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Moo/Mooshka/Mooshkin
Moo Brandybuck Breakstone
PriMoola Brandybuck
Princess Holstein the Winsome
April 1, 2005 (approx) - Dec 2, 2019
Moo was fading. She wouldn't eat any of the dozens of foods I set before her, and though the rugs I put down everywhere and padded steps helped her getting around better to get to her closer water and litter box stations, her front legs were beginning to go. I was giving her subcutaneous fluids at home over the weekend, and though they make them feel better over all, she was always weaker for hours after injection of them until the imbalance of the fluid bulge dispersed.
In the middle of the night last night, her breathing started to be more labored and she peed her little bed because she didn't have the strength to get up. So in the morning I determined it was time--I was afraid she was suffering with the labored breathing. And I was getting less able to get up and help her in the middle of the night after slipping on one the rugs and falling T-Day night. I took care of Tuxie's food and insulin and loved her up some more and took her to go. Tuxie didn't want to say goodbye--her breathing scared him and he turned his back on us and looked scared when I brought her to him to say goodbye.
I sat with her a couple of hours at the vet, as it turned out, because she was busy in surgery. Moo seemed stronger, her breathing back to normal, and more alert than she had been--she meowed, and made clear she wanted something. I asked for a litterbox and a cup of water brought--it was the water she wanted and she drank a lot. The strength was all probably due to the adrenaline surge of going to the vet. Otherwise I sat with her in my arms and lap, petting her, blinking love to each other as she rested. I had second thoughts as she seemed stronger, but Dr. S told me she's probably feeling worse than weak--kidney failure makes you feel lousy and nauseous.
I had a week to love her up and she blinked it back, and laid her head in my hand and paw on my lap, and seemed comforted by being carried as she always loved, but also cleaned up. She was so willing to accept help, letting me help her position her struggling legs in walking and sitting up by her water bowls and getting her tail out of the way in the litter box and purred at being cleaned up with wipes and fluffed with towels. I don't think my Saki or most other cats I know would have accepted this much help and be comforted by it. But all I needed was for her to have a fall and injure herself further or go into respiratory arrest and go in a painful and scary way. So it was time.
I held Moo in my arms, petting her and loving her as she looked back with tired love, and the Dr gave her the drugs through a catheter as she slipped away gently and was gone before I knew it.
Moo hunted me down outside my old apartment. She'd follow me down to the town center and the gym and I'd carry her back in my arms--she'd be full of delighted purrs at this--it was always her favorite thing, along with sitting in the sun. And Tuxie, her little feral shadow kitten, would cautiously but tenaciously follow behind us. I never aspired to have a black and white cow kitty--I'm imprinted for siamese cats but tabbies and calicoes have always turned my head, too. But now I'll always feel that special affection for cow kitties.
She hunted me down and I took her in my arms and carried her and loved her and then she was gone. That was Mooshka.
I hope to be able to dig a hole deep enough in the yard to plant the apricot tree and bury her beneath it. I don't know if I have the strength to get through that much clay--I may need to find someone to hire to help. But the vet is holding her body for now until I work this out. And now I need to love up Tuxie, because his relationship with his mom was complicated, and I think he knows she was dying and is gone, but we'll get through this together.
Moo Brandybuck Breakstone
PriMoola Brandybuck
Princess Holstein the Winsome
April 1, 2005 (approx) - Dec 2, 2019
Moo was fading. She wouldn't eat any of the dozens of foods I set before her, and though the rugs I put down everywhere and padded steps helped her getting around better to get to her closer water and litter box stations, her front legs were beginning to go. I was giving her subcutaneous fluids at home over the weekend, and though they make them feel better over all, she was always weaker for hours after injection of them until the imbalance of the fluid bulge dispersed.
In the middle of the night last night, her breathing started to be more labored and she peed her little bed because she didn't have the strength to get up. So in the morning I determined it was time--I was afraid she was suffering with the labored breathing. And I was getting less able to get up and help her in the middle of the night after slipping on one the rugs and falling T-Day night. I took care of Tuxie's food and insulin and loved her up some more and took her to go. Tuxie didn't want to say goodbye--her breathing scared him and he turned his back on us and looked scared when I brought her to him to say goodbye.
I sat with her a couple of hours at the vet, as it turned out, because she was busy in surgery. Moo seemed stronger, her breathing back to normal, and more alert than she had been--she meowed, and made clear she wanted something. I asked for a litterbox and a cup of water brought--it was the water she wanted and she drank a lot. The strength was all probably due to the adrenaline surge of going to the vet. Otherwise I sat with her in my arms and lap, petting her, blinking love to each other as she rested. I had second thoughts as she seemed stronger, but Dr. S told me she's probably feeling worse than weak--kidney failure makes you feel lousy and nauseous.
I had a week to love her up and she blinked it back, and laid her head in my hand and paw on my lap, and seemed comforted by being carried as she always loved, but also cleaned up. She was so willing to accept help, letting me help her position her struggling legs in walking and sitting up by her water bowls and getting her tail out of the way in the litter box and purred at being cleaned up with wipes and fluffed with towels. I don't think my Saki or most other cats I know would have accepted this much help and be comforted by it. But all I needed was for her to have a fall and injure herself further or go into respiratory arrest and go in a painful and scary way. So it was time.
I held Moo in my arms, petting her and loving her as she looked back with tired love, and the Dr gave her the drugs through a catheter as she slipped away gently and was gone before I knew it.
Moo hunted me down outside my old apartment. She'd follow me down to the town center and the gym and I'd carry her back in my arms--she'd be full of delighted purrs at this--it was always her favorite thing, along with sitting in the sun. And Tuxie, her little feral shadow kitten, would cautiously but tenaciously follow behind us. I never aspired to have a black and white cow kitty--I'm imprinted for siamese cats but tabbies and calicoes have always turned my head, too. But now I'll always feel that special affection for cow kitties.
She hunted me down and I took her in my arms and carried her and loved her and then she was gone. That was Mooshka.
I hope to be able to dig a hole deep enough in the yard to plant the apricot tree and bury her beneath it. I don't know if I have the strength to get through that much clay--I may need to find someone to hire to help. But the vet is holding her body for now until I work this out. And now I need to love up Tuxie, because his relationship with his mom was complicated, and I think he knows she was dying and is gone, but we'll get through this together.
