We had to let go of our 19 year old Calico, Penny Lane, this morning, May 7, 2001. She was too ill this time and had begun the first stages of kidney failure. We had adopted her in Houston, Texas in 1983, when she was just a year old, so to say we'll miss her is the understatement of the year!
She was a very good friend, always a lady, and the Queen of our gang. She leaves behind 18 year old P-Nut, 12 year old Popkorn, and 7 year old Mr. Dude. And of course, us.
I will miss her most at night when she isn't there to knead my hair and lay her paw on my shoulder while we sleep.
I will see her in the stars that softly shine at night;
and in the diamond glints on snow;
I will cherish her forever;
and I will always miss her so.
In memory of Penny Lane Muster: 1982 - 2001
Goldie - The Prince of Cats
John Zeller
Born June 1, 1985 Became an AngelKitty May 11, 2001
He was only a cat. Just a cat. An orange tabby cat. An orphan cat. An abandoned cat thrown away like so much trash. Someone lost a treasure. One special day I found this precious creature all alone and crying for his mother near where I lived. I discovered gold. I had recently lost another wonderful cat. She disappeared suddenly and I was truly devastated. I mourned her loss for weeks. Mourned until the day I found Goldie crying and alone. From that day forward my heart began to heal. Goldie rapidly wound his way into my heart.
Goldie was very easy to love and he had so much love to give in return. He thought he was the center of the universe and I thought so too. He accepted other cats into our household without a fuss. Completely trusting and fearless, I worried for his safety when he would tease the neighbor’s dogs. Children would come to my door asking to see Goldie. Friends would ask about him before inquiring about my well being. The veterinary clinic would occasionally call just to see how he was doing. He was a tiger and a kitten. An angel and at times a little devil too. I loved him dearly and always will.
He will live in my heart forever. Solid gold...24 karat gold...the most valued treasure of all, especially by me.
Goodbye my darling boy...until we meet again at Rainbow Bridge. I love you.
Tippie
Loved by Christine Hartley
Born October, 1991 Became an AngelKitty April 4, 2001
As you can see by Tippie's expression, she had quite an attitude, but she was very lovable. We had been together for 10 years; my sister found her in a fast food parking lot when Tippie was about 8 weeks old.
She'd put up with a lot since my husband is in the Navy and we move around a lot. We also have three young children.
For the past 6 years we have been treating her for dialated cardiomyopathy; about 2 months ago she developed Aortic Thromboembolism. The first clot she threw we were able to treat, but the second we could not. She had paralysis in her hindquarters, was in congestive heart failure, and had lost bowel and urinary function. I woke up on Wednesday morning to find her like this. By the time I got her to the vet an hour later she was in excrutiating pain. The vet said what I had to do.
That is the hardest thing to hear and I will miss her for the rest of my life. I held her while they did this and talked to her and have never cried so hard in my life. She just quietly slipped away.
I miss her terribly, my heart still breaks every day. I will miss the nights while my husband is away and the children are sleeping. Tippie would jump in my lap or plop down on my feet. She always seemed to know when I needed her.
She was my beautiful baby girl. I know she's waiting for me.
I miss you so. You have my heart always. I love you, Tippie.
I first arrived in Austin, Texas in 1987, by way of Chicago. The following year, I decided to rent a house in the charming Hyde Park area of town. Since I have been a cat lover my entire life, it was not a problem when the current tenant told me the house came with a cat. With great interest, I asked where he was, and the tenant escorted me to the back porch. There, sleeping on the middle step was the most massive and magnificent cat I have ever seen. It was love at first sight.
The cat was two years old, with a dense gray and brown coat, and freakishly large paws that made him look like an escapee from the island of Dr. Moreau. One could easily mistake this gentle giant for a wild bobcat or a raccoon, as did many frightened people. Only months later did I learn that he was a Maine Coon, a particularly large, gorgeous, and intelligent breed of cat whose origins are surrounded by fascinating myths and folklore.
He was named after Theodosius, the last emperor of a united Roman empire, a rather violent fellow intolerant of any religious preference but orthodox Christianity. I cannot take blame for this abominable name (although he certainly carried the air of a proud tyrant), but fortunately he also had a nickname, "Dos," appropriate enough since he was big enough for two cats. For the next 13 years, Dos was my constant companion, my confidant, my shadow. Through every book I have written, Dos was always there with me, lying on
stacks of papers, helping me get through the drudgery.
I soon learned how intelligent and special he was within the first week of my privilege to be his caretaker. One day, after walking a couple of blocks to the bus stop, I noticed that Dos had followed me the entire way, and I had to turn around and lock him in the house. Otherwise, he was determined to ride with me on the bus. Soon, I realized that following me down the street was a habit with Dos, and so every night after midnight we adopted the custom of taking a long walk together through the town, with no dog ever able to intimidate him. Sometimes during the day, to the delight of all onlookers, we would actually jog together for a block or two until one of us tired.
Dos had lots of quirky habits, like quacking instead of meowing, drinking out of the bathtub, sleeping on his back with all four paws extended in the air, and purposely knocking keys and books off my desk at night until I let him go outside (I observed him doing this many times at 3 or 4 a.m. as I pretended to be asleep). I also noticed how much he liked to ride in the car, and he put his paws up on the dashboard to look out the window excitedly. Dos had this act down way before "Toons," the cat from Saturday Night Live. Unlike most cats, Dos liked to ride in the car for relaxation, and I often took him with me on errands around town. In size, intelligence and many habits, Dos was like a dog (or Roman emperor), enough to make me wonder about reincarnation.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Dos played a major role in my dating life as a happily single bachelor. For whenever I spoke to women about him, they always wanted to meet him and I never had to say, "So, want to go back to my place to listen to some music?" Like an overprotective parent, Dos
always could sort out the good from the bad, and any prospective girlfriend both had to receive his approval and to absolutely adore him (and yes, sometimes he got the bulk of attention and affection!). One unfortunate
visitor was greeted with a roaring hiss. As always, Dos was right; that one just didn't work out.
When I finished my PhD and took a job at the University of Texas, El Paso, Dos drove with me the whole way, sitting in the front seat of a clunky U-Haul van. He never uttered a quack, but after an hour or so knew it was no ordinary ride and that we were leaving Austin for good. We moved so many times together, dislocation had become routine, and he always excitedly explored his new surroundings. Dos never strayed far from home base unless we were walking together. Whenever he was AWOL, a quick whistle always brought him into sight within 15 seconds.
This summer Dos turned 15. During the last two years, he began to move a little more slowly, ambling ponderously across the landscape like a Brontosaurus. Still, I thought this King of Beasts would last forever and outlive me.
Yet with a horrible, unexpected suddenness, my delusion was shattered. A couple of months ago, I noticed he was gasping for breath. I rushed him to the vet and got the terrible news: Dos was seriously sick with cancerous tumors in his lungs. I brought him home, which became a hospice, and we began to make our final peace and loving gestures with each other. Two weeks ago, Dos left the world. He died on the vet's table, his head cradled in my hands, fighting for the breath his weak body could no longer give him.
Through the years, I have lost many animals and family members, but oddly enough, I have never seen anything living die. To watch the being I loved most, my best friend in the whole world, take his last breath right before me, to hear the death rattle in his lungs, to see him writhe and struggle for a life he was not ready to give up, was unbearably painful. I could not stop the torrent of tears as I hugged his lifeless body in my arms and kissed his massive head.
Only a fellow animal lover could make sense of the claim that an animal -- not a human -- could be one's best friend. After all, skeptics would say, Dos didn't talk to me, didn't tell me he loved me, never thanked me for anything I ever did. How naively, myopically wrong. Animals do not need human language to communicate to us and express their deep love and appreciation; they do just fine with sounds, gestures, and unfathomably deep eyes. In fact, they do better, since they never lie and their faithfulness is unfailing.
When my human friends who understood what I was going through expressed sympathies over my loss, I replied, "Dos was family -- only closer." Grief over the loss of a beloved animal can be deeper than that over a friend or family member, since typically we spend more time with our animals and our love for them is more pure and unconditional. I never could understand what Gandhi and others meant when they spoke of unconditional love until I put it in the context of what I feel for nonhuman animals. No matter how many times Dos broke glass bowls, knocked over lamps, or clawed the furniture, anger never tainted the pure force of love. The challenge is applying this kind of peaceful attitude to the two-legged animal known as Ego Maximus. And that is where I usually fall short. But if I see humans as having tails, pointy ears, and whiskers, I sometimes do better.
No one who met Dos could help but love him. Time and time again, the most ardent cat haters were won over his charm, personality, and often cranky independence. Strangers would stop and take pictures of him, and then give them to me later, as is the case with the first picture link below. [Dos' tribute picture above is that one.]
Dos and I went through everything together, good times and bad. He was always there for me; and now he is gone forever, irreplaceably gone. I loved him as much as any love could possibly be given. I take comfort in how we enriched each other's lives and our friendship crossed species boundaries.
And so, Dos, I offer these words that we never needed in your memory. Goodbye, my wonderful friend, I will never forget you.
Sunny
Cherished by Karen Kilmon
Adopted February 18, 1992 Became an AngelKitty June 6, 2001
Sunny
Laying at the shelter door one February day,
A gentle soul that someone hurt and then just threw away
Kneeling down to check for life in the matted, bloodied fur
I laid my hand upon his head and he began to purr
I placed him gently in my arms and hurried to the vet
"Please do whatever you can do, his life's not over yet!"
In time he healed and then was placed in a shelter cage
Laying where the sun came in; that's how he got his name
Day by day the people came, but it always seemed to be
They only wanted little ones, so he came home with me
He soon was strong and playful, and everyone could see
What a great and handsome boy my Sunny came to be
He'd fetch a ball of paper and bring it back again,
We'd play for hours at a time; God blessed me with a friend
When I grew sick and pain set in and everything seemed lost
He'd jump up on the bed with me with his ball to toss
When I was sad he seemed to know and laid down at my side
My face I buried in his fur where it was safe to cry
Now sitting at the vet's again, waiting for the news
"His heart is bad," the doctor says, "What do you want to do?"
To make him live just half a life would only be for me
The final act of love I know, will be to set him free
With trembling hands and tear drenched face I hold him to my chest
And pray to God to give me strength to do what I know's best
One last kiss, one final time, my face pressed in his fur
As if to say that it's ok, I hear a final purr
That gentle soul went home today, to Heaven I believe
Where he will nap on Jesus' lap while he waits for me
I miss you my Handsome Boy.
Love Mommy
I was working at the local animal shelter in 1992. I handled adoptions and took care of the animals so I was always the first to arrive in the mornings. On the morning of my birthday, February 18, 1992 I drove up and saw this bloodied mass of fur laying at the front door. Someone had tried to declaw at home. They made a terrible mess and then left him at the shelter door to bleed to death.
Generally an animal in as bad a shape as he was would have been put down, but there was something about him that I just couldn't do it. I am very glad that I took him to my vet instead.
About a year later, I developed health problems that eventually left me unable to work. My husband works long hours and various shifts, so it was very often just Sunny and me. Now it is just me when my husband isn't here. I never thought our house that used to seem so cluttered, could now seem so empty.
Sunny was a gift from God and I am so grateful for the nine years I had with him.
Thank you again for your wonderful site and for understanding the depth of my loss.
