A ‘Good Life’ And The Death of a Friend Named Angel

An Introduction by NAL publisher Doug Draper

So a beloved cat or dog dies.For those of you who have been through that sorrowful experience, you may also know how alone you can feel when, still mourning the death of your friend, you go back out in the ‘real world’ and other people, who have never had the pleasure of sharing life with an animal, cannot relate to how you feel.

A number of years ago, one of my cats died suddenly before I left for work and I made the mistake of going to work anyway after an hour or two of trying to collect my feelings. I went out for lunch that day with people I thought were my friends – people I normally shared a few jokes with, along with some lively discussion around that morning’s headlines – and they treated me like I was a drag on the ticket. One of them, who had lost a sibling a year or two earlier, asked me rather abrasively how I could care more about the death of an animal more than the death of a person. I found the question astonishing and tried to answer that I care about the death of both.

This October 6, I received the following story from an old friend and journalism colleague Lawrence Pinsky, who lost a feline companion that day. It is a story that speaks to my long-held view that a close relationship with other animals can bring out the best in us and strengthen our reverence for all life on this earth.

By Lawrence PinskyIn the earliest of spring, 1999, Angel came into our lives (mine and my beloved kitty, Isadore’s) at our cozy little apartment on Melita Crescent In Toronto. Isadore’s (Izzie’s) mother had died about a year before and I somehow linked this with Izzie’s apparent lethargy. So I eventually had this “bright” idea to find him a companion, not too young, a kitty who would not over exert Izzie who was already 15.

A cat named Angel. Photo by Lawrence Pinsky

I put out some feelers to a few animal clinics and within a day I had a call from one clinic saying they had a five-year-old female who had been living at the clinic for a while.  Apparently one of the vets there had picked her up off the street some time ago and she shortly thereafter gave birth to four or five kittens, all of whom were now adopted.  I told the caller a bit about myself and said I would be there right away to pick her up. The person seemed surprised that I would take her sight unseen. She told me that “Angel” was a lovely cat, but “not a show cat, nothing special to look at.”  I said that I didn’t care what she looked like, not at all.

When I arrived at the clinic I found that Angel was in a large kennel with a boarding cat and was told that they’d often put her in with a boarding cat because she somehow made them feel more at home. This was sounding great to me! Angel was a brown tabby with a white belly and a white streak along her upper back and sea-green eyes. She was beautiful!!

There was a nice Spanish-speaking woman who worked in the clinic and she adored Angel, whom she called “Mommy [pronounced ‘Mummy’].” She told me that she had tried to take her Mommy home but her other cats just wouldn’t get along with her.

Somehow I did not feel comfortable calling her “Mommy,” so I took to calling her “Bunny” (I hoped it sounded similar enough so that she would feel she was among friends.) which later often became “My Little Girlie” as well. “Sweetie pie” was another, among several.

For the next six weeks my little Bunny spent every hour hiding under my futon couch. I left a litter box in the living room and food and water and hoped she would come out at night or when I wasn’t around. She survived…despite the fact that my darling Izzie had not much but disdain for her. Sadly, Izzie never really bonded at all with the “intruder.” I suppose he wanted me all to himself (as he should have) in his last months. At the very beginning of September Izzie died of a congenital heart condition, same as his mother; He was almost 16.

Partly by accident, at the end of that month, Rudy arrived in our lives, from the Toronto Humane Society where I had spent half a day looking for someone’s lost cat. Between times when the attendant wasn’t available I’d wander into the adoption room and there was this young guy who had similar markings to Izzie, but he also was mewing like crazy, rubbing against the cage and clearly dying to get out of there. That was a Friday and on Saturday morning I was first in line to adopt Rudy. (Officially “Rudolph” for his bright red nose!) He was about 7 months old and pure, pure joy with the softest fur I’ve ever yet felt and a big bushy white tail. He was smart and quickly learned to play soccer. I took shots on goal with little soft toy balls and Rudy would try to block them from hitting the wall on the other side of the bed. He quickly developed into an outstanding “keeper.”

It soon became apparent that Angel was very much an “alpha cat” as Rudy sometimes plotted to usurp her authority. This usually resulted in Rudy having divots of fur and skin excised from various places on his body…sometimes the top of the nose, sometimes the ear or the top of his head. Well, you get the idea…

Angel and Rudy never became great buddies, but they co-existed peacefully (for the most part!) and rarely you might find them cuddled together. As rarely as you might see a Sasquatch in your back yard! I’ve seen a Sasquatch in my backyard twice.

Angel had many joys in her life, number one being lying in the sun by the patio doors in my flat in Montreal. (She enjoyed a little of that yesterday, which I’m so thankful for!) She would be in ecstasy, often rolling around on her back with her tongue peeking out deliriously. On a sunny day there is always sun for part of the afternoon and especially in the winter when the tree leaves are not there to block the sun. So she had years of pleasure right there by the patio doors.

Angel loved to play with her toys and was perfectly happy and inventive doing that on her own much of the time. All of her toys were “mousies” and the one she loved the most looked like a red and black mutant ladybug, about the size of a human fist. She would toss her toys in the air with her paw and sometimes her mouth! and then go wacky on it when it landed, batting it all over the room. And then she’d keep doing it for a while, or a long while. Sometimes I’d get woken up in the middle of the night by little knocking sounds and minor tremors and I’d quickly realize that Bunny was tossing her toys around in the living room. I know I slept best after those moments, knowing that all now seemed perfect with the world.

She also played well with others (aka: ME), delighting in having her turn with the cat dancer, from time to time.

You would have to say that Bunny was semi-feral. Picking her up, giving her meds, getting her to the vet—all these things instilled some fear in her and sometimes made my caregiver role difficult. Sometimes, frankly, it was a pain in the ass. But I felt more sad and frustrated that she was so fearful in these instances, and that I couldn’t do much about it.

Someone had given me a straw cat basket with no cushion and one day I found this great piece of thick faux fur at the drapery store. That piece, stuffed into the basket, created another one of Angel’s favourite spots, whether the basket was carefully placed in my bedroom or sitting on a pile of stuff during a move.

In 2002, Rusty, the world’s most wonderful dog, joined our little gang. A gentle soul, probably a collie/Shepherd mix (mostly), I found him on the street, living in and out of a railway yard. When we came through the front door for the first time, Bunny was lying on the couch and only moved her eyelids to quickly check him out. Then she went back to sleep.  A few hours later, the poor Rustmeister suddenly found out who was the boss in town. He walked slowly up to her and, as he started to sniff her, a powerful paw lunged out and ripped a substantial gash on the black of his nose. For the next six months, Rusty did a wide arc around the Bunny every time he encountered her. They eventually became comfortable with each other.

The hierarchy on my bed always had Rudy on the pillow next to me with Bunny either at the foot of the bed or just below the pillow. And Rusty on his own bed next to mine. Sometimes Angel would force Rudy off and take the pillow spot. In November 2008 Rudy suddenly became listless and stopped eating. Given his past history, I suspected a passing virus but he was soon hospitalized. A week later a beautiful soul was gone way too soon from lymphoma in his kidneys. This was devastating and Angel helped me through it, taking his spot on the pillow and staying close to me ever since.

Last October I found a grey tabby in the alley, likely abandoned on July 1st moving day. (An insane tradition in Montreal!) I took to feeding him outside and soon he was waiting on the front stoop when I took Rusty out in the morning. Cheeky little bugger! I reluctantly took him in, thinking that maybe Bunny wouldn’t want him around. But it soon became apparent that she didn’t mind Stinky at all and she soon appeared to actually like him.

In mid-August, less than two months ago, Bunny seemed to lose interest in eating. She’d had the odd cold and all vets were amazed by her bloodwork for a senior cat. I figured she was easily going to be a 20-something cat. I took her to the emerg one night after she barely ate for three days. Again I expected a virus. Again, I was in for a shock.
                                                                                                                               Like large-cell kidney lymphoma, squamous cell carcinoma is one of a handful of the most vicious, aggressive cancers in cats. My bunny had a sqaumous cell tumor under her tongue. The goal was to keep her comfortable with anti-inflammatories and pain killers and to try some chemo and some new drugs (all easy to tolerate)—all so that she could continue to feed and groom herself without pain. There is no question of IF with this cancer, it’s harshly a question of WHEN, with three months the average life expectancy from diagnosis.

Over the past weeks there have been lots of stressful ups and downs. Throughout, Stinky has often been by Angel’s side, keeping her company and taking the time to groom her.

In these last few days it became apparent that my thinning little girl was having great difficulty eating and that she was becoming more miserable than content. Yesterday we made our scheduled appointment with the oncologist, Dr. de Lorimier, a wonderful guy. It soon became clear what we’d been facing for a while. We were out of options and we both shed tears. He had nothing left in his arsenal; I could no longer feed her with a syringe as I had for the last two nights. I couldn’t help her when she came in and out of the kitchen, hungry, looking at me with hope that if I put a bowl down maybe this time she could eat the diluted food without pain—which she could not.

Last night was our last one together. I gave her meds and a little food in a syringe to keep her comfortable through the night. She had recently grown wary of the couch where I often administered her meds but, after about an hour of me sitting there, Angel pulled herself up and allowed me to pet her for quite a bit, purring all the while. At bedtime, she curled up beside me below her pillow and slept through the night. When I first woke in the morning, I invited her to lie under the blanket which she enthusiastically did, for the first time curling up really close on my belly and lower chest, purring all the while. I kept on hitting the snooze on the alarm for about 40 minutes. I really didn’t want our time together to ever end.

This afternoon at about 2:15 PM, my dear Angel took her last breath in this bizarro planet or dark hole or whatever it is. She was gently and compassionately assisted on her way by our dear vet, Dr. Gisele O’Brien, with Rusty standing by in the room. He was a great comfort and I thought it would be important for him to clearly know that Angel was gone.
                                                                                                                              
I do know that Angel’s was a life worth living and a life worth honouring. She brought us great joy and comfort and I hope we were able to provide her with the comfort and care and love that she needed and so much deserved.

We will miss our Bunny forever and right now it’s especially sad and there is huge void in our home. I will miss her climbing up on my chest and purring; I’ll miss her nuzzling my chin with her nose or with her head and convincing me to let her come under the blanket; I’ll miss hearing her tossing her toys; I’ll even miss feeding her twice per meal so that she wouldn’t eat too fast and throw up; and I’ll miss the trust she developed when, after years, she started readily coming out to visit with strangers or people she barely knew. And that’s just a little of what I’ll miss. Time will make it easier…hopefully.
                                                                                                                         
There are some who believe that there is an afterlife where they will be reunited with all their loved ones. I truly wish I were one of those people. But as long as I’m still breathing, I’ll cherish the memories of my sweet little girlie.

Lawrence Pinsky is a research/journalist for print, online media and television/film from Montreal, Quebec.

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