Sunday, January 16, 2011

He was gone far too soon...

He always wore a look that said he was just a bit worried. Maybe he always knew his days would be short. I hope not. But we lost our beloved cat, Zombie, a few days ago, and we just weren't prepared.
I knew something was wrong the last week or so. He wasn't eating right; he looked thinner. He had taken to hiding under the dining room buffet -- unlike him. But his last night at home he resumed his usual spot on the settee as we ate supper. He generally joined us, almost like a dinner guest, as if he could understand our conversation.
He was sweet; and he loved his mom Beatrice and sister Shel.
But it always seemed as if he were just a bit mournful.
He had his name for a reason. When we were trapping the kittens that Beatrice had in the summer of 2004, he was the last to give in. He was out, hiding under our porch, down in a hole, for more than a day after the others were safely inside. I had about given up; I thought he had perished.
It was raining cats and dogs... sorry ... and we decided to give it one more try. Finally the humane trap snapped... we had the last kitten. Since I thought he had died, but now here he was, full of life, my daughter said we should call him Zombie..
He was never the bravest of cats, but he was one of the sweetest. He didn't pick fights, didn't get into trouble. At Christmas he loved snuggling up to a stuffed Rudolph.
I never dreamed this would be his last year to do that.
But a trip to the vet for a checkup revealed something amiss; a mass could be felt. An X-ray confirmed a problem. Surgery was set for the morning -- this past Thursday.
I got the call at work -- three masses in the bowel and lymph node involvement. There was nothing that could be done.
I had to decide to either have him euthanized while under anesthesia, or if we wanted to be there our vet would close, bring him out of it and then, when we could get there that day, we could be there for it.
I quickly called my daughter, we cried a lot, but decided it would be cruel to not do it immediately.
Even though that almost killed us. We've never not been there to hold them, stroke their fur, tell them how much we love them before they cross the rainbow bridge.
This was even more awful ... but the alternative seemed even more horrible for Zombie.
Our vet sent us note with the sympathy card and told us how Zombie had gotten extra attention before he went into surgery, because he had just been such a love.
It didn't surprise me, but it helped a little to know that others saw what a sweet, sweet soul he was.
His mom and sister still seem lost and confused without him.
So are we ... the ache is still so strong.
These photos are just a little memorial to this very special cat... just six and a half years old.
We miss you, Zombie. We still expect to see you at dinner; to see that special face and your distinctive cry.
Until we meet again, take care. You'll live forever in our hearts.

Zombie just loved spending time with Rudolph...

Zombie was a mommy's boy... here he and mom, Beatrice, nap away...

Gotta love Christmas!

Oh, Christmas tree!!

Zombie and his dear friend Rudolph, again. Sweet dreams, forever...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What a wonderful tribute. My heart aches for your family.