dontshopadopt

Sunflower

Looking fancy and cute on her red blanket.

Sunny is what we often called her; one of the names that was considered for Maple, before we decided we couldn’t let anyone else have her. We didn’t love that they wanted to name Maple, Sunny so that gave us just the little push we needed. But regardless, Sunflower needed us, and we didn’t care what her name was by the time we got to the point of taking her in, but we kept the name, nonetheless.

I received a call from this relative one day with an ultimatum. “You have one month to come get this cat or else!” Why was I responsible for this cat’s welfare? After all, I lived 13 hours away, had nothing to do with the adoption or raising of this kitten, but for some reason, I suppose since I worked with cats, I was now responsible for her life? Okay… Sunflower was, you guessed it, urinating outside of the litter box.

In her previous humans home with her housemate, Daisy.

Sunflower’s name came from our family theme, we have historically named our calico cats after flowers. My mom started this trend with one of my childhood cats, Pansy. Sunflower was a dilute or pastel calico, some people only know the black, orange and white, but they can be muted like this as well. So, the name offers a little hint as to where she came from and how she became ours, a blood relative who also embraced the flower naming theme gave up on her.

Problem was, I had zero intention of driving to Delaware anytime soon to go get this cat and of course, the time, effort and finances involved to bring her to me was not at all an option on the part of her current pet parent. I was still knee deep in my “save all the cats of the world” mode, so I devised a way, thanks to the offering of one of my very bestest friends! My friend Anna was going to be headed up to Delaware to visit her family and offered to pick Sunflower up and bring her home to me, to safety. What a very kind gesture indeed! Sunny sang the song of her people on the drive home; this was long before the days of premedicating with Gabapentin to decrease stress. She was set up in the only bathroom in Anna’s house in Athens, Georgia. Cozy! I drove to get her and brought her to the vet clinic where I was working at the time.

She was a classic "loaf" position kinda gal as you can see from all of these photos! But that is good, means she felt safe, relaxed and comfortable.

I’m sure you’ll be anxious to hear about her exam findings, yes? Why would this cat be avoiding the litter box? This cat that was given up at the age of two for “behavioral” elimination outside the box! Come to find out she had struvite crystals in her urine for starters, a very common urinary problem in cats. Combine genetics with the bottom of the barrel grocery store brand foods and this is what you get. This relative never heeded my advice and my attempts to educate were completely futile. One of their cats had previously died of a urinary obstruction, but they still keep feeding crappy foods and maintaining filthy litter boxes to this day. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Repeatedly doing the same thing expecting a different result. Perhaps a different result isn’t expected, they just don’t care? I don’t really know or understand it.

An example of the entrance to a litter box with her previous owner. Disgusting!

An example of the cleanliness, would you use it?

We got her urinary crystals under control by switching her over to foods to help them dissolve and then maintained her on healthy foods to prevent recurrence. She lived at the clinic for a while, I even thought that we might put her up for adoption, after all, we did not “need” another cat! But the urinary crystals were not the end of her medical problems, oh no! Sunny had severe gingivitis/stomatitis and had to have a dental with many extractions, which allowed her mouth and gums to heal up quite nicely. We noticed as she meandered around the clinic that she would “hug” the walls and often leaned, she had a funny gate. We discovered this was because she ALSO had bi-lateral luxating patella’s, which is just a fancy way of saying her knees dislocated. It’s a bit challenging to posture in a box of sand to eliminate when both of your knees are dislocating, it burns when you pee and basically you just hurt. But what do I know!

I decided at this point that adopting her was the best option, she just had a lot going on and would be hard to place. I took her for a surgical evaluation at my favorite orthopedic surgeons and the plan was to monitor to see if she worsened because she basically needed surgery on both of her knees. She integrated quite nicely into our family as she came from a multiple cat household and was socialized to other cats. She LOVED spending time on the screen porch, couldn’t get enough. She also used our BIG, CLEAN, litter boxes, all 13 of them, just fine. We set her up for success.

Overtime, I could see her knees worsening, you could watch them pop as she walked. I related entirely as I also have a dislocating knee and know just how scary and uncomfortable of a sensation this can be. After a lot of debate, we decided to do surgery on the worst knee. The cost of the surgery was a fortune for us at the time and my employer decided that she would pay for half of the cost of the surgery as my Christmas bonus that year! How nice was that!? No help from the relative that gave her up though, not that I expected it, but after all the effort put forth to help this cat, obtaining her, bringing her into my home, fixing her medical problems and now TWO huge surgeries…I’m pretty sure the mentality was that she was a lemon and should have just been euthanized. This was an incredibly sweet cat that deserved a chance at life, you do not just kill them when they inconvenience you. Sunflower deserved better.

She loved our screened porch.

Cuddling together. She was a very sweet cat.

In the "recovery bathroom".

I honestly do not recall, and the records are buried in the crawlspace (because apparently, I need to keep those but not reference them in times like these! Sheesh!) but I do not think she was even five years old when we said goodbye. I’m sure the stress of the knee surgery unleashed some evil demons early, it would have all happened the same way eventually, but I think the stress pushed things along. She was the first cat I had to make the decision to euthanize. The fur on her leg had not even fully grown back in by the time she had to go. It was very hard knowing how young she was, how hard her little life was and all she had been through. She was also totally in there mentally when it was time, but the mass was huge, and she stopped eating, so we had to do it.

I hope in the end that we helped her feel better, at least for a while. Most of all we gave her stability, a family and hopefully a really fun place to be a cat and thrive if even for just a little while.

We did our best for you Sunny Sunflowers. We will continue the theme in your honor when and if more calicos come our way.

So, we proceeded with the knee surgery, and she was on “bed rest” in the bathroom, not allowed to jump or climb. Our infamous bathroom of rehabilitation. Everyone gets to spend some time there at some point. Those who know me well know exactly what I am talking about, you’ve seen it and squeezed in there for a visit a time or two. She was recovering well, eating, pain was controlled and she enjoyed all of the extra attention and nursing care. Then, one day she started having really bloody stools. Everyone freaks out when they see blood in the stool, but blood is not diagnostic of anything in particular and typically means that the GI tract is simply irritated. Intestinal parasites and inflammation can cause blood in the stool. I did not freak out. But then the stools got softer, and she wasn’t eating great, and looked thinner. I was still super new to this profession compared to where I am now, but when I palpated her abdomen, I felt something funny, hard and knobby. Up to the clinic she went, and x-rays showed a mass in her abdomen. Knowing what I know now and seeing how very fast it grew, I’d place bets it was large cell lymphoma. So that was that, no more bathroom confinement to recover from the knee surgery, she needed to have as much fun as she could have, there wasn’t much time left.

Post op pic.

Love these pics on the sunflower throw blanket. So fitting!

Grant

Professional photo shoot! So glad we did this before we lost him.

Grant Parkus Malarkus is what we called him. Oh, he was a wild one!

Grant found us. The day after Thanksgiving one year (1999, I believe), Jake took Maple for a walk. He was cruisin’ up Grant Street when this black and tan dog came up to them both and started following them. He had a collar but no tags and was not neutered. Jake even tried to lose him, and he would disappear down a street or behind a house only to find them again. He followed Jake and Maple all the way home and sat outside our fence gate patiently waiting to be allowed in. Jake called me, I was at work, story of my life, and tells me he found this “huge dog”. Mind you, Jake grew up with Bassett Hounds and I grew up with a St. Bernard/Black Lab mix and a full-size Collie. I came to discover that Grant was not huge. But he had a HUGE personality!

I love this pic, the should have pitchforks.

Grant lifted his leg in the house, chased the cats, constantly wanted to hump and spar with Maple, he was BUSY! We quickly found his niche, agility! In addition to basic obedience, we always trained our dogs in advanced obedience which included off leash commands, but Grant was the first to try agility and he was a natural. We didn’t seek out competitions, it was more just for fun and to wear him out. He did win a prize once; at a fundraising gig they had a best trick contest, and he could easily jump the police barricades like a gazelle! The crowd was so impressed, I’m sure the Atlanta police were impressed that we snagged one of their barricades for the contest, oh well.

Full sized soccer balls were a favorite toy.

Daddy and Grant at obedience class.

Grant was a people pleaser. He was always trying so hard to do the right thing but in the process was annoying to most of our friends and family. He was that dog that dropped the slobbery ball in your lap, licked you and pawed at you for attention, but he was also a cuddler and loved nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you like a little deer fawn. It was always remarkable how small he could make his 80-pound self. After a lot of training and home modifications to help meet the cat’s needs vertically, he achieved his canine good citizenship and even cuddled with the cats, and they groomed him.

Dark, but he enjoyed the slide at the playground!

Cuddling with Mammas.

Grant, Kodiak and Lefty (in the background).

Cuddling with charcoal.

Clearly Grant's behavior improved around he cats and he thought they were pillows!

Cuddling with Shadow.

When Yukon came along, the purebred German Shepard, we felt Grant and Maple needed some fancy titles too. So, Grant became our “Georgian Rodent Tracker” and Maple our “Scandinavian Rabbit Hound”! We thought these were quite clever!

Grant was a bold dog. He went nuts when Jake would skate in the driveway and even jumped the fence to join him. He would pick the skateboard up in his mouth and carry it like a bone! He even tried to battle with the lawnmower. It did not scare him when it was on and when it was off, he would pick it up by one of the wheels and drag it around the yard! I’m telling you; this dog had some energy!

Old skool picnic table hopping, Grant!

Getting...

the skateboard.

Our little "Thrasher"

He lived hard and died young, at the age of 9 years he met the same fate that multiple of our subsequent dogs would succumb to later in life. Fine one minute gone the next is the story of the ruptured splenic mass. Went for his usual walked the day he died, reached up to the kitchen sink to grab an empty can of cat food and lick out its contents and then he was suddenly acutely lethargic. We rushed him to the ER and did the surgery despite many warnings it would be futile. He only made it 9 days post op.

So astute!

Favorite, squeaky red ball still sits on his urn to this day.

The whole pack. They were quite the trio.

We brought him home to say goodbye. First, I took him to the stone bridge that he routinely jumped on in Grant Park so he could see it one last time. Then, when we got back home, he jumped out of the car on his own despite a painful abdomen filling with blood, lifted his leg one last time on the deck railing and walked right up the stairs, laid down on his bed and there he rested. We were in awe of his strength. We have come to learn that splenic cancer is quite common in large and giant breed dogs and since it often takes them so young, they are still quite strong and able-bodied when afflicted. It impressed us, nonetheless. We tried to keep him from peeing on inappropriate things his whole life but marking the deck railing as his last hurrah was absolutely perfect. Aptly so, his ID tag was a fire hydrant! The biggest, boldest, and naughtiest leave the biggest holes.

Shaking paws, with his hydrant tag, goodbye Grant.

Mr. Wallace (OG-Wally)

Wallace looking terrified during the professional photo shoot.

Mr. Wallace came to us under some pretty challenging circumstances. This story is a delicate one to tell.

I will start by saying that not everyone in this profession is capable of rescuing and managing a lot of cats/animals. I sit here and share all of these animals with you, boasting about how many we cared for at one time and how great their lives were, how clean our home was and still is, how great the medical care that they have all received has been. And it is all true, we practice what we preach here. But the fact of the matter is, not everyone is capable. Many people do not have the time (or won’t make the time), many do not have any help and are just one person and, over time, caring for double digits of pets can become physically and emotionally exhausting, and some people just check out. They might decide to travel, they may rehome their pets, they may just stop upholding the standards of care the pets had been accustomed to, they may just check out altogether, which is what Wally’s human did.

Wally’s story began when I was asked to pet sit for a co-worker. This was 20+ years ago now, so things were a bit “looser”. I was handed a key and a note with a few scribbled down instructions. That’s it! The end (You should see my pet sitting notes-I am like a crazy person). After work one October night, off I went for my first visit to this house. Upon arrival, nothing super crazy, unkempt yard, dingy carport type area, an old bungalow that needed fixing up. Inside was a different and much more alarming situation, no working lights, none, zero. It was dark, mind you. I had never been there before, I had no idea where anything was, I was completely at a loss. This was long before cell phone flashlights. I had to keep the refrigerator door open for light. It was a bit frightening to say the least, it felt like I was in a scary Halloween movie, and I would soon be fighting for my life. Seriously.

There was no food in the fridge, the oven was full of picture frames and prints, there were stacks of unopened gifts on the dining room table, and many other strange details I will not disclose. Most sadly, when I made it out to an area, I’m not quite sure what to call it, kind of like a finished carport recreation room, there was some light from the streetlights coming through the windows. I saw a 20-pound bag Science Diet Light dry cat food; the bottom corner of the bag had been chewed through and there were only a few pieces of kibble scattered around on the floor. There was some food in the few bowls I could locate but clearly, I needed to come back with supplies. I could not find any other food; I could not find a can opener or where the litter boxes where. I called Jake in tears, I was horrified, this was a colleague for Christ’s sake. I filled the water bowls that I was able to locate and left to come back the next day, with some light bulbs!!!!!

So handsome!

Multiple staff accompanied me back to the house the next day. It was really something to see the home in daylight. It did not really look as if anyone lived there, but 15 cats did, and they needed our help. Little did I know when I took this pet sitting gig that this would basically my first hoarding case. We scooped all the boxes and gave food and water and tried to put eyes on everyone, but the cats were so terrified that all of these strangers were in their home, they were tough to locate.

On the third day, we made the decision to confiscate the cats and bring them back to the vet clinic to provide medical care and safe haven while we figured out what the hell we were going to do. Upon arrival at the clinic we set everyone up in boarding cages, cats that we knew were friends we boarded together so they could have that comfort and we went through the list of patients in the medical record to be sure we got everyone. But someone was missing…we had turned that house all kinds of upside down catching these cats, but we had to go back. Wally was the missing cat, we finally found him up inside a box spring in what was possibly a guest bedroom. Needless to say, the whole ordeal was traumatic for all involved and went on far beyond the scope of this story.

Cat's cats NEED to live with other cats!

Wally grew up with dogs and liked them too!

So, long story long, Wally, became Mr. Wallace to us! And he lived under furniture in our home for YEARS. He loved the other cats, Charcoal was his absolute best friend, he even liked the dogs. For years we never saw him use a litter box, almost never saw him eat, we rarely touched him except for monthly heartworm prevention and nail trims. This was fine with us, he was safe.

Wally was clearly a very shy, poorly socialized cat. He was a cat’s cat and not interested in humans so much. Eventually these cats were all released from their boarding cages and lived in the clinic until they found homes, Wally lived under the cages. He was never seen and impossible to show to adopters. Jake came to meet him and well, he looked at a white blob of fur under the cages. There were a few reasons I was drawn to Wally. First, it is no secret I adore “the Meezers” (Siamese cats for those unfamiliar with the term), we didn’t have a flame point after all, Wally was like completing our set! Ha! But obviously, it was his story and his trauma that really tugged at me. Having been to the house and helped to rescue him myself really connected us, at least as a human, I do realize that Wally could’ve cared less about me. I felt that even if he got adopted, he would likely be adopted because he was pretty and then returned because he was so timid. See how I could twist and justify how they needed me? Many of you are not at all blind to this, I know it! We had a house full of cats, we did not “need” another cat, but he would be happy there, have feline friends and zero expectation from us to be something he was not.

He had a lot of friends!

Naughty, naughty! Someone found the fireplace.

Oh, dear, Mr. Wallace.

There is no miraculous “and then one day…” tale to tell. The day he found the fireplace proved stressful as that resulted in a surprise bath, further reinforcing his idea to steer clear of humans! He just very gradually came out of his shell and learned to trust us. He eventually even made his way to the sofa! It was AWESOME. Sadly, we waited many years for this so we didn’t get to cuddle and enjoy each other for as long as we would have liked.

At the surgeons to see what was wrong.

He developed a very rare and weird kidney issue. One day I saw him urinate on the floor and it looked like he peed dried coffee grounds!!! Turns out, it was dried blood coming from his kidneys. These particles were clumping together and obstructing his ability to urinate. It was super weird. We have never seen anything like it before or since, but Wallace could not pee! At the age of 17 he ended up having a perineal urethrostomy, (a P/U surgery), which basically means he had his penis removed and was turned into a lady so he could pee! He surprisingly held steady for quite some time post op, kidney disease and subsequent anemia finally got him.

His urine with the dried blood!

Lip Lickin' good!

Best friends, Charcoal was with him in his last moments.

Fiercely hunting catnip stuffed mice.

Doing tricks!

Mr. Wallace often looked like he should have top hat and cane. To us, he looked like Mr. Peanut from the Planters nuts commercial. He was just precious. He was so very sophisticated looking. He was also a very polite beggar. He even started to allow guests to interact with him in his senior years and would gently pull their arm towards him requesting a bit of cheese! Just like Wallace from Wallace and Grommit, Wally liked cheese! So cute.

I am very grateful that Jake and I are capable and able bodied to do what we have done and to have saved all of those we have saved. Together we have fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams which is not something everyone gets to say.

Politely begging for cheese!

Mr. Wallace

Wally and Simon, surprise cuddle session under the foot stool.

Lefty

The story of Lefty’s injuries, strife, rescue, and life after tragedy is no more unique or special than the stories of so many other cats you have heard about. In fact, his is an all too common tale. But Lefty was special to me, to us, to this family. He helped shape me into the person I am today and contributed to all that I have done for cats since meeting him, so to me, his is a special tale worth sharing.

I was two months and three days into my dream job as a vet tech at a cat-only veterinary practice when Lefty showed up. The place was no stranger to hardships, throwaways, and lost souls. As someone who immersed myself in horrific animal suffering for most of my teenage life, I was surprised that any of it phased me. But reading about the horrors of factory farming in a book is different than living the horrors every day. Seeing the broken and unwanted come through our doors, day after day, truly makes you question humanity and your role in it.

One of our clients worked in real estate and knew the doctor who owned the clinic. She came in on a hot Thursday afternoon in July, looking a bit frantic. While she was showing a house, she had noticed a cat in the ditch out front. The animal, who had presumably been hit by a car, was injured. He had a broken leg and couldn’t walk. As the client tried to approach the hurt cat, a neighbor came out and said, “Oh yeah, he has been there for about two weeks. We’ve been feeding him.”

“They’ve been feeding him?!” I thought. WTF?

All tucked into bed.

Even the handicapped can be naughty!

The owner of the practice dropped everything and went into rescue mode. When these situations came up, it was like there was a phone booth in her office where she could change into her superhero cape. It was one of her most redeeming qualities. She was a nightmare to work for, but when it came to animals, she did the right thing. With towels, a net, and euthanasia solution, she and the real estate agent left.

“What a shitty way to die,” I thought. “Smacked by a car, left to rot in a ditch where people brought food but did nothing else to help, then caught in a net and euthanized after surviving so much.” He was likely feral, which meant he had no experience with humans. His injuries and likely infection were far beyond repair. It was the right thing to do. But I hated it. I hated it.

When they got back to the clinic, it was late. Almost everyone had gone, but I stayed. They rushed into the surgery prep area along with the other doctor on staff. I am not sure what prompted her to try to save this little guy — other than that she tried to save every animal. I think the fact that she was able to get him with towels and her hands without using the net contributed to his being saved instead of euthanized. He was in terrible shape. Regardless, when she unwrapped the towel, I was in love!

Lefty, Simon, Soren and Hitch!

Lefty, blepping before blepping was cool.

Lefty rocked the "side blep" no teeth so...

Blepping with his friends!

When I first saw him — oh, the smell! There was quite an odor. The cat’s left foot was as flat and round as a dollar pancake or coaster, just squished. His whole leg was pulverized. We took x-rays. The x-ray showed completely shattered, pulverized bone. The finest surgeon with all of the pins and screws in the world would not have been able to fix that leg.

Some might call what happened next appreciation, and that might have been part of it. It might also have been shock, fear, or delirium. I don’t really care what we call it, but that freaking cat purred and head-butted through the rads, through the blood draw, through the oral deworming medication. At that point, we were making room on the schedule for an amputation and setting up a cage for him. Euthanizing, we were not!

I turned to the practice owner and said, “Thank you. This is what I have always wanted to do. This is why I wanted to work here.”

Her reply: “What do you want to name him?”

“Lefty!” I said, without hesitation. We were about to amputate his left leg, so I found some humor in the name, and so did everyone else. Anyone who spends their days dealing with despair and tragedy will tell you how important humor is. So Lefty it was!

He was scheduled for surgery Monday morning. It seems terrible to think he had to live through the weekend with that leg, but honestly, Lefty taught me the first of many lessons on how unphased animals can be by their injuries — and also the magic of Buprenorphine. He spent the weekend as high as a kite on pain meds while we focused on getting some good nutrition in him and the fleas off of him. It was after all, July in Georgia, and we love our parasites down here.

Lefty’s left leg amputation went off without a hitch. Another lesson I learned from Lefty (there were many) was that animals could not care less when you lop off a limb. Usually, the limb is causing them pain and impeding their movement, so they’re happy to get rid of it. They do not have to live with the societal stigmas that humans do, so they don’t care if they look funny and they don’t worry about being laughed at or made fun of. They just live. I also learned that for cats, three legs are all they need. The fourth leg is extra.

Forty-five minutes after waking up from anesthesia, that cat bolted right past me as I was trying to put food, water, and litter into his cage. He tore around the treatment room. Now, many years into the profession, I know that was not a huge deal, but to green olé me — just two months into the job — this cat was truly amazing. And he was. He was Lefty after all!

In the months that followed, I took it upon myself to truly socialize him and make him like people so he could become adoptable. He was sweet, but the more we got to know him, the more we saw how skittish and unsocialized he really was. (Little did I know that once I took on such a task, I could certainly never adopt him out.)

A very blurry photo of Lefty post op.

At the clinic together.

No stranger to car rides and vet visits!

I spent much of my days working with Lefty in a pouch strapped to my chest — a cat papoose. Lunch was a special time for us. Because I worked such a long day, I got a two-hour lunch break. I would go into the surgical room where Lefty liked to spend his days and sleep with him on a comforter on the floor. We cuddled and “socialized.” He would smash the side of his face, which he couldn’t groom because of his missing leg, into my chin to scratch his gooey, runny eye (also the result of being hit by a car). It was so gross and so awesome and I loved it so much.

Lefty was fast as a whip. Once he became more outgoing, we allowed him to have free run of the place. I loved the sound of his run as he flew around the clinic: a fast badump, badump, badump. He annoyed the x-ray service guy by “helping” to fill the chemicals. Fittingly, he always found the “L” marker and batted it around, never the “R.” I’ll admit that I snagged that “L” when I left the job. We had two… who was going to care? Lefty needed it for his scrapbook! It’s funny that after all of his injuries, he spent so much of his time in the surgery and x-ray rooms.

Lefty & Vader, matching solid black tripods!

Lefty cuddling with Wick, he had a lot of friends!

I met Lefty in July 1999 and by December, he was home with me for Christmas. He was a solid black domestic shorthair tripod. People are not exactly beating down doors to adopt cats like Leftypants. Besides, I had a really hard time saving and rehabilitating animals and then adopting them out to what I learned was one irresponsible pet owner after another. For cats I got attached to or had a hand in helping, I decided that no one else was good enough to raise them. When I started the job in May 1999, I had five cats. The addition of Lefty in December 1999 made 14 (if I am remembering correctly). Saving the world, one cat at a time. That still hasn’t changed.

I did everything wrong when I brought him home. I was so excited, and he was so easygoing, I thought, “What the hell?” and just opened the carrier door. Off he went, straight to the squishiest, most comfy thing in the room: the couch. He jumped right up on it and stayed there for years to come. He deserved a sofa and bed. They all do. I couldn’t let him live life in the clinic with all of its hard surfaces. He needed the comforts of a home.

Hanging out with brother, Vader. #handicapables

Pile O Cats! Lefty had friends!

He was a tripod but he still enjoyed vertical space, climbing the treehouse, running around the cat runs in the ceiling of the screen porch. He got along with all of the other cats and dogs; he was kind of like Switzerland in that way. He foraged and truly embraced his new home. You could feel his appreciation and gratitude. He and I were always very close. We had a thing, from day one.

So how did he end up being called “Leftypants”? Shortly before he came along, I had adopted Mammas and her four kittens, including one little tortie who we named Wiccas. When Wiccas was tiny, she had a little flame of tortie-ness up her nose (that’s how she got her name… “wick” like a candle) and was mostly black with some little tortie pants, so we called her “tortie pants.” When I met Lefty, the “pants” part just stuck and the nickname was born. I would scream it all over the practice and later the house and Lefty would come running. Later, he would simply be referred to as “Pants.”

One of the things I most love to share about Pants is how much he LOVED being vacuumed and blow-dried. Being a front-leg amputee can get a little messy; sometimes, especially as an old man, he would face plant in the litter box. Whether he’d done that or not, he got bathed about twice a year for his whole life because he just needed the help. He hated the bath but loved the blow dry. He would purr and purr and stretch out his little legs and spread his toes. It was so cute! He loved being vacuumed even better than being blow dried because he didn’t have to endure the bath beforehand. You could vacuum any part of Lefty, even his chin, head, and ears. He couldn’t get enough, and in his younger years, he would literally chase me from room to room as I vacuumed.

Leftypants enjoying being blown dry after a bath.

Appreciative jowl rub!

All clean!

It was probably a good thing that he ended up being the pet of a vet tech. He was a bit of a mess. He had eosinophilic granulomas under his tongue that resulted in multiple biopsies and the removal of a portion of his tongue. He had hideous Stomatitis and ended up having all of his teeth extracted by age 11. (In hindsight, I should have done that even sooner.) He had a peculiar year-long fungal infection that caused a hole to blow open in the side of his neck. Dye studies, cytology, and three biopsies left us treating the fungal infection for three months before the wound finally closed. We fixed him yet again.

Then came his senior years. I did my very best to help make sure old age didn’t slow him down, but that’s when I learned that the fourth leg is not extra. When a cat is really old, it’s very helpful if they have all of their limbs.

The open hole on the side of his neck that took over a year to close.

Strollers provide great enrichment for seniors & handicapped cats!

Soaking up sun on old joints.

I started preventative care early. By age eight, he was getting glucosamine and chondroitin supplements followed by Omega 3s. I later added antioxidants and acupuncture. Further down the road, we added injectable glucosamine, steroids, and pain meds. He had kidney disease and heart disease, but we managed it all.

Lefty was still foraging for his own dry food until just a few months before he left us. We built ramps to give him the independence to get onto the sofas and furniture on his own. We created a sidewalk of bathmats through our house during his last year of life to make it easier for him to navigate the hardwood floors. We brought him handfuls of food 100 times a day, knowing that foraging alone was not enough. He never liked canned food. We hydrated and bathed him (he still loved that blow dryer) and tried to help him maintain as much dignity as possible, all while still holding on because it did not seem like he was ready to go. He would tell us. A few times, I thought he was trying to leave us, but he would rally and bounce back, so we kept maintaining. I truly thought I would just have to call it one day, that the time would come when I was not able to watch him struggle any longer, that I would just have to let him go eventually. While we kept him clean and fed and as pain-free as possible, it hurt to watch him struggle, but he was so persistent. He tried so hard, how could I take that away?

So content to just check out the big world outside.

One day, I left town for an obligation. If I had thought he would not have made it until I came back, I would never have gone. Anyone who knows me, knows that. I thought he was going to keep hanging on until I decided for both of us. All of his most recent rechecks had shown nothing but stability or improvement, so I left feeling confident that I would see him again. I didn’t even say goodbye. It was more of a “see you later, Pants!” Then my worst nightmare came true. The cat I had had the longest to date, the one who had been with me from the time he was nine months old until he was 17 years old left me, and I wasn’t there to see him off, to say goodbye, or to help ease him away. Instead, I was miles away on a trip that I will forever regret. I cannot go back, but I will always wonder how things might have been different.

I will always remember his little toothless, gummy scream when we brought him handfuls of kibble. The way he would inch toward us reaching for us until we got down to his level because he didn’t have the oomph to actually get up. The way he only liked to play with the stick part of the Feline Flyer and could not care less about the toy itself. He was a funny cat who gave us so many memories.

Lefty was one of the toughest cats I have ever known, so broken yet so resilient. He is why I do what I do, why I strive so hard, why I always try… because you just never know. You have to give these animals a chance because their ability to heal, overcome, forgive, and trust is beyond remarkable.

Do, do, do, do… PANTS! You will always be my little super hero, with your cape flying behind you, buddy.