|
The click between this arrogant teenager entering adulthood and
the little bundle of fur that fitted into the palm of my hand was
instant. She was the cutest, most adventurous kitten I've ever seen
(and our family are cat-lovers of note). Tuschie was a small kitten
and when she was about 5 months old, two dogs tried to play ball
with her. Fortunately she wasn't harmed physically, but it is said
that a cat would die more from shock than from injury. I scooped
her onto my shoulder and comforted her until the glazing on her
eyes faded and she started to purr again. These couple of hours
bonded us even more.
As the years passed we both developed and grew. I was awfully impressed
by her courage, despite her tiny size (3 kgs) she would chase away
trespassing cats who were twice as big. She was fiercely independent
and only graced me with her presence when she was in the mood. She
even handled giving birth to two litters by herself and was an excellent
mommy.
Our relationship became really special during some very rocky years
I faced. Whenever I was down, she'd sense it and come and sit at
my side. Not demanding anything or meowing, just sitting quietly
and keeping me company, "You're not alone" she seemed
to say. During this time, we learned a lot about ourselves. I could
tell what she wanted and vice versa. In kitty language, we'd blink
"I love you" to each other.
As she approached 10, the thought that she could die at any moment
crept into my head. We all know about the 'Circle of Life' but somehow
I thought we could cheat the system and stay together forever. Knowing
that cats can live to about 20, I quickly pushed the thought aside.
Loyalty, trust and respect are things that are extremely important
to me and yet I'd not been able to achieve them in human relationships.
I was yearning for such a deep relationship and was truly blessed
when Marcel and I met. Tuschie took to him as much I did. She would
never go to anyone else, so when she hopped on his lap and sought
his company I was amazed and gobsmacked. On the one hand I was absolutely
delighted, but on the other hand I felt slightly betrayed - but
in the best kind of way!
She seriously disliked going to the vet and would always seek the
comfort of my shoulder, which made the annual jab that much more
difficult. She also enjoyed cuddling in the crook of my arm while
watching telly and would affectionately pat my face. If I didn't
respond, she'd protrude her claws a little until I did and then
madly blink at me. We'd constantly argue over 'our' pillow at night.
She'd insist on sleeping right in the middle and I'd end up with
my neck in a twist. So I'd move her over a tad, but somehow she
always managed to find her spot again. Her most annoying habit was
drinking the water from our night glasses.
She was an excellent companion while I was adjusting to working
from home ... and alone. She would often sit on my monitor or the
radio, and if she wasn't getting the attention she wanted, she'd
sit in front of the monitor, "Hey, look at me - I demand your
attention!". She could be sleeping somewhere peacefully and
I'd think to myself that I'd not seen her in a while and wonder
where she was, then sure enough she'd saunter into the room.
Even at 15 she would behave like a kitten, she and Vinnie would
chase each other up and down the stairs. But in true Persian style,
they would quickly resume their graceful posture and then return
to a snooze. It came as quite a surprise then when she stopped eating.
I tried everything, raw chicken and mince (her favourite), the latest
yummy kitty snacks, soft foods, you name it. Then she stopped drinking
and we took her to the vet. They put her on a drip and kept her
overnight. The next day she was bright and chipper and ready to
come home. We would wait for her blood test results together.
Sadly her condition deteriorated and the vet said that her kidneys
had failed and we'd need to consider euthanasia. I was crushed and
burst into tears. We were fortunately able to have one last night
together, cuddled in my arms. "Please don't leave me, I need
you" I said to her. "It's my time, we've had a wonderful
life together" she seemed to say. I felt so honoured and humble,
and thanked her over and over again for being part of my life and
enriching it so much. In spite of her pain, she'd blink at me lovingly,
almost saying how much she enjoyed it too.
Her pain was getting worse, so we made an appointment with the
vet. They were really amazing, treating Tuschie and I with the utmost
respect and dignity. She was first given an anaesthetic and spent
her last conscious moments in the comfort of my shoulder. I felt
her slowly fall asleep until her head tilted to one side. The vet
confirmed that she was fully asleep and tried to take her off my
shoulder, but she'd hooked her claws in tight, almost not wanting
to let go.
Once on the table, the lethal injection was administered. The vet
warned of the possibility of rigamortus setting in. The vet provided
lots of tissue paper and left us alone to say good-bye and said
I could slip out the back if I wanted to. I stroked her little body
and told her how much I loved her even after she stopped breathing.
Her passing was smooth. About half an hour later, I felt I was ready
to leave and headed for the door, I took one last look and saw her
little paw twitch ever so gently, as if she was waving good-bye.
The following weeks were dreadful and my only consolation was I
felt Tuschie say, "I am still with you and always will be."
It's three month's later and I still miss her terribly, but I feel
an enormous feeling of satisfaction and pride that I was with her
to the end and that I loved her without reserve. "... and I
will always love you, pumpkin!" 18 September 2004
© Written for Tours
and Tales by Marcel and Victoria Koning (Marvic). We promote responsible
tourism and love nature and wildlife, discovering new places and different cultures.
|
