Unhappy Birthday

Today is Sophie's birthday. She would be 21 years old if she was still here. 

 

 

The past few years on her birthday, I would wonder if she would be around for the next one since she was getting up there in years. My previous cat, Wilma, made it to 18 years old, so that was the benchmark. Once Sophie got near that and surpassed it, I kind of felt like she was on borrowed time. But up until April I felt like she felt good, she was herself, and she had a good quality of life. Mid-April is when she really started to go downhill in a way that made it clear she'd reached the end of the road.

 

I realize I was lucky to have Sophie as long as I did. A 20 year old cat is equivalent to a person in their mid to late nineties. But I still miss her terribly. It still feels weird that she's not here. I wish I was writing yet another blog post marveling at her longevity. But today, 19 weeks to the day after she died, it's a sad birthday.

 

 

For once, a positive customer service story

This just popped up on my social media, although when I checked to see if it's a true story (it is!) it turned out to be from 2022. But it's such a heartwarmer that it warrants revisiting, especially after losing Sophie earlier this year.

 

Apparently this isn't unusual. Chewy does this stuff all the time. In fact, in the linked article, there's a shelter worker confirming that they get many donations from orders that originated from Chewy that normally would be returned.

 

I can confirm how much genuine compassion is helpful after the loss of a pet. As I mentioned in this post, Hearts and Halos and Dr. Sarah (Sophie's in-home euthanasia) were beyond compassionate and helped make an awful experience that much less traumatic.

 

Then there was the reaction from Sophie's long-time vet. One of the services Hearts and Halos offers is to notify the vet of the death, so that I didn't have to make that call. A few days later I got a card in the mail from the animal hospital, with a message scrawled by some random employee (not from her vet or the hospital as a whole) and that was it. Never heard from them again, in spite of the fact that Sophie had been in there less than a week before her death and had been a patient for over a decade. It wasn't that I was expecting something as much as I was shocked that this otherwise well-run animal hospital didn't do. Given her age and how recently she'd been in there, I was surprised the vet didn't call. Maybe they were concerned I'd give them grief about not realizing Sophie was nearing the end and recommending more meds and labs (expensive meds and labs) but honestly, Sophie had bounced back so many times I was willing to give it a shot, plus that shouldn't be a reason not to hear from them. To this day I'm shocked they went so silent.

 

So props to Chewy for taking the time and making the effort to acknowledge a customer they never actually met. Class move and something that I can vouch made the loss a little less painful.

 

The numbers game

Today is four months since Sophie died. Apparently, when it comes to those who have left this life, I'll never stop counting. 

 

This is day 122 without her. Not that I'm obsessive or anything. I just can't stop counting. It feels like I'd be abandoning her. To make matters worse, her birthday is coming up next week. She would have been 22.

 

I've had to put in a couple of maintenance requests in the past four months, and one of the things they ask is if there's a pet in the unit. It's depressing to have to choose "no" after all these years. 

 

I moved back into my renovated apartment a few weeks ago and it's so weird for Sophie not to be here. It was the first move without her, since I brought her home from the Burbank Animal Shelter to the old Hollywood apartment. Crazy to think how long ago that was. 

 

Her pictures were the first thing I hung up in my office. 

 

The view from my desk.

Miss you, kiddo.
 

Three months

Still missing her.

 

Fourth of July memories

According to my Facebook memories a couple days ago, I posted this on my feed in 2015:

 

 

I don't even remember doing this, but I'm glad to have it now. This was Sophie in her prime (she would have been 9 years old at the time), this is one of my favorite pictures of her, and this is what I've been missing for the past two months plus.

 

Two months

I keep a spreadsheet of my purchases and the other day I looked back and realized that June 22 marks two months since I last bought cat food. Today is two months since she died.

 

Such a bummer.

 

 

8 Weeks

Today I'm going to the local farmer's market, then will settle in for a quiet weekend. 

 

Eight weeks ago I was frantically calling the vet for help with Sophie, who was deteriorating before my eyes.

 

Eight weeks ago as I type this, she had about eight hours to live.

 

How I like to remember her:

 

 

I really miss her.

 

One more day still wouldn't be enough

For some reason this popped up on my social media. And yes, I am missing her like crazy. I need another twenty years.

 

 

Tomorrow will be seven weeks and I can't believe it. Will we meet again? I could go for that. Can I have her back now? Even better. Not that I'm obsessing or anything...

 

One horrible month

Today is a month since Sophie died. Saturday was four weeks. I still can't believe she's gone. It's so depressing.

 

Sophie chasing cobwebs outside the window.

 

A month since I've bought any cat food, treats, or litter.. A month since I cleaned a cat box (which sat there for a week after she died before I could bring myself to trash it). A month since I had to Feed The Kitty.

 

Today I finally was able to bring myself to pack up her stuff - her toys (catnip mouse and the laser pointer that hadn't been used since she was diagnosed with a heart murmur, but used to be a favorite), and her dishes into the cat carrier to go into storage. I'll deal with it later. Also later I will go through almost twenty years of paperwork from vet visits, but not yet. 

 

Some interesting Sophie factoids:

 

1. Her official birthday of September 5 (assigned to her by the vet that spayed her) was the day Wilma, my previous cat, died. Burbank Animal Shelter estimated she was about a year old and the vet apparently agreed and backdated her DOB a year. This was just after the Labor Day weekend, when I decided I was finally ready to get another cat and went to the shelter. Wilma had died the previous Labor Day.

2. I was going to name her Nora. I knew I was going to get a female cat and was planning on naming her after Nora Charles in the Thin Man films. I've always loved the character and how Myrna Loy played her (so smart, funny, and elegant). But when I got her, I learned that she had been at the shelter for about three months because when she was picked up as a stray, they discovered she was pregnant, so they kept her until she had her kittens and they were adopted out. When I first saw her at the shelter she still had her milk sacs. Because she had been there so long being called Sophie (and because I do think it's a really pretty name) I decided to keep it, figuring she was going through enough upheaval, and her name would be the only familiar thing when I got her home.

3. When I first saw her, she was on a ledge in her cage. When they opened it up so I could see her, she got down and let me pet her, then returned to her spot. I remember being struck by her apparent disinterest in the whole thing - it was like she was just going through motions she knew were expected. She really didn't bother to sell herself to me. But she was the one cat they had that day that fit my criteria:

• Young, because I didn't want to go through losing another cat anytime in the near future (and thanks to Sophie, I didn't for almost twenty years).
• Female, because male cats spray, so I've always had female cats.
• Short-haired, because Wilma was long-haired and left tufts of fur all over the place.
• Not calico or tortoise-shell because Wilma was calico and to me torties are just calicos without the white. These last two issues were because I didn't want my new cat to remind me of Wilma. 

Looking back on it, I didn't really put a lot of thought into the decision to take her. She fit the criteria so that was that. I petted her for a few seconds then said I'd take her. And the rest is history, or at least the last twenty years of my life. And it's a part of my life I'd like back.

 September 5, 2005 - April 25, 2026.

Too much mortality

Today is the ninth Mother's Day without my Mom. March was eight years since she passed away. I'm staggered by both of those things. Yesterday we visited her grave and left her a really beautiful bouquet we bought from a super nice vendor set up outside the cemetery. Just beautiful flowers.

 

Thursday will be the fifteenth anniversary of my Dad's death. Again, boggled that it's been that long. His house just sold for the fourth time since his death, for more than twice what we sold it for. Apparently that's how long it takes for your house in Hawaii to double in value - about fifteen years.

 

Everybody was really young when I was born, so for the most part I didn't have to deal with loss until I was well into adulthood. My grandfather was diagnosed with emphesema the year before I was born, so I only ever knew him as a sickly old man (he died when I was twelve, having outlived the doctor who diagnosed him). 

 

 

Then my stepmother Diane died in her early fifties when I was in my early thirties. That was a jolt. She had breast cancer at forty, had the mastectomy, chemo, radiation, lost her hair, the whole bit. She as cancer-free for almost five years, then went through treatment again. The final time they were going to try something new, but her heart started failing (apparently years of chemo and radiation will take a toll) and she just went downhill. A brutal two weeks later she died. I still remember being stunned how the world could just continue to turn after the loss of someone so wonderful, someone who deserved to live forever. Diane was really one of the good ones. She was just awesome.

 

Eventually the grandmothers passed, then the first uncle (the middle brother), then my Dad, then his younger brother. And then my Mom in 2018. It all doesn't seem so long ago, but it was. It's boggling to me how fast the years have flown by.

 

 

 

 

And of course, Saturday marked two weeks without Sophie. Still adjusting to that, and not happily. She was a daily presence in my life for almost two decades and her absence is going to take time to get used to. I understand now why crazy rich people clone their pets, ethics be damned. If someone told me for some ungodly amount of money I could always have a Sophie with me, I'd have done it. I'd have paid that price. 

To everyone fortunate enough to still have their mothers with them, I hope you all have a Happy Mother's Day.

 

Two weeks

"April is the cruellest month." T.S. Eliot.

 

Well, it is now.

 

It's been two weeks since Sophie died and I've been marking every damn day. I really hate not having her around. 

 

First picture I ever took of her, and holy moly the old Hollywood apartment.

 

 

And the last ones:

 

She was so damn uncomfortable. These were taken while we were waiting for Dr. Sarah to end Sophie's pain. I keep looking at them to reassure myself that she was truly on her way out. There was no other decision to be made.

 

God knows the last time she'd slept when these were taken. I know she hadn't been able to the entire night before because I was up with her all night. She must have been exhausted. 

 

And the last ones I took of her, after her pain had been eased.

 

I'm still just sick from this. I want her back.