Tigers could be gone from the wild in as little as a dozen years, new research shows. How very sad and what shame we should feel.
22 November 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Seattle, Grief, & Love
As I begin this post, I have no idea what I am going to say. This is odd for me. It will probably be part tribute, part catharsis. Maybe the two are one in the same?
My beloved cat Seattle is dead. There is a hole in my heart made larger because of its match in the heart of my wife. Seattle's sister Honor, who had never been apart from her, has had a week of loss largely mimicking our own. At first, she spent time searching our home over and over, looking for her life-long partner. Although it still seems that she knows that all is not right, not well, she is adapting. I hope that my wife and I can find the same resolve and achieve the same outcome.
Seattle's loss was sudden and perhaps the wound is more severe because of this. When we lost our previous cat Ezri, it was at the end of long decline. I loved Ezri no less than I did Seattle, but her loss was different -- bitter, horrible, but different and perhaps less wounding. The wrenching, out-of-the-blue nature of this experience is the difference.
Early on Halloween, my wife woke me with the news that she thought that Seattle had hurt her leg. Indeed, she was putting no weight on the right-front limb and seemed unable to bend it at its mid-joint. We were at our regional animal hospital within thirty minutes and initially, the doctor also thought that a broken bone would be the cause of the distress. Images taken of the limb, however, showed nothing amiss with the bones of the leg or shoulder. However, the images caught Seattle's heart as well and it was this organ that I assumed to be so strong that proved her undoing.
Her heart was at least twice the size that it should have been, likely the result of an unknown congenital defect. One chamber of the heart was far too large and instead of pumping blood as it should have been, much of the blood was being "churned like fluid in a washing machine" instead of moving on through the body easily and in a normal rhythm. Moreover, her heart had "spit out" a clot, which had found its way to her leg, and blocked the flow of blood to the limb. Drug therapy -- Plavix -- proved unsuccessful and circulation was never reestablished to her leg.
By the next morning, she suffered respiratory arrest. Her lungs filled with fluid, perhaps due to another clot. Much of this fluid was removed, but there was great fear that whether or not this instance was caused by a clot or not, her lungs would continue to be a danger, both of death and of pain. And her heart would one day kill her no matter whether we could save her in the short run. She might have lived two days or two weeks. Could she have lived two months? Our doctors were very compassionate and gave us all of the information necessary to make a decision about her care and ending her life. Her remaining natural life would have been one of pain. Her too-early death was certain. And thus, we chose the only rational course of action available to us. God help me. She died in our arms. Tears were in my eyes. Love was in my heart. "I'm sorry" was on my lips.
A hole is in my heart.
I was rereading what I wrote when Seattle and her sister became part of our family. Two lines had me wondering at how times can change. About Honor, I wrote: Like her namesake, she is self-assured and feisty. About Seattle, I said: Seattle, too, has her own personality and while not quite as outgoing as her sister, she is inquisitive and playful. As the kittens grew and we moved from New Mexico to Massachusetts, Honor became our timid girl, while Seattle became a terror! I don't recall ever seeing Seattle scared of anything new. People, dogs, appliances... you name it, she saw the world as Veni Vedi Vicci. She was a marvel to watch and a joy to be around. And around me, she always was.
I had the great fortune to have Seattle bond with me as no other cat has before. When I was home, we were always together. She followed me from room to room to room to room... She was on my lap. She was on my desk. She was under my legs. She slept under the covers with her head poking out and tucked onto my left shoulder. I played every video game with her watching. I read every book with the pages between two ears. She was always there. And because of this, I'm feeling the loss of her presence like and anvil tied to the back of my head. My emotions just feel heavy.
A hole is in my heart.
It has now been two weeks since I last added to this writing. I found myself unable to return and while my grief is becoming easier to bear, I am still struggling mightily with Seattle’s loss. I’m sure that many cannot understand this sorrow and its seemingly ever-present nature. However, I have liked 100% of the cats that I have met more than 99.99999999…% of the people who have crossed my path. When one of these cats has become family, well, you either understand or you don’t.
Seattle is gone. Her sister and my wife remain, shining like the sun and being salves for my wounds. I am so, so thankful for the help that they both are providing me.
I love you Seattle, still and forever. Now, there is a hole in my heart. Love and fond memories will fill that hole. And for the rest of my days, you will be a part of me, loved, treasured, and remembered. Thank God or fate or chance for bringing us together. Thank you for your devotion. Thank you for your spirit. Thank you for being you.
I love you Seattle, still and forever.
22 November 2010
.
My beloved cat Seattle is dead. There is a hole in my heart made larger because of its match in the heart of my wife. Seattle's sister Honor, who had never been apart from her, has had a week of loss largely mimicking our own. At first, she spent time searching our home over and over, looking for her life-long partner. Although it still seems that she knows that all is not right, not well, she is adapting. I hope that my wife and I can find the same resolve and achieve the same outcome.
Seattle's loss was sudden and perhaps the wound is more severe because of this. When we lost our previous cat Ezri, it was at the end of long decline. I loved Ezri no less than I did Seattle, but her loss was different -- bitter, horrible, but different and perhaps less wounding. The wrenching, out-of-the-blue nature of this experience is the difference.
Early on Halloween, my wife woke me with the news that she thought that Seattle had hurt her leg. Indeed, she was putting no weight on the right-front limb and seemed unable to bend it at its mid-joint. We were at our regional animal hospital within thirty minutes and initially, the doctor also thought that a broken bone would be the cause of the distress. Images taken of the limb, however, showed nothing amiss with the bones of the leg or shoulder. However, the images caught Seattle's heart as well and it was this organ that I assumed to be so strong that proved her undoing.
Her heart was at least twice the size that it should have been, likely the result of an unknown congenital defect. One chamber of the heart was far too large and instead of pumping blood as it should have been, much of the blood was being "churned like fluid in a washing machine" instead of moving on through the body easily and in a normal rhythm. Moreover, her heart had "spit out" a clot, which had found its way to her leg, and blocked the flow of blood to the limb. Drug therapy -- Plavix -- proved unsuccessful and circulation was never reestablished to her leg.
By the next morning, she suffered respiratory arrest. Her lungs filled with fluid, perhaps due to another clot. Much of this fluid was removed, but there was great fear that whether or not this instance was caused by a clot or not, her lungs would continue to be a danger, both of death and of pain. And her heart would one day kill her no matter whether we could save her in the short run. She might have lived two days or two weeks. Could she have lived two months? Our doctors were very compassionate and gave us all of the information necessary to make a decision about her care and ending her life. Her remaining natural life would have been one of pain. Her too-early death was certain. And thus, we chose the only rational course of action available to us. God help me. She died in our arms. Tears were in my eyes. Love was in my heart. "I'm sorry" was on my lips.
A hole is in my heart.
I was rereading what I wrote when Seattle and her sister became part of our family. Two lines had me wondering at how times can change. About Honor, I wrote: Like her namesake, she is self-assured and feisty. About Seattle, I said: Seattle, too, has her own personality and while not quite as outgoing as her sister, she is inquisitive and playful. As the kittens grew and we moved from New Mexico to Massachusetts, Honor became our timid girl, while Seattle became a terror! I don't recall ever seeing Seattle scared of anything new. People, dogs, appliances... you name it, she saw the world as Veni Vedi Vicci. She was a marvel to watch and a joy to be around. And around me, she always was.
I had the great fortune to have Seattle bond with me as no other cat has before. When I was home, we were always together. She followed me from room to room to room to room... She was on my lap. She was on my desk. She was under my legs. She slept under the covers with her head poking out and tucked onto my left shoulder. I played every video game with her watching. I read every book with the pages between two ears. She was always there. And because of this, I'm feeling the loss of her presence like and anvil tied to the back of my head. My emotions just feel heavy.
A hole is in my heart.
It has now been two weeks since I last added to this writing. I found myself unable to return and while my grief is becoming easier to bear, I am still struggling mightily with Seattle’s loss. I’m sure that many cannot understand this sorrow and its seemingly ever-present nature. However, I have liked 100% of the cats that I have met more than 99.99999999…% of the people who have crossed my path. When one of these cats has become family, well, you either understand or you don’t.
Seattle is gone. Her sister and my wife remain, shining like the sun and being salves for my wounds. I am so, so thankful for the help that they both are providing me.
I love you Seattle, still and forever. Now, there is a hole in my heart. Love and fond memories will fill that hole. And for the rest of my days, you will be a part of me, loved, treasured, and remembered. Thank God or fate or chance for bringing us together. Thank you for your devotion. Thank you for your spirit. Thank you for being you.
I love you Seattle, still and forever.
22 November 2010
.
Friday, November 12, 2010
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