His Gentle Purr

 I was new to this volunteer thing. I went in knowing that I loved cats, knowing that I had two cats at home and wasn't looking to add to the family. 

Kobie (then Tobie) had different ideas. He had just become available for adoption so was on my list to photograph (my job at the shelter). He was a friendly fellow, welcomed pets and purred loudly. He was the consummate model for my camera. 

I found myself seeking him out each Saturday during my shift. I would visit, he would purr; we became friends. I learned more of his history. He was 10 years old, diagnosed with a skin allergy (although I saw no sign of it in his beautiful long coat), had a 4/6 heart murmur. All of that fell by the wayside because, I mean... look at him. 

Kobie came home with us on April 21, 2019. It was a quiet Easter Sunday morning at the shelter and we were so happy to pop him in that carrier, sign the papers and make him officially ours. 

Kobie adapted to our home, two cats and two dogs quite nicely. He stayed on the outskirts of things for awhile, quietly observing. But before long he staked out his spot on the soft blankets, the cozy beds, the high perches. He watched the squirrels and bunnies and birds along with the others. 

He developed a fondness for catnip toys and had his favorites ~ the taco and the yellow chirping bird. He would carry them in his mouth, drop them and yowl the song of his people. 

Around age 13 he was diagnosed with diabetes. He was a grazer when it came to eating so insuring he had a full tummy so his insulin could be administered was a challenge. Somehow we managed to make it work. Lucky for all of us, he went into remission after about a year and stayed in remission the rest of his life. 

Of course we couldn't stop there. He then developed (as older cats often do) hyperthyroidism so a new medication was on the scene. While he wasn't crazy about either method (gel in the ear or oral) he would allow it. 

He turned 17 on April 21 and immediately thereafter I noticed a drastic decline in his health. He lost weight and body mass. He wasn't grooming himself. He wasn't yowling for extra meals or joining the family in the evenings. 

A senior panel (all inclusive bloodwork) was done, a Fructosamine test (for possible return of his diabetes) was done. All seemed normal. But one thing was caught by his observant CVT ~ some unknown liquid in his abdomen. Swabs were taken and sent to a lab. That was Monday. By Thursday evening the results were in. They were inconclusive, so an ultrasound was recommended.

He and I were on the road at 6:30 am the next morning. We were the second car in parking lot in the normally very busy ER parking lot. Long story short, the ultrasound was performed, the ER Doc phoned to say ~~ it's cancer. It appears to be an aggressive form as it was already in his liver. 

Having been down this cancer road before with our dog, Koko, we knew what was ahead if we decided to do treatment. In Kobie's case, it was too advanced and we simply could not put him through any more. 

We brought him home with pain meds for palliative care, watched and waited. He chose our bathroom as his safe place. 

We didn't have to wait long. Within hours we could see he was fading. He ate very little and within 24 hours stopped eating all together. 

He was diagnosed on Friday; Monday I made the call to the in-home euthanasia group and made an appointment for the next day.

Kobie's transition took place in our home (our first experience with this). I was nervous, but they prepared me fully so we knew what to expect. 

Kobie's last day was a rainy, gloomy, cold day. Rain was falling soon to be followed by snow. Somehow that seemed fitting. The fire warmed the room, the candles provided a soft glow, the comforting ~ almost haunting ~ music played in the background. 

The Vet arrived. She was calm and soft-spoken. She explained how this would all go. We talked about Kobie ~ how he came into our family, what he was like before he got sick. He laid on my lap wrapped in the Goodbye Blanket, Charlie and our dog, Sugar by our side. The Doctor gently administered the meds and Kobie left peacefully.

She left to give us time with him and returned with a beautiful basket ~ flowers at the head, a pillow topped with a soft lavender blanket. I laid him in the basket and she covered him with a matching blanket, like tucking him into bed for the night. 

I thought about taking a photo but decided ~ no. This is sacred.

I was honored to take him on his final walk. I placed him in her car, one last kiss to Kobie, a hug to the Vet.

And he was gone. 

Tonight the cloak of sadness weighs heavy.

Mourning delayed, postponed, denied (?) doesn't disappear. It lingers in the background just waiting... waiting...  Because grief doesn't hide. It's over there in the corner waiting to pounce. Waiting for the right time to send that wave crashing down to crush you.

Knowing that letting Kobie go was the right thing to do doesn't really ease the pain. He's gone. And he's not coming back. The beautiful, affectionate, funny boy I fell in love with while sitting on the shelter floor seven years ago is gone. 

Cancer is a horrible beast. It can attack and devour in a matter of days. We watched him rapidly fade, saw the vacant look in his eyes, the energy it took to even raise his head. The look that finally said, "Let me go."

I don't know how it is possible that hearts can be breaking and yet be so full at the same time, but here we are. We were so blessed to know him, to love him. How lucky I am that he chose me all those Saturdays ago. 

Early every morning around 3 am I would feel a soft tap, tap, tap on my shoulder. That was my cue to roll over. Kobie would lay his head on my pillow, reach out his paw to hug my face and we would drift off to sleep together. I was often sleep deprived during the day but I told myself ~ someday I will miss this. 

And I do. I miss it madly. And I miss him terribly.

What I wouldn't give to feel that furry head on the pillow next to mine and fall asleep to the rhythm of his gentle purr...