So Brilliant. So Brief.

Just six weeks ago I welcomed two new kittens into my life. After the unexpected and devastating  loss of my beloved rescue kitty, Ember, last September to a previously undiagnosed acute diabetic crisis, I took my time before I felt I was ready to try adoption again. Ember had been so fun-loving and playful. All my two older cats do is sleep all day, so eventually I felt ready to inject my household with the kinetic energy of near-constant scampering, in which Ember so enthusiastically engaged every day for all of the six years she was mine.

How could I have known that just a month and a half after taking custody of my new fur-babies, I would be faced with ending the life of one of them? I held the little gray and white kitten in my arms today as the vet gave her the shot that ended her life. If that sounds like the same language I used to describe the death of Ember last year, it is. It felt the same. No, not quite the same. I had loved Ember for six wonderful years. My love for this gray and white kitten was a brand new love. Just the same, I am distraught.

In March I put the word out to two of my dear friends, one who is active on the board of the Animal Allies Rescue Foundation (AARF), and the other on the board of the Baltimore Humane Society (BHS). I told them I thought I was finally ready to bring a new cat into my household and was considering adopting two kittens so they could grow up together and play with each other when my two oldsters aren’t in the mood.  Within a couple of weeks a litter of newborns came into the AARF shelter with two gray kittens and two black ones. I wanted two little girls so as not to cause my elderly cat, Underfoot, to feel threatened by a rival male. It so happened that I would get one kitten of each color.

I got to visit the kittens in April and fell
in love with Stache at first sight

Another dear friend, who serves with me on the board of directors at Soldiers Delight Conservation, Inc., and who had also lost a beloved cat last September, was likewise feeling ready to adopt a feline companion for her one remaining oldster. Laura generously agreed to take the two boys in the litter, plus the mama cat, who was still nursing them all. That meant the whole litter, plus the mama, would be adopted into loving, forever homes by the two of us. I was quite excited at the prospect. AARF officials were very grateful.

The kittens wouldn't be ready to adopt until Memorial Day, when they would be 12 weeks old and vaccinated, but I was able to go visit them in April at the home where they were being fostered. The moment I was introduced to my two I fell in love. Instantly I thought of names. The gray and white female would be called “Stache” because of the distinctive gray marking beneath her nose. The black kitten would be named "Sojo" in honor of 19th century American activist Sojourner Truth.

As Memorial Day approached, I prepared a nursery in a spare bedroom upstairs. I filled it with food, water and litter boxes, an abundance of toys, plush beds, and places to hide and climb. I erected child gates in one doorway so that my current occupants would be able to get used to the newcomers at their own pace. The youngsters would be confined to the nursery for a least a week while slow  introductions were made.

The nursery was prepared and awaiting my
kittens

On the appointed day, I brought Stache and Sojo home. They loved their nursery. They adored each other, and very soon became quite attached to me. Watching them play was so heart-lifting for me! As I toiled away at my computer during the day in my office on the first floor, I could hear lots of scampering in the room over my head, at times resembling a herd of elephants upstairs. It was music to my ears.

The kittens thrived and grew. Distinct personalities emerged. Sojo was by far the more feral of the two, with finely honed hunting instincts that she practiced every day with her favorite toys. She didn't want to be picked up or cuddled, but instead would approach me when she wanted affection, nudging my hand aggressively to be petted. Stache had the gentle manner of an old soul, with sad eyes that burrowed straight into my heart. She loved to crawl onto my lap and be cuddled. It didn't seem like they could be from the same litter, they were so different in personality.

Stache made friends easily with my nine-year-old kitty, Elfie. Indeed, I referred to Stache as Elfie's "minnie-me" since they were both gray and white. Stache also approached my ornery Underfoot gingerly, with great gentleness, and he was beginning to warm up to her.  Sojo, on the other hand, was a bit too playful for my older cats' liking, and her survivalist personality didn't win her any points. When I eventually left the nursery door open so the kittens could explore the household, Elfie and Underfoot would wander into their room to sniff at their toys and eat their food. The first time Sojo saw Elfie at the kittens' food dish, she marched back into the nursery to confront the older cat with a growl. The tiff was short-lived, of course, as Elfie's responsive growl was enough to send Sojo scampering away. Stache never growled. "We can all live together happily", she seemed to say.

Stache loved to find a spot in the sun on my kitchen floor

On Monday of this week, both kittens went to the vet to be spayed. When I picked them up in the evening, they were both groggy, but Stache much more so than Sojo.  By the next morning, Sojo had bounced back to her rambunctious self and was even playing with her toys. But Stache was walking around very gingerly, like everything hurt. She was zombie-like, walking slowly and carefully up to a blank wall and  staring at it, then climbing into the litter box, staring at the sand, and then climbing back out. She was purring and she climbed onto my lap as usual, but she didn't seem quite right. I called the vet.

Both cats were eating and drinking and using the litter box, so I took that as a good sign. I was provided pain medication to give to them orally, but only if they needed it, and the two signals that Stache needed pain medication had yet to be demonstrated: excessive meowing and licking at the surgery site. Walking around like a zombie was not one of the signals. If it was the anesthesia she was reacting to and not the pain, then giving her pain medication might be harmful, so I was reluctant to do anything until the vet advised me. Both kittens were back in isolation in their nursery, since spay surgery constitutes a full hysterectomy, not a minor surgery by any stretch. They would need to rest for at least five full days before running and jumping could resume. 

Stache was so affectionate, always wanting to be near me

The vet told me to go ahead and administer the pain medication. The doctor also told me that the oxygen machine had malfunctioned after Stache's surgery and they were not able to complete the final spay of the day, which was to have been the mother cat, right after Stache. Now the vet said that it was possible the oxygen machine had begun to malfunction during Stache's surgery, and the resulting oxygen deprivation might have caused some brain damage. It is a risk with any surgery; one I was aware of going in. She promised to stop by to check on my little patient early in the afternoon.

But shortly after noon, the vet had a medical emergency of her own to deal with, and I was instructed to drive Stache to a facility 45 minutes away, where I was assured some of the best veterinarians in the state would examine my kitten. Dr. Krammer at Laytonsville Veterinary Practice was very thorough. She put Stache through a number of physical exams, testing her responsiveness, her vision, watching her walk, and stumble as though her hind legs were not receiving accurate messages from her brain. Dr. Krammer did blood work and asked if she could keep Stache overnight for observation.

At 9:00 a.m. this morning I called to see when I could pick up my kitten. Dr. Krammer said she wanted to watch Stache for several more hours, so I should call back at noon. At noon, when I called to see how Stache was doing, Dr. Krammer told me there were definitely neurological issues, whether a reaction from the anesthesia, a stroke while she was on the operating table or brain damage resulting from oxygen deprivation, she couldn't be sure. But since my kitten was fully functional in every way, we agreed that Stache could have a fulfilling life at home with me and her sister and my two other cats. She would never again be a bouncy, active, playful cat, but she would have a high quality of life. I was okay with that.

As I was preparing to leave to go pick her up, the vet called again. Stache had just had a seizure, bit her tongue and was less aware of her surroundings and no longer ambulatory. The vet said there would no longer be any kind of quality of life if I took her home. We decided that I would come, but only to hold her while they put her to sleep.

Then as I was getting into the car, the vet called yet again. Because she had just been vaccinated for rabies on Monday along with her surgery, there was a chance my kitten had reacted to the vaccination, which would only happen if she was, in fact, infected with rabies. So while I could still come to see her euthanized, I wouldn't be allowed to hold her or touch her. And she couldn't be cremated. Her body would now have to be sent off to the County to have her brain dissected to be tested for rabies (the only way to test an animal for rabies is to dissect the brain). It seemed a cruel piling-on, but what was I to do? Such is life at times.

When I got to Laytonsville Veterinary Practice, they brought my precious Stache to me wrapped in a towel. I had looked forward to having my sweet kitten react to the sound of my voice. But the vet said Stache had another seizure after she'd last spoken to me and was now in even worse shape. I waved my hand in front of the kitten's eyes but there was little reaction. The vet relented and let the kitten lie on my lap in the towel. I stroked her gently and cooed to her as I had so many times while sitting on the floor in their nursery.

Having my little kitten be comatose certainly made the decision to euthanize much easier. I am in a zombie-like state of shock myself right now, having to deal with a blow of death when I was so ebullient over the liveliness of two new kittens in my household. This morning I thought I would be bringing Stache home -- and now she is dead. That's just kind of the way life is, I suppose...

Laytonsville Veterinary Practice made imprints of Stache's
paw prints for me to keep as a memento

Sojo spent yesterday searching the house for her sister, and she cried for her all night last night, which just made everything that much worse. Once my kitten showed no more life today, they gently pressed her paws into a clay mold to make a keepsake for me to take home.  I will put it with my other mementos: my beloved horse's tail, my sister's ashes, sweet Ember's collar.

To quote my favorite author, chef and cookbook maven, Leah Eskin, about time spent at home before the departure of her children for college, "They grew swiftly. So strong. So brilliant. So brief."  For little Stache, too brief. Far too brief.

Lynell