Our long-standing cat, Franny left us suddenly one night in May while I was toiling away in the mental hospital. I got a rare call from Melissa at 3:00 am, and I didn’t even think about the time; when you work all night, the clock is just an ornament that tells you it’s time to go home.
Melissa had taken Fran to the all-night vet and the deed was done. We buried her in our tiny yard under a tree where, with any luck, her spirit will reign on this little corner of Rusty Hinge Road until long after someone digs holes for us.
It was sad. The house was empty. Now, full disclosure, Franny had been a handful for years. She required daily infusions of subcutaneous medications related to a kidney problem. She had never quite figured out the whole cat box procedure and toward the end, her stomach became unforgiving. Still, she was a sweet cat, a loving and predictable cat. And after she was gone it was spooky. We continued to watch our step, and now and then we’d think we’d seen her shadow coming around a corner or her dark shape tucked into the couch.
At first we thought, tentatively, that it would be nice to be free of the tether of a pet at the house. We could come and go as we please, free from worry and responsibility, and free from the heartbreak of losing a pet.
It was settled.
In a week or two Melissa arrived home with two kittens. One was names “Tilly,” a feisty tortoise-shell, reminiscent of out previous cat, and Tess, a little ball of fluff who looked like a cross between a raccoon and a possum. Once released from the cat carrier, they immediately hid behind the downstairs toilet in fear.
In a few days though, they began to understand where the food came from, Tilly and Tess provided hours of endless entertainment. Tilly took the lead, proving to be the more agile kitten, nimble on her tiny feet. It suddenly became clear that she was bullying her “sister,” who needed to see the vet soon after they moved in to have an infection, which made her a bit punk, treated.
Before long it was kitty entertainment central. We couldn’t wait to get home and watch the little rascals get into mischief. Tilly was the curious one. She’d come into the bathroom and stare through the shower glass while one of us was in there. She was the first to venture into the upstairs bedroom and make herself comfortable at night. Tess, was shy, often having to be coaxed out from under the couch. Eventually all four of us were comfortable with each other.
Now we were ready to have two cats, companions to each other during the long human-less days and to us at all other times.
In August we went to the lake for vacation, and packed Tilly and Tess off to our neighborhood vet. We hated to leave them behind, but back in the days of Franny we’d either have to take her or stay home, so part of our new, healthy cat scenario was we’d be able to board them as needed.
The lake was great. Cool evenings on the shoreline. Relaxing.
At some point, mid-week, we got word that Tilly was sick. The vet wasn’t sure what was going on but she was treating her and there was nothing to worry about. She felt that the little cat might have picked something up at the cat rescue place where she had stayed.
By the time we got home Tilly was in quarantine. She had bloated up. A virus caused fluids to empty into her abdominal cavity. A Google search on the condition proved so horrific it would make your hair fall out. The prognosis was grim. But the same internet also gave us scant hope and we sought all sorts of treatment. We got Russian antivirus medicine. We got cat interferon. We got contradictory advice.
Tilly was laid low, but did not to appear to be in pain. Her sweet face and spark glowed from the pillow we set up in the corner. Tess looked through the French doors, longing to wrestle with her sister. But stress would exacerbate Tilly’s condition so we kept them apart. Every couple of days the vet would sedate Tilly and drain the excess fluid from her tummy. Her weight hovered just under 4 lbs.
After four weeks, we couldn’t keep hoping. The poor little cat was trapped by her own body. She had stopped eating and was unable to make it into the cat box.
We buried Tilly under a paving stone in the back yard. Her little body carefully wrapped in an old sweater and fleece. When we walked back in to the house, all of our love turned to Tess, who, while we were so wrapped up with Tilly’s illness, had turned into a large, sleek cat who seems healthy, loves to eat and play, and knows where the cat box is and doesn’t mind using it.
Sweet Tilly was not meant to stay long. Perhaps she came into our lives because we needed to practice compassion. We love Tess and we know that another cat will find us if that is what is intended. In fact, we have an interview with two promising kittens tomorrow.
If I lie on my back will you rub my tummy?
