Disclaimer - this one is not about goats. Maybe you already figured that out. If you've never loved a cat or feel that the loss of a pet is insignificant during a global pandemic, just don't read anymore. I don't mind; I'm mostly writing this for myself anyway. (Yes, Emerson and Elliot, I promise to feature you again soon!)
My dearest, dearest Boo,
Today marked four mornings that I've woken without your familiar warmth curled tight against my side. I wondered if there might be a waking instant when I didn't recall, or if the weighted heat pack I now fall asleep with could momentarily fool my pre-coffee brain, but just as my hand rests on the hours-cool fabric, I already know. Even after we finally return to school and work and try to heal from unfathomable losses, there will always be a Benny-sized hole in my heart.
You know, Boo, we almost didn't get you, those sixteen and a half years ago! After all, we already had two cats, and when Aunt Karen forgot to buy Emily a birthday gift and offered her a kitten instead, I said no. But...eight-year-olds are persistent, and since Megan got a sparkly new Polly Pocket set, you came home with us. (That's right, goats, just like you both started out as Emily's pets too!)
Born in a decorative wishing well and abandoned by your feral mama, you and your two brothers were rescued by Aunt Karen, nestled in a shoe box where your cousins fed you with an eye dropper. How fun it is to see Rusty and Goliath every time we visit - they share your sweet temperament though not your silky white fur, both still hearty barn cats, frisky hunters in thick orange coats. (Yes, Ellie, sort of like you and Emerson were quadruplets, and your brothers live with another family. Why? Well, Emily chose Benny because he was the snuggliest kitten. I'm not really sure why she chose you!!)
You brought joy from the start, a frisky fluff of love who pounced and played and followed the girls everywhere while our older cats slept and eyed you warily if you came too close. When there wasn't a lap available, you slept in a tissue box on the couch or a tiny basket next to the stove. You belonged to Emily, but really all of us, but really me. Those years became a blur of middle school, high school, sports, boyfriends, summer camp, driving lessons, jobs... Aunt Karen found us another kitten (Tobi) as we bid goodbye to the older cats, and Daddy joked we'd been married so long "we're on our second set of cats." (No, Emerson, we will NEVER have a second set of goats!!)
You had your mishaps, Little Boo - the time a hawk almost carried you off, or when you got caught in a neighbor's trap, and the shame of being mauled by a mouse (that one made the blog!) One year you got a respiratory illness while we are away camping, and I hiked to a pay phone each morning to call the vet. It always horrified me that you crossed the road to hunt in the cornfield, intently flicking your head left, right, left watching for cars. (No, goats, you may not!!) And how about my fortieth birthday, when I looked out the bathroom window to greet my four baby robins and saw YOU in the nest instead! You watched as I buried those birds in the garden - oh Boo, you didn't know...
Through those crazy years as the girls grew up, I don't know exactly when you tangled yourself so deeply into my heart. I've always had cats, loved them all, but until you loved me back I didn't know such a thing could be. Both girls went away to college six years ago, and in my empty-nest despair I finally had hours just for you. Oh, how we snuggled and cried together! How very much I now miss holding you close, stroking your so-soft fur, hearing your sweet "chirps" to greet me! Always where I was, always ready to be held... Even as you neared fifteen you were still my same sweet Benny, until the demon of Feline Kidney Disease grabbed hold of our lives.
Subtle at first, you had just a small weight loss, a few lab values too high, and I vowed to fight this monster with my whole being. I read cat food labels, veterinary websites, owner blogs; I took notes and kept charts - and I made you a promise. Everything for you, but nothing that hurts you, we do this together. We compromised on the switch to low-protein prescription food (carrots and all), daily weights on a scale in the living room, and adding an upstairs litter box. We rejected the blood pressure pills (ick, you hated being held down for them) and the slimy potassium paste (double ick). Surprisingly, we thrived on subcutaneous infusions of IV fluids through a tiny needle in your back, at first twice a week but eventually every day. If I waited until you were in a deep sleep, you didn't even flinch at the needle, and then we had twenty minutes or so of wonderful cuddle time, didn't we? I always thought you had more energy afterwards. For over a year you ate well, maintained your weight, kept active and affectionate...until it all fell apart.
I'm so sorry for making you take the laxative paste - but the constipation days were just awful! And then the abscessed tooth - we bought a couple months with an antibiotic shot, but then you lost your appetite, kept dropping weight until I could hardly bear to put you on the scale. Ten pounds, nine, eight, seven, and all you wanted to do was sleep, though every time I woke you and carried you to the kitchen, you still ate a few bites, just for me. Is that enough, Mommy? And then you were crazy thirsty for fresh water from only the basement sink, always trying to lure anyone downstairs to turn on the tap no matter how many times a day I refilled your water bowls...It got harder for you to stay warm, and I kept saying how spring was coming, and just hang on for sunny days because you loved the outdoors so much and sleeping on the deck and sniffing the flower beds...
Your last weekend was rough. I knew we didn't have much time left, but I had seen the forecast and I so wanted those lovely days for you. Weren't they great? I carried you out to the grass, and you ambled around the daffodils and the lilacs and sniffed in the breeze, then scratched your claws on the deck boards (like you always loved) and took a long nap out there. I thought maybe you could rally, fight harder now that spring is here, but Monday morning you couldn't stand to eat, and collapsed after I carried you outside. All you wanted was the basement sink, nearly falling down the stairs when you got yourself to the door. I hooked up your fluids, and together we laid on the bed and talked about things and I scritched your head like you loved and stroked your neck and cried and cried because you were so brave but this battle we just couldn't win.
Emily drove us to the vet so I could keep holding you, and in the sunshine we sat on a rocking chair on the patio while the vet came outside in her mask with one last needle and you just fell asleep in my arms. Back home I rocked you in the sun some more, and kissed you and told you again how much I loved you always. I dug a final bed for you under the grape arbor, near the other cats, and lined it with soft grasses and flowers and you looked so peaceful but I am so, so missing you.
What I think of when I doubt myself are the "no-mores" for you. No more carrots, sure, no more scary thunderstorms, no more needles, trips to the vet, horrid laxative paste and bad constipation days. No more being so thirsty or cold, and no more times I have to go to work and leave you for so many hours. It's hard to balance these with no more snuggles and naps together and no more walks in the garden, but to me it seems the scales had tipped that way.
Rest well, my sweet. We loved a lifetime in sixteen years, didn't we? Always.
Yes, goats. I know - you love me too. And yes, we can take a walk in the sun today...
