When we moved into our house some ten years ago, we didn't know that it came with a small colony of feral and abandoned cats. We didn't (then) know the cardinal rule of dealing with a feral colony: spay and neuter now, no excuses, no delays. Over the years we've brought 13 of them into our home. This is the story of one of them, Sharon. Tonight might be her last night on this plane.
Update: Things are looking up! The vet says she has an infection that's causing ulcers inside her mouth and making it difficult for her to eat. She's on an antibiotic regimen, received fluids, and the prognosis is optimistic. Of course, we spent all of our month's grocery money on the visit, but that's a concern for another day. We think our girl is going to be okay!
Update 2: She's upset with the world and hiding under the ottoman, but that's all to the good.
A number of extraordinarily generous people have offered to donate $$ for the cats through PayPal. I'm floored by the offer. Here's how:
To donate, go to paypal.com and send whatever you choose to the account affiliated with the following email:
purplesage23 AT yahoo DOT com
Mrs. Max says to tell you that every thin dime that comes in will go to feeding, spaying, and neutering cats. No lottery splurges or casino cruises. :)
Update 3: Sharon's love for tuna overcame the pain from the sores in her mouth, and she ate an entire can. This may be the first solid food she's had in 3-4 days. She didn't fight the amoxicillin and eye treatments, though she surely did not like them.
The generosity of the Kos community has been overwhelming. I won't list the actual names of the people who donated money, and I don't know which names go with which monikers, but the outpouring of love and support has been beyond amazing. Sharon really did take center stage last night and today, and thanks to the Kos community, we can spread the love (and the $) around to help some of her pootie cousins.
Whether you contributed with a PayPal donation or with a supporting comment, thank you one and all.
One of our first residents was a pregnant female with lustrous, long black fur. Since she was already pregnant when we met her, we named her Mama. (Original.) Mama had several kittens, but only two survived; we called them Ozzy and Sharon. Ozzy turned out to be a girl.
Mama weaned them and took excellent care of them. Ozzy was thin but energetic, and Sharon was just like her mother, beautiful, regal, and just a bit standoffish. One afternoon Mrs. Max was outside with them and Mama strode out of the yard, looking back over her shoulder at Mrs. Max. We knew Mama was leaving and wouldn't be back. The over-the-shoulder looks were, we believe, her final request: take care of my babies. So we brought them indoors.
Ozzy never adjusted to being inside. She lived for a year in a state of agitation and panic, never allowing us to touch her, peeing in the registers, and hurling herself at the windows. She was too frail to handle being outside, but after much thought and agitation, we decided that her happiness was paramount, and we let her go. She lived for six months or so before she finally died, too weak to handle the stresses of outdoor living. But she was much happier. She would happily let herself be stroked, kneading the ground so hard she seemed to dance.
Sharon wanted nothing to do with the outside. For the next ten years, she has lived inside, alternating between ignoring us (including the more demonstrative and rowdy feline members of the family) and climbing into our laps, shoving her nose against us in a demand for attention. In some ways, she has been the "forgotten" member of the Max clan; because she doesn't insist on endless amounts of affection and love the way some of the others do, she has not gotten as much as some of the others. But we have always loved her and given her every bit of attention she asked for.
In the last few days, she has taken a sudden and inexplicable turn for the worse. She's gone from her usual haughty and regal self to being lethargic and unresponsive. She constantly drools a foul-smelling saliva, her ears and eyes are discharging heavily, she isn't using the litter box, and she is barely eating or drinking. Tonight we've noted flecks of blood in her saliva. For a day or so, she seemed to rally and we allowed ourselves to hope for a recovery as quick and inexplicable as her decline, but it was a short rally.
Tomorrow morning, assuming she makes it through the night, we take her to the vet. We have almost no money and cannot begin to afford any expensive regimen of treatments, so we fear that we will be compelled by medical and financial reasons to have her put down. We're hoping against hope that the vet can do something that will bring her back from the brink, but we fear not.
I'm staying up with her. Last night she managed to crawl in bed with me for a few minutes, but I don't think she has it in her to do it again. If she goes in the night, she won't go alone, and if we have to send her onward tomorrow, she'll do it while we cradle her for her final moments.
She has been, and always will be, a wonderful lady and the best of friends. She's not the first we've lost, and she won't be the last. In the past I haven't diaried about any of our losses, but somehow I think Sharon deserves it. She spent her life being overshadowed by other cats who elbowed their way in front of her for affection and scritches. I can at least give her something of a memorial here; for once, she gets to take center stage.