I am devastated by the loss of my 15 year old cat on Friday. She had been sick for most of this year with kidney failure and then over the last two weeks, more problems arose. I made the decision to give her Eternal Peace and I thought I had prepared myself. I thought talking about it before hand, talking about losing her, would make it easier. But it didn't.
Here are a few photos of her and a LONG story that I wrote about her at 3am on Saturday. I know I made the right decision, but I miss her SO much. For some reason, it never had dawned on me, until the last few months, that she would some day die. I thought she would always be around.
My beautiful girl
Taken on her last day.
I thanked Tornado for allowing Brandy to eat some of his breakfast on her last day.
He stood by and just watched.
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Brandy
My beloved Brandy passed away on Friday, November 17th. She was fifteen
years, seven months old. Shortly after moving into my first place of my
own (a 300 square foot studio in Ayer,MA), I decided that I wanted a cat.
I had never had a cat before, because Dad was allergic. I adopted her,
when she was seven months old, from the Northeast Animal Shelter in
Salem, MA.When I went to pick out a cat, there were three to chose from.
Two sat in their cages and looked at me. Brandy stood up and pranced back
and forth in hers, like a model on a runway. Somehow she knew that she
had to show that she was the prize out of all of them. Brandy was a seven
month old, long haired tortie, the last of an "oops" litter. She has spent
her first seven months in that cage, at the shelter,so my pad must have
seemed huge to her. Needless to say, she had not been well socialized.
I knew that my cat would love to sit in my lap and be petted for hours or
be carried around in my arms as I did my thing. I quickly learned otherwise,
as I recovered from multiple scratches,including on my neck and shoulders.
No, she would not perch on my shoulders, as I had seen a friend's Siamese do.
Since cats fear water, I shut the door whenever I took a shower or a bath in
the tub. Though I was confused when she cried and scratched at the door,
Thereafter, I let her in. She would make sure I knew it if I left the toilet
cover up, That was her perch. When I got out, she would stand as close to me
as she could. Again I was confused, this time at her sudden affection. But
then I realized she just wanted "the drippies" off me. And so I began
wringing my hair out over her and she purred so loud! From there on,
wherever she was, she expected anyone who showered or took a bath to give
her drippies and would protest if they were ignorant of her needs or just
plain forgot.
Only two months after she came home, I was in the hospital for what turned
out to be an extended period of time. I boardered her at a kennel, my Mom
paying the eventual $250 tab. When I came home, she walked in between my
legs and purred, so loud.
I decided to get her professionally photographed. To prepare her, I brushed
her and brushed her.But her long fur was full of static. So I got out my
bottle of static guard and sprayed the brush with it, liberally. The photos
came out nice but I was horrified the next day that my beautiful cat had
developed alopecia. Or maybe she had trichotillomania! I rushed her to the
vet, who couldn't quite figure out what was going on, until I mentioned
the photo shoot and the preparations. He advised me NOT to use Static Guard
on the cat any more. I was devastated and contemplated returning her to the
shelter. Surely I was not fit to have her in my home. But she forgave
me as the fur quickly grew back. She forgave me many, many times for the
mistakes I made with her. Like driving down that section of 495 that needs to
be paved, time after time. She barfed every time. Until I learned to take a
different route. Or the time I forgot that she was still in the bathroom,
licking the shower walls, when I closed the door and trapped her inside,
not realizing til hours later what I had done.
I spent a lot of weekends with my parents and of course brought Brandy with
me.Somehow my Dad no longer was allergic to cats, even long haired cats like
her. Despite the fact that he was not fond of cats, Brandy loved him and
would sit on his lap on the newspaper he was trying to read. Funny how she
had an attraction to those who favored her company least! She also had an
attraction, as most cats do,to anything important in the house. My Mom loves
jigsaw puzzles and Brandy did too.She would plunk herself in the middle of
them as Mom worked. And no amount of nudging would get her to move. If
picked up and moved off, she would quickly jump back up,as if to say
"You didn't mean to do that, did you?". My Dad would often speak at church
or other functions. He would type up his thoughts and leave the pages on
his desk. When we couldn't find Brandy in one of her usual locations,
we knew where to look. Another favorite place was in the laundry basket,
but only when the clothes were clean.
When we were home, Brandy rarely sat with me as I watched tv, as I had
thought she would. And for a time, that disappointed me greatly. But
when I was very depressed,she was always there. Sitting for hours, allowing
me to stroke her. I woke up one morning to find her in bed with me, sitting
on the far edge watching, as if she were "on duty". That was the only time
she would sit with me or come to bed with me. She somehow knew what to do
at those times.
After Ayer I moved to Waltham and an apartment that was twice as large as
Ayer. Eighteen months later I moved back to Ayer. Over the next few years,
I moved to Medford, Millis,Middleboro and Worcester before Webster, her]
final home. Brandy always adapted, after scoping out the new digs. I think
she most enjoyed Millis, where she could sit in the sun for hours looking out
on the deck from behind the sliding glass door. One winter day, as the birds
sat in the snow on the deck, I had the idea to get her a harness and leash,
both lime green. I knew she would enjoy walking in the snow with me, even
closer to the birds. I was do disappointed, but again learned a lesson on
cats, when she dropped to the ground, laid on her back and kicked her legs
up in the air.
Several years ago, while living in a third floor condo, George and I decided
to adopt a greyhound. When he walked in the door for the first time, muzzled
of course, she merely looked at him, looked at me and walked away. She knew
she hadn't lost her place in my heart to him. Always confident, that was Brandy.
She would prance around like a bowlegged cowboy.I always thought she looked,
from behind, like she was wearing pantaloons- like one of those girls in
a bar in the old cowboy movies.She was quite proud of her appearance and
knew that she was "the one". She quickly let Tornado know who she was
when he came home. For some error on his part, which I can't remember,
this ten pound cat chased an eighty pound dog around the condo. I swear
she ran on her hind legs as she batted at him with her front paws. He ran,
terrorized, around the place before jumping on the couch and cowering,
until we "broke it up" and held her back. From then on, they respected each other's space,
although not necessarily each other. If she was there first, no matter where she was,
he would not encroach. She would drink the gravy from his food as he watched or stand
in the doorway of the bedroom, so he could not get near us.
When she finished in her litter box, she would jump out and run like a bat
out of Hell. Then she would come back to the box, sniff it and look at
Tornado as if to say "I left you a cookie. Want to try one?" (I swear
that's what she looked like she would have said if she could).He tried
a cookie once, before we moved the litter box.
As I'm sure you know by now, I could go on for hours with stories of the
fifteen years Brandy spent with me. Though I am saddened when I remember
her now, it will be those memories that will sustain me in the days to come.
Even now I swear I can hear her purring. And I know that she IS purring.
In my heart, where she will always be.
