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...

8 Years

As I begin my 8th year as a volunteer photographer at Humane Colorado (animal shelter), I’m reflecting on what I have experienced, what I have learned and what I cherish.

Eight years ago, I walked into a situation as an introvert where I knew no one. That was scary enough; but add to that my sometimes crippling affinity for perfectionism and I was just a tad nervous. It was my love for animals, cats in particular, that gave me the courage to take that leap. 

I was happy to meet my supervisor, Emily, who could not have been more welcoming and kind. She trusted me and set me up for success. For that I am forever grateful.

Although I haven’t kept count I think I have probably met thousands of cats. And I have fallen in love a thousand times. I have saved the image of every cat and the occasional dog I have ever photographed; so yes, my hard drive is full. 

Blur the Manx cat (stubby tail) was the first shelter cat I photographed.

I have learned about FIV+ cats (and fallen in love with them countless times!). I will always remember the first FIV+ cat I met, Hans. He went home to join another FIV+ brother. 

I have learned about FeLV (Feline Leukemia Virus) cats like Buckie.

I have learned about CH (Cerebellar Hypoplasia) cats like Cassie.

I have learned about deaf cats like Sylvester.

I have learned about blind cats like Sassafras.

I have learned about little tripod cats (missing a limb) like Lovey.

I have learned about the working cats like Violet who came from outdoor environments and feel more comfortable living outdoors in a safe environment like a barn or a garden nursery.

I will always have a soft spot for the Seniors. They are settled and loving and oh so grateful just to have a sunny window or a warm lap to curl up in. They are my favorites, like Buddy, 18 years old. 

I have met exotic cats like Maine Coons and Persians and Lola the Bengal

I have met too many kittens to count. Omysweetgoodness, kittens. When they come, they come in droves! 

I’ve learned to communicate with cats by doing “soft eyes” and when I receive them in return I know they feel safe with me.

I have learned to go slow when I meet a frightened or timid cat. I know how to read an overly affectionate cat who, when venturing into overstimulated territory, it’s time for a break. 

I have grown as a photographer (practice, practice, practice). I have grown as a human. I always say the bonus I didn’t see coming was the like-minded, life-long human friends I would make. What a gift. They have educated me, held my hand, with hugs along the way, cheered me on and given me the confidence to do what I do. 

In closing, here is the most recent cat I photographed. This afternoon I met little 8 month old Scar and he was a purrfect model. 

I feel honored and blessed to do what I do; and grateful to have found my calling... my passion. 

What a journey. 

And I'm just getting started.

 

52 Notes

At the end of 2024 when I was (and many of us were) still reeling from what had just happened in our United States of America (the November election) I read somewhere on social media about an idea that gave me hope.

Write one note a week about something positive and/or happy that happened to you that week, fold the note and put it in a jar. At the end of the year read the weekly notes – all 52 of them; you might be surprised what you learn.

I’m big on projects and little on follow thru. But I did it. I wrote a note about something positive that I experienced every week. Some weeks it was a stretch to find something; some weeks I noted more than one thing.

Today I opened all the notes and read them. Some were surprising. Some were touching. Some made me laugh. They all brought back memories.

I broke them down into categories.

#1 Not surprisingly over 52 weeks I enjoyed time with friends and family (some from afar) 26 times. Lunches and brunches and many art shows and concerts and holidays. And laughter – lots of laughter.

#2 Again, not surprisingly was time spent with and devoted to my “Many Paws” – Sugar, Teddi, Kobie, Kona, Kazz, Hana, Hilo and Kukki. There were many Vet visits, many pharmacy runs intermingled with cuddles and laughter and the very sweetness of them just being. Of course the year ended with the devastating loss of Teddi but even in that I found gratitude for the compassion of the medical professionals and the comfort of friends and family all of whom were so supportive. 

#3 was time spent outdoors, often enjoying the beautiful weather in my beautiful Colorado. Walks listening to books. Walks with Sugar in her stroller. Walks with my camera. Walks with a friend when I was grieving. Sitting on the deck in the early hours of a summer morning reading and listening to birds, watching the squirrels, rabbit and the occasional little mouse scatter about.

#4 centered around my volunteer days as a shelter photographer and the time spent with the cats there who became so dear to me and gave me purpose. And time spent with colleagues there who have become dear to me as well.

#5 was the health issues I encountered and being ever so grateful for good doctors who guided me back to health. The health I do not take for granted and am extremely grateful for. As I age I am aware of the things I need to do and things I need not to do.

#6 was my home life ~ simple things like cooking a warm soup on a chilly night, making a fresh salad on a summer day, baking cookies for friends (and for me). Organizing my home and feeling good about slowly but surely purging and decluttering. Nesting as the winter approached.

#7 coming in as a last positive note was writing again. I started a new blog which, in retrospect, I didn’t need to do. I had a pretty good one going here so I’ll probably merge them at some point this year.

It was a really good exercise and one that I will continue in 2026. I am also adding that, me the photographer who forgets to take pictures of anything other than flowers and cats, am going to up my game on photographing more memories, more people in my life and the things we share.

What this experience has shown me is what a blessed life I am living and the importance of gratitude.

Life is a series of thousands of tiny miracles. Take notice of them.