We believe there are special places our loved ones go at the end of their days. I don't know about the Rainbow Bridge, though it is a comforting thought. I believe that our loved pets all go somewhere, dogs, hamsters, birds, yes, even reptiles that are very loved.
I think there are different places they go. Our loved cats are all somewhere playing in the sunshine--but there is a very special place where a chosen few are. These are the special cats that have tugged at our hearts. Comforted us as no human could. Listened and never judged us. Loved us unconditionally. I can count them on one hand (so far)--Tiger, Shadow, and now Kissmet.
Kissmet was Tiger's (impossible) replacement after we lost her. We fought to keep Tiger alive after she had a stroke. After the 3rd painful attack, we knew she was suffering. It took over a month. We promised we'd never allow another animal to suffer in our care, and we ached. But Shadow was lonely. Within 2 months, in September 1996, we had adopted Kissmet, a 2 month old Tuxedo, from the local shelter.
They called her Madonna because of the little black spot by her nose. She purred. The shelter whispered throughout when we brought her up front, "They're adopting Madonna..." so it went. I asked why, and someone finally admitted that she had been spared twice but was scheduled to be put down later, and they all loved her. We brought her home and she went wild. She ran around the bedroom all night, jumping from the cat perch to the bed stopping only to lick our faces. We got no sleep that night, but did know what to name her. Kiss because, well, that's what she did, and Kismet because it was fate that she found us that day.
At 14, Kissmet developed early renal failure. A death sentence. I asked if she was in pain and what it felt like. The vet said she believed it felt like a hangover. But..... being early and having relatively low kidney function blood tests, she could be treated and she'd feel almost okay. We started doing a little fluid under her skin (subcutaneous) every day, just 100 mL, about 1/4 cup. It doesn't hurt---I wouldn't hurt her, I promised her that. After only a few weeks, I'd hold up the fluid bag and she'd climb up on the couch and lie down, crossing her paws in front of her, and just purr, loud and hard. She knew it felt good. And she was always hungry afterward and want lots of pets and treats.
I think there are different places they go. Our loved cats are all somewhere playing in the sunshine--but there is a very special place where a chosen few are. These are the special cats that have tugged at our hearts. Comforted us as no human could. Listened and never judged us. Loved us unconditionally. I can count them on one hand (so far)--Tiger, Shadow, and now Kissmet.
Kissmet was Tiger's (impossible) replacement after we lost her. We fought to keep Tiger alive after she had a stroke. After the 3rd painful attack, we knew she was suffering. It took over a month. We promised we'd never allow another animal to suffer in our care, and we ached. But Shadow was lonely. Within 2 months, in September 1996, we had adopted Kissmet, a 2 month old Tuxedo, from the local shelter.
They called her Madonna because of the little black spot by her nose. She purred. The shelter whispered throughout when we brought her up front, "They're adopting Madonna..." so it went. I asked why, and someone finally admitted that she had been spared twice but was scheduled to be put down later, and they all loved her. We brought her home and she went wild. She ran around the bedroom all night, jumping from the cat perch to the bed stopping only to lick our faces. We got no sleep that night, but did know what to name her. Kiss because, well, that's what she did, and Kismet because it was fate that she found us that day.
At 14, Kissmet developed early renal failure. A death sentence. I asked if she was in pain and what it felt like. The vet said she believed it felt like a hangover. But..... being early and having relatively low kidney function blood tests, she could be treated and she'd feel almost okay. We started doing a little fluid under her skin (subcutaneous) every day, just 100 mL, about 1/4 cup. It doesn't hurt---I wouldn't hurt her, I promised her that. After only a few weeks, I'd hold up the fluid bag and she'd climb up on the couch and lie down, crossing her paws in front of her, and just purr, loud and hard. She knew it felt good. And she was always hungry afterward and want lots of pets and treats.
Kissmet and Chi never stopped playing through all this, except that Kissmet was 14 going on 15 and Chi (Shadow's replacement) was about 2 when we got her. Chi wanted someone to love her and take care of her like an adopted mom.
Asthma was Kissmet's next fatal disease. Again not severe, but enough to require an inhaler twice a day. True to form, after only a few days, I'd hold up her inhaler and she'd climb back on the couch and wait for her "puffy," which she'd take twice a day every day, right after her fluid and later in the afternoon.
As if that wasn't enough, she also developed hyperthyroidism, controlled on a little pill hidden in a treat. You would think "3 strikes and you're out," but not this kitty.
For over 3 years, Kissmet thrived. For the last year of her life, old age started to catch up with her. Because she was overweight, arthritis was a little painful for her rear legs. She couldn't jump on the couch or the bed, but we built her steps, which she used all the time. The last 2 years she went deaf. We don't know what caused that, but it didn't bother her. She never stopped purring. She loved to be petted. We'd lay with her and talk to her. She'd put her paw in our hand to be held. She'd snuggle. She'd sleep with us in bed. No one believed she was as sick as she was.
Most important, she was never in pain. We held true to our promise almost 18 years ago. I read once that it's better to be one week too soon than one day too late. That was the promise we made.
Asthma was Kissmet's next fatal disease. Again not severe, but enough to require an inhaler twice a day. True to form, after only a few days, I'd hold up her inhaler and she'd climb back on the couch and wait for her "puffy," which she'd take twice a day every day, right after her fluid and later in the afternoon.
As if that wasn't enough, she also developed hyperthyroidism, controlled on a little pill hidden in a treat. You would think "3 strikes and you're out," but not this kitty.
For over 3 years, Kissmet thrived. For the last year of her life, old age started to catch up with her. Because she was overweight, arthritis was a little painful for her rear legs. She couldn't jump on the couch or the bed, but we built her steps, which she used all the time. The last 2 years she went deaf. We don't know what caused that, but it didn't bother her. She never stopped purring. She loved to be petted. We'd lay with her and talk to her. She'd put her paw in our hand to be held. She'd snuggle. She'd sleep with us in bed. No one believed she was as sick as she was.
Most important, she was never in pain. We held true to our promise almost 18 years ago. I read once that it's better to be one week too soon than one day too late. That was the promise we made.
Winter 2014 started about mid-October and was very cold. We went on vacation in Florida just before Christmas. Kissmet was the first to tell us she wanted to get warm. She basked in the sunshine, as you can tell in the first picture.
Kissmet had her teeth cleaned after her routine blood tests and x-rays showed she was very stable. A few days later, her appetite was very low. A new x-ray found fluid building up around her lungs and heart. She couldn't breathe very well, so she couldn't eat. This wasn't going to get better. She beat all her illnesses. Sometimes life just isn't fair. Eight weeks ago, Feb. 26, 2014, at 8 a.m. we said goodbye.
From the day she adopted us, Kissmet was told about Tiger. She was told to find her in that special place. She was told to let Tiger know how much she was missed. We believe that if there is a place humans go at the end of their lives, that their loved ones are waiting. We believe that place is filled with our very special pets.
Kissmet had her teeth cleaned after her routine blood tests and x-rays showed she was very stable. A few days later, her appetite was very low. A new x-ray found fluid building up around her lungs and heart. She couldn't breathe very well, so she couldn't eat. This wasn't going to get better. She beat all her illnesses. Sometimes life just isn't fair. Eight weeks ago, Feb. 26, 2014, at 8 a.m. we said goodbye.
From the day she adopted us, Kissmet was told about Tiger. She was told to find her in that special place. She was told to let Tiger know how much she was missed. We believe that if there is a place humans go at the end of their lives, that their loved ones are waiting. We believe that place is filled with our very special pets.