Love, Loss, Life

Someone I know told me recently that he has never wanted to share his home with non-human animals, specifically because of his fear of having to deal with their eventual loss by way of either illness or age. I'd been telling him about my own fears over recent weeks concerning my boy Zeus' latest bout with vertigo. The person with whom I was speaking had, in fact, happened to be visiting around a year and a half ago when Zeus' dizziness had first manifested itself in a major way, leaving him uncoordinated and distressed. We'd taken him to the vet's together to have him checked out and we were both worried about my little guy.

Healers as Harbingers

It was good to have someone else along for the first time in years -- good to have someone to help steady my nerves a little. The vet's office has always been an awkward place for me. Where once upon a time it was a place to which I'd bring various younger members of my feline family, whether to treat the odd minor issue or urinary tract infection; it was also a place to go to get a sense of reassurance. Over the years as various cats who've come into my care have aged, it's become a place I sometimes struggle not to dread visiting. I still remember clearly the early morning well over a dozen years ago I'd risen to get a glass of water and to check email, only to find Tarwater unable to move one of his hind legs. A few hours later, I received the worst diagnosis: saddle thrombus -- a blood clot which lodges itself in an artery in the leg. This was followed by the news that saddle thrombus is often associated with serious congestive heart disease and that in Tar's case, function of his leg might never be restored and that amputation might, in fact, end up required. Furthermore, I was told that because of the clot and the detection of a faint heart murmur that Tarwater would not likely be with us much longer -- that he would eventually succumb to stroke or heart failure.

Tar, as it turns out, lived another 10 years with nothing more than a slight limp which never prevented him from reaching the top of the fridge where he would curl up and keep an eye on me as I hovered over the stove. The damage was done, though. This was my first experience with getting "Really, Really Bad News" from my vet; for the first time, a visit to the veterinary clinic had left me more afraid than reassured.

As the rest of the gang aged and a few older fosters passed through, my visits to the veterinary clinic became more frequently punctuated by worry, nervousness and sometimes sorrow. Hyperthyroidism. Eosinophilic granuloma complex. Asthma. Chronic renal failure. Idiopathic vestibular disease. Some conditions (e.g. the asthma) have been manageable thanks to the amenable cooperation of the cats who know me as their favourite can opener. With other diagnoses, though, often comes the reminder -- sometimes even the confirmation -- that time shared together is coming to an end. The truth is, though, that every relationship we take on with someone reaches a conclusion of sorts, whether that someone is feline, canine or human.

Several years ago, walking home from a university class, I saw a woman calling out to what looked like a wobbly black kitten wandering along the edge of a busy street at the tail end of rush hour. I scooped up this little cat, realizing that as tiny and skinny as she was that she was no kitten. I brought her home and sneaked her into my office before my then-spouse could pause his favourite video game. She was filthy, infested with ear mites, had overgrown claws and what I suspected was ringworm. Her breath was horrid enough to nearly make me nauseous. As the ex and I later watched her devour the food I'd given her, we agreed that after getting her checked out by our vet and then making the appropriate calls to rule out that someone wasn't looking for her, we'd gained a new roommate. Her badly abscessed teeth would require hundreds of dollars to deal with and as we led up to the holidays, some friends and family members questioned that we would show willingness to spend money on this elderly little cat we'd named Maudie, whom we'd also come to discover during the blood-work required before her intensive dental work, had failing kidneys.

Wouldn't it make more sense to cut our losses and have "someone else's (abandoned) cat" euthanized, they asked, especially since we had no way to tell how much longer she'd live. The thing is, though, that "someone else's cat" was now our responsibility and that she had a right to her own life -- a life we'd chosen to share and to weave into our own lives. Maudie had her ups and downs and near the end, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it was hard to be perpetually aware of the fact that her remaining days were few. It was almost an exact year from the day I'd found her that she decided to let go. Seven years later, I still remember what it felt like to wake up to her slight weight on my head, with her tiny thumb-sized paws kneading my scalp, and of how I'd sing verses of "Maudie Girl" to her.

As hard as it was to watch her fade in her final days and as much as she was and is now missed, I cannot imagine not having helped this little cat -- not having gotten to know this unique little individual who'd nestled herself so sweetly and firmly into our hearts and memories. I cannot imagine having allowed the fear of losing her to have prevented me from ever having had the opportunity to know her. Worse, I refuse to imagine what might have happened to her had I not scooped her up from the traffic that day so many years ago.

Why Let Them In?

When we invite non-humans into our homes, we do so for many reasons. I'd like to ask you to consider what's perhaps the most important reason: In the US alone, 3-4 million cats and dogs are killed every single year in shelters. Consider that 5 out of 10 dogs and 7 out of ten cats killed in shelters every year die simply because they are not adopted; meanwhile, up to 30% of cats and dogs brought into new homes each year in the US come from breeders and pet stores. (You can see some of these statistics here or find similar information elsewhere on the internet.) The bottom line is that adopting a non-human animal from a shelter will quite literally save a life, whether the life of the animal in question, or that of another animal waiting to be taken home. This, in and of itself, is the reason that it's crucial that anyone who has the room in their hearts and homes for a non-human should look no further than their local shelter.

So you want a purebred? Around 25% of dogs relinquished to US shelters are, in fact, purebred. You say you want a kitten/puppy? Talk to any shelter employee or volunteer about what's commonly known as kitten/puppy season in shelters because of the overwhelming numbers of unspayed cats and dogs often relinquished or found with their litters. And if you don't have time to deal with kitten and puppy hijinks, I assure you that the number of adult dogs and cats you'll find -- many of them who are just ordinary loving animals whose only reason for being in a shelter is that they are simply no longer wanted -- is absolutely staggering. No room for a cat or a dog? Adopt one of the many others who also get relinquished to shelters: rabbits, rats, mice, hamsters, birds, et al.

Fear of Loss or Fear of Gain?

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about loss these past few days. On top of other goings on, dealing with recent vet visits, tests and uncertainty during these past weeks for my pal Zeus' on and off again (and consistently misdiagnosed) condition of the past year and a half has left me working hard to not dwell on heartache. Having loved and lost often over the past few years, I've learned that it's far from anything you get used to and that one loss invariably seems to compound or amplify the fear of another. It also smarts when I see friends and acquaintances trying to wrap their own heads around the potential (or actual) loss of loved ones of their own, whether human or non-human. It smarts even more to watch them deal with the aftermath since it's all too familiar. Although they may become fewer as time passes, there are always reminders.

Every single one of us reaches a point in our lives where we're left to deal with some sort of tear in the fabric of what constitutes our immediate existence. So many different factors influence each individual's own experience with it, that how we're each left dealing with it varies greatly, with the common thread being that awareness in that very moment that the loved one is just no longer "here" in whatever capacity the loved one was "here" in our everyday-ness. We try to find meaning in what's left and, with time, to pick up those threads and to patch the tears however we can. This is all that we can really do.

The sense of loss, however, isn't limited to coping with the final amscraying into nothingness brought by the death of another. Although people walk in and out of our lives constantly as we also walk into and out of theirs, we find ourselves focusing on the few who bring us some level of happiness and and we end up weaving our interactions with them into our mental meanderings about the future. Some become close friends, while others we choose as romantic cohorts to accompany us on this crazy trip called life. Those individuals get factored in. All of the goodness they bring to our existence and the accompanying opportunities for reciprocity get factored into the "stories of us" we unwittingly build for ourselves; our dreams and anticipations spill over and wrap themselves around frameworks we've tentatively assembled, our makeshift ever-afters.

The truth is that as much as we cannot control that a loved one dies, we cannot -- ultimately -- control when someone will consciously choose to otherwise remove themselves from our lives. That's also part of this thing called "living". What we can control, however, is whether we take a chance and open up and risk being loved and risk loving back. What we can control is our willingness to take that opportunity to come together with somebody and to share time together. We ultimately control who we let in and we completely control what we are willing and able to give to that other. It's all we can do and sometimes, for another, it's everything.

On Loving Non-humans

I've had more than a handful of animal rights activists say to me over the years that there's something inherently wrong in admitting that we derive pleasure from our relationships with the non-humans we adopt or rescue. I've had animal rights activists say to me that there's something inherently selfish about saying "I couldn't imagine not living with a cat", as if to say it somehow implies that we're objectifying cats. I think that really misses the point concerning speciesism and concerning society's general view and use of non-human animals. The truth is that for many of us who share our lives with dogs, cats, rabbits and other non-human persons, those relationships are indeed profoundly meaningful and there is indeed reciprocation. I can't help but think that anyone claiming to me that non-human animals are unable to develop emotional bonds with humans has simply never spent more than a few hours with a non-human animal. And yes, letting a non-human in and allowing oneself to love him or her leaves oneself open to the pain of the eventual loss of that individual, but isn't that ultimately what life and loving are all about?

Please give a non-human animal in a shelter a chance at living out his or her life in comfort and happiness. By giving someone this opportunity, you'll not only save a life, but you will indeed gain a friend. It breaks my heart to know that millions of non-humans in North America alone are dying every year merely for want of having someone let them in. It breaks my heart even more to think that these millions are dying and that they won't, in fact, be missed. They'll just be statistics when they could be a Maudie or a Tarwater -- or a Zeus.

About Zeus

I ‘met’ Zeus for the first time over a year ago via the phone. Mylène was sharing her home with four cats at the time: Sammy, Sophie, Tarwater, and Zeus. I knew who was who from their distinct, individual voices as they conversed with Mylène and one another. Each had his or her own unique purrs and meows. Long before I met any of them in person, I knew each one as a vocal member of Mylène’s family. Sadly, Tarwater passed away before I got the chance to meet him. At the time, I noticed that Zeus stopped speaking at all. I knew it was him over the phone due to his hugely loud happy purrs, but I don’t think I ever heard him speak again after Tarwater was gone. Even when I finally met Zeus in person, he simply had stopped speaking. There has been a sadness about him ever since. No one can convince me that Zeus is not deeply grieving Tarwater’s absence in his life.

My first face to face meeting with Zeus was not long after the loss of Tarwater from the family. During that initial visit, I witnessed the first sign that he was not well – the onset of vertigo. Later on, I was the one who drove him and Mylène to the vet. We both knew something was not right with Zeus, but he seemed to get better with time. However, the vertigo would return time and time again and then would suddenly disappear again. Mostly the vet said “wait and see”. I saw him struggle in person and over the webcam with his bouts of vertigo. Then one early morning, I got the panicked call that Zeus was in serious trouble and on the way to the emergency vet.

When Mylène finally got to bring Zeus home again from critical care, he was a very sick boy. He looked terrible, even over the webcam. He was too weak to even move himself around. The worst part for me, personally, was that I heard him speak for the first time in over a year. He was meowing loudly and pitifully – in great pain. He was, without question, suffering.

The good news is that Zeus is definitely on the mend. He looks better, he is full of life, and can often be seen sitting at the computer with his person. As a cat person myself, I can’t express how much the thought of losing Zeus was breaking my heart. He is simply one of the most loving, gentle beings you could ever meet. We hit it off from the get go and never looked back. In truth, all the cats in Mylène’s care are special, each in his or her own way. If you get the chance to meet them, you will see what I mean. Each had a rough start in life and each was rescued under less than ideal circumstances, yet each one seems to be genuinely happy and thriving and is simply a joy to be around. Seriously, Sophie has explosively sneezed on me and hit me with enough snot so that I had to change my clothes and I still adore her. I just learned to keep some tissues at hand to wipe her tiny nose off. It is the least I can do to return some of the acceptance and affection she has given me along with the rest of her family.

Thanks to everyone for your help and encouragement in keeping a wonderful family together.

-Thomas

Zeus

Almost 10 years ago, I met Zeus for the first time. I had been thinking of introducing a new member to my two-human and two-feline household and a good friend happened to know a couple who'd been fostering a momma and her two kittens for one of the local shelters. I'd never before brought a new cat home to my guys Tarwater and Monzo, so I had second-guessed myself into thinking that a kitten might be the best choice. (I've since learned through further adoptions and fostering that age is more or less irrelevant when it comes to determining how well cats will adapt to each other, but that's best left for another discussion on adopting non-humans that I hope to initiate in the near future so that I can stress the point that non-humans of all ages need homes -- regardless of age or appearance.) From what I was told, Zeus' mother had been abandoned pregnant in an apartment by tenants who'd skipped out on their rent; thankfully, the building's owner called a shelter for help instead of putting her out on the street to fend for herself and this is how she and the only two kittens who survived the ordeal ended up in foster care. Although I had only "planned" to fall head over heels in love with one, it took me less than 15 minutes to realize that I'd be signing papers at the shelter the next day to bring home both Zeus and his sister Sophie.

Kittens always seem like a great idea at the time. They're adorable and spend the majority of their kitten-hood operating in two modes: check-my-breathing-to-make-sure-I'm-really-just-sleeping (see photo above and to the left) and chaotically insatiable. If they seem quiet in-between, they are likely practicing being stealthy and likely getting into something you forgot to kitten-proof. A total of 6-7 years sharing my home with various cats and cat-proofing accordingly had not left me prepared for the energy and curiosity of kittens and all that entails. I still remember the first time I felt like a complete failure when it came to providing my feline family a safe environment the day Zeus and Sophie came tearing out of the bedroom and bumped into a three foot tall decorative bottle made of thick glass I'd had for years. I watched it wobble... and crash, splintering into thousands of little shards as Zeus and Sophie stood frozen, probably more wide-eyed and terrified at my cry than of the bottle's noise. I stepped across the room in my bare feet to scoop them up just as the upstairs neighbour came knocking on the door to make sure that we were all alright. And we were.

As the kittens grew older, friends who visited couldn't help but grin at Zeus. He had this habit of sitting so very calmly and quietly. He was unflappable except when he tried to get Tarwater's attention, and then it was a sad event to watch. Zeus almost behaved like that worshiping little brother who wants to tag along and be included and who then goes away sulking after getting brushed off (in Zeus' case, after getting sent off with a growl or bat on the nose). Tar eventually gave in so that in later years, it wasn't uncommon to find him fast asleep with Zeus wide awake and curled up around him and purring loudly.

It was Zeus I was most worried about when Tarwater died last year. And it was just a few months after Tar died that Zeus ended up getting sick and requiring a special trip to the vet's for the first time for what appeared to be a mild case of vertigo. The vet ran a few tests and suggested further tests at a recheck appointment if the vertigo hadn't subsided (but it had). By Xmas, Zeus ended up with mild and easily treated gastritis. By April, the vertigo and the gastritis had both returned and I decided to book the earliest appointment I could to press for further tests; the night before his appointment, he'd also started coughing mildly--something new. Freaked out at being at the vet's, his coughing soon turned into wheezing and a few X-rays later we confirmed that Zeus' lungs were inflamed. The vet wrote the vertigo off as having been caused by poor oxygenation; she administered steroids by injection and gave me a prescription for antibiotics "just in case". Over the course of the next several weeks, we returned a few times for further check-ups and X-rays (the steroids would help, then their effect would wane) and Zeus was finally diagnosed as possibly having the onset of feline asthma. Tuesday, two weeks ago, I brought him in again because he'd started coughing. A different vet than the one who'd been treating him before suggested avoiding a steroid injection and instead trying oral and inhaled steroids, sending me home with $200 in prescriptions after noting that his lungs didn't sound "too bad".

Two days later--Canada Day, a holiday for me--I woke up in bed and the first thing I saw was Zeus convulsing beside me, staring at me with his eyes and mouth impossibly wide and his nose and tongue blue. I called my vet's answering service and rushed him to the on-call emergency vet's by cab. I held an oxygen mask to his face for nearly an hour as the vet injected him with fast-acting steroids, wrote down his history and then taped plastic sheets around a cage so that he could pipe oxygen into it and allow Zeus to be more comfortable. I was sent home and promised regular phone updates, which at first were that he wasn't responding very well. Only at the end of the day was I told that he was finally stable and that imaging had shown that he'd developed a serious case of pneumonia, probably due to his weakened lungs and depressed immune system (no thanks to the steroids he'd been getting). The next morning, the vet called to tell me that Zeus was panicking and that this worsened his breathing; he suggested that I take him home, and by the time I arrived, Zeus had already meowed himself hoarse and looked worse than when I'd brought him in. After hydration, syringe-feeding, antibiotics, a human consultation with my vet the next day (Zeus was in no shape to travel) and 2-3 mostly sleepless nights later, my sweet boy was (and is) on the mend.

During these past few weeks, I've had many friends--both old and new--offer words of support. Some of you also offered to help with the expenses incurred over the past few weeks because of Zeus' crisis after I'd admitted that my underpaid self was tapped out. Some of you weren't even people I knew particularly well, and some of you were people with whom I've had personal or political differences in the past. I'm not the sort to ask for help and felt awkward receiving it, but in this case, the possible alternative was unthinkable and I realized that this wasn't about me. I want to thank you for the advice, the kind words, as well as for any contributions that were made so that I could ensure that Zeus received the care that he did. He's my one of my favourite persons, and if you ever meet him, you'll understand why.

Having a feline companion cuts stroke risk by more than a third

So sayeth researchers at the University of Minnesota after a recent study they conducted. In fact, according to these scientists, the effects even last well after you've shared your home with a cat.

So, uh... I wonder if this means that being a human slave to four of them means you're in the clear for life? Or better yet, does it work like carbon trading? Can I trade kitty anti-stroke points with the cat-less? This could get interesting...