been more thorough, or more realistic, as she laid out the options. We'd vowed early on that we wouldn't let Dustin suffer, but that until we reached that point, we'd do whatever seemed reasonable to bring him back to health for as long as he could still enjoy it.
What seemed reasonable to the two of us? For the two of us and Dustin? Kitty chemo and kitty steroids seemed reasonable, and then kitty MRIs and kitty CAT scans (insert your own joke here) and --
I'd become the people I'd always snickered at. Suddenly I understood.
And when none of it slowed Dustin's rapid descent, when his too-sick body started shutting down on him, we returned to the animal hospital and kept our promise to him. We held him, kissed him, stroked him, brushed him as the chemicals went in, murmured endearments and farewells as the last, dim light flickered out.
Dustin was only a cat. How can you love a cat? How can you hurt when you lose him?
After all these years, it finally makes perfect sense.
The little guy stole my heart.
Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist. You can write to him at rickhoro@execpc.com.
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The loss of their love is enormous. Sending you my heartfelt condolences.
The circumstances, the terrible sadness, the loss was so profound for both of us. I get a huge lump in my throat just thinking about both of our little black, fuzzy bookends. They were much loved and loved us back.
Anyway, I'm rambling, but know that there are many, many, many of us out here who understand and grieve at your loss.
If there is a heaven, I only want to go IF my girls (yes, all girls) are there to greet me. Okay..the sobbing is starting again. I miss that little special needs girl, her shadow remains in my apt. At 56, I don't know if I'll get another. I mean, what if SHE lives to 20? I worry my cancer will return and I can't care for another companion for 20 years; I also can't bare the heartbreak Mina's death caused as I'd had her just 5 years. I DID have the Vet come to my apt. Yes, more $$, but Mina did not feel fear from a car drive. She was in my lap, in our little apt and I gently lay her in her little box to ensure her bushy tail properly circled her little body. What a gift she was.
From my experience - there is, and they are.
Halsey, I'm almost crying now for your loss.
((((you))))
I'm sorry that Dustin could only be here with you for four years. If there is a "there," too, and I believe there is, he'll be there. Waiting for you.
My sympathies on your loss. I hope you will let another cat grace your life.
Melissa
Louise
Grace, my dear friend and companion of twelve years, looked me in the eye one day and I knew somehow that she would be passing. I just knew it, despite no signs of ill health. The next day her respiratory system shut down. As I rushed her to the vet - me driving and she in the back seat - I felt her spirit brush mine in a final farewell. "No, please" I thought, "No, PLEASE!"
When we got to the vet she was gone. She passed eight years ago, and I'm crying as I type this, remembering the love and joy she brought to my life.
Remember that, Mr Horowitz. Remember the gifts of love and joy Dustin brought you, and he will always be with you - at least in memory - for the little guy opened your heart.
My deepest condolences.
And I am SO sorry you lost Dustin. My Princess kitty ( a shelter rescue, who pretty much saved my life and my sanity) died from Cancer, despite all the vet visits and the special care -- I who am very stoic, thought I was going to lose it, from my unstoppable grief.
I’m not a crazy cat lady, I swear. I just happen to have awesome ragdoll cat who was suddenly paralyzed, the eventual result of a long ago fall from an 80' palm tree we'd all but forgotten about.
A kitty neurologist got him back on his feet, but he's been quasi-incontinent ever since. What were we to do? Put him down? This is the cat that meowed at me from his cage in the pound when I passed him by, and when I stopped to look in, planted his giant tiger paw firmly on my nose and looked me dead in the eye. Lady. I'm your cat. And so he is.
He's vital, vivacious, eats, drinks, purrs, plays, and loves us voraciously. So my cat wears pants. He even has a YouTube video: Cokie the Cat Rocks His Pants. If he’s willing to wear pants, we’re willing to diaper him up a few times a day.
Today, at 17, Cokie the Cat is the Editor in Chief of the online newspaper, The Anipal Times (www.anipaltimes.com). He has 4000 Twitter followers and his own blog. He's just too much cat to keep all to myself.
He's not going to last forever, but he's been our luck dragon since he survived that palm tree stunt in '95. He's our kitty blessing. Knock on wood.
Kristin Dewey
www.cokiethecat.com