If I don't write her a diary I will feel like I didn't really think she was worth it, and that is not true. Scamper, who turned out to be the tiniest cat I've ever seen in my life, was the most gentle and affectionate little creature from the first day we brought her home until the last moments of her life. Here I will tell her story, taking a chance by displaying my heart to the world, and risking the defiling of our love for her. But if I do not do it here, amongst my friends, peers, and people who also love their pets, then I have not done her justice.
Scamper, my baby, May 2008 - August 2009
I can haz profits?
It's been two days and I'm already crying while just writing this sentence.
Big breath.
My darling husband claims he was cornered at the animal shelter, but I attest that this is not the case. On a particularly hungover Sunday I suggested we take a drive, to where, he wanted to know. The shelter, of course, my love, I said.
Already having a grown black cat at home, the sight of the shelter's kitty offerings this day did not impress him. I laid my sights on a tiny grey kitten, knowing this kitten would be coming home with me. However, another small kitten in the same cage began to make quite the ruckus.
This black kitten was protesting furiously of her being caged, and promptly hung from the top of the cage by her claws, staring at the both of us directly in the eyes, and mewled and howled and bitched and complained loudly and then even went and pooped in her own bed. Naturally, immediately I was in love, and thankfully, my dear husband who was coming to, said, and I quote, "Well, we can't break them up, can we?"
So the legacy of Cougar and Scamper, Frik and Frak, Pea and Pod, began.
It was a passionate love affair.
Scamper liked to wake us up around five in the morning. She was very persistent that we pay attention to her at this time. Purring ferociously, she would come and sniff our sleepy faces one after another, going back and forth between our pillows, walking on our heads. I had a much higher tolerance for this than did my husband, as did I have a higher tolerance for Scamper's affectionate yet somewhat strange addiction to licking our fingers. She also tried frequently to rob me of my engagement ring's diamond, but she too was drawn towards less expensive jewelry, in particular a homemade beaded bracelet I'd intended to be a necklace. Upon this little rope of beads she'd gently pull with her very sharp teeth. It was a good thing she was so docile; her fangs and claws could have been very dangerous.
And that, perhaps, was the reason I loved her so very dearly, that she had no desire to hurt us, even during play; she was a curious cat, always inspecting me during bath time and staring at the drains. It seemed that instead of being an aggressive huntress she was more interested in absorbing her surroundings and learning about them, if you will forgive me.
But one thing I can tell you, if you had small plastic items that you wanted to keep track of, you'd better've nailed them down if Scamper was there, because she looooooved to scatter them around the house. Star Wars action figures and Legos included.
As the new kittens grew, it became apparent that Scamper not only was naturally docile in nature, but that she also was naturally tiny. I made jokes that she was the "runt" of her litter, in retrospect, I believe this to be true. However, this only endeared her to me more, and I was fiercely protective of her. Thankfully, Cougar, her "sister," was growing larger by the day (too large - she must go on a diet ASAP), and Scamper had nothing to fear while she was in Cougar's sights.
I absolutely hate, hate, hate having to jump to this part, but I do it for myself and anyone else who suffers the same.
About two weeks ago, Scamper stopped waking us up in the mornings and begging for attention from us while on the couch in the evenings. I'd thought she'd gotten a little thinner, but she was always so tiny, it was hard for me to tell.
But then she became listless and I - the genius I am - became frightfully aware that something was amiss. We'd been in the process of buying a new house and having my mother-in-law over and amongst the hubbub I'd neglected my baby.
I did some research online, and I came across a link that warned about liver problems in cats, and how that was indicated by the yellowing of the gums and ears.
I took Scamper to the vet on August 13.
At the vet
The doctor came into the room and "felt up" the cat. Once he opened her mouth and we saw that the roof of her mouth was yellow, the truth of the matter had not stricken me yet. But once he said "liver" and a few other things about treatments and antibiotics and then cortisone and then dehydration and then IVs and biopsies I just grabbed my tiny kitty and held her fiercely and bathed her with tears that were to grow much more bitter in the next few days.
Even at that moment I knew that Scamper would not have the strength to endure the pain of what he was proposing. Frankly, I was not willing to pierce her tiny body with all those needles and make trips with her hiding in a box in a scary car any more than I absolutely had to.
I asked the doctor how much time I was looking at. He proposed a test to see if the problem was indeed the liver (but by then we knew) and I agreed to do that, put her on antibiotics, and if that did not improve her condition, I would make my decision from that moment. Although I hoped the antibiotics would do something, in my heart I chanted the mantra that I would not let her suffer.
I started taking many pictures of my kitten. Cougar didn't understand or know why her sister wasn't playing. But she snuggled with her anyway.
See how tiny she is?
Scamper wasn't eating or drinking, so I FINALLY got the bright idea to force feed her water and mushed-up wet cat food and milk. I fed this to her in syringes given to me by the vet. I did a lot of research online about this, although the reason why I did this was not out of hope but to merely keep her from starving to death before our daughter returned home from a trip.
The days tolled on in agony, for Scamper, most surely, but also for me. I was weeping every night and waking up in the mornings feeling pure dread. I began to let Scamper have a few minutes in the front yard, as they are indoor cats, and I would crawl around behind her in the grass in the sunlight. I cursed the fact that these precious animals had to be locked up inside due to the automobile and other predators. It wasn't fair they had to live enclosed and do things like get liver failure.
Our young and darling daughter returned home and I had to give her the bad news. Scamper had always been "her" cat, or "daemon," as people had daemons in "The Golden Compass." Our daughter is old enough to know about death but not process the ultimate finality of it, especially in its direct face. I felt that she avoided Scamper during her last day with us, and I do not fault her that. I tried desperately to contain my own sorrow and not make it worse for the kids. I succeeded, I felt.
The last night before I put Scamper to sleep I'd had a horrible vision of her suffering flash before my eyes as I laid down in bed. I barely slept myself and when I did I had dreams of trying to call a veterinarian to make Scamper's final appointment on a phone that would not work. That morning I kept Scamper on the bed with me and I kept my hand on her, reassuring her, and probably moreso, myself, that I would not leave her alone.
As soon as I could, I made the appointment. It would happen at two-thirty in the afternoon. As listless and miserable and yellow as my little kitty was becoming, I lamented that I didn't have an appointment for that moment.
The kids stayed downstairs as I tried to do some of my normal things. I always kept Scamper in my sights.
The time ticked by. Two hours left. Scamper went into our bathroom and did something she hadn't done in what felt like forever:
She went to go check out the bathroom drain!
I wonder if she wanted to say good-bye to it. It had been the source of so much wonderment for her during her short life. I was pleased that she wanted to drink, and she took in water for the first time in days on her own.
We were down to the last hour. I'd decided to put Scamper in a basket for her last ride. I played "My Sweet Lord" by George Harrison, "Ripple" by the Grateful Dead, and "Lift Me Up" by Bruce Springsteen for her. I know, I know, I did this for myself and not her. But she stayed in her basket, her last carriage, and suffered and listened to the music with me, and closed her eyes and relaxed.
My husband came home from work in the nick of time for me to go to the appointment. His jaw was clenched and his blue eyes steely and resisting water but his heart betrayed him as he stiffly picked up the basket and walked Scamper downstairs. Our daughter burst into tears and our younger son apparently hadn't understood all the euphemisms about death that I detest anyway and I think he finally figured out what what happening.
Scamper's last ride
I'm going to shorten this as I feel I am seriously dragging this out to the point of obsession. I apologize.
In the office Scamper lay in her basket and did the oddest thing. I was leaning over her and holding her tiny, fragile body and she began to purr. I mean PURR. Loudly, vigorously. She had not purred in days and days. Her silence, the force-feedings, all began to fade away by the sound of her purrs. And then she began to nibble the beaded bracelet of mine that she'd always coveted. I laughed aloud, and held her even closer, as she continued to purr. What solace this little cat brought to me with this final act.
The doctor brought me back an empty basket and ownerless collar. The weight of my dying child was off my shoulders, finally. I knew I could go back home and enjoy a glass of wine and read on the front porch without worrying about my suffering kitten.
When I did get home the first thing I did was tell my daughter and son that Scamper had purred like she'd done during her well days and that she'd made a go of my bracelet. My daughter grabbed her heart and her tears spilled as she said how truly happy that made her, and how much better she felt.
As time goes on I will not think of the last days of my dying kitty's life but of all the sweetness and unconditional love that she gave us. My job now is to comfort her sister, the fat Cougar, who most surely is wondering where her sister is.
For the children I'd changed the words to the song "Human" by The Killers into something else, which I will share here:
Are you Cougar? Or are you Scamper?
My signs are vital, my paws are warm;
And I'm on my haunches, looking for the answer,
To are you Cougar, or are you Scamper?
Thank you ever so much for reading this if you did, and tolerating me, if you did. I have never lost a pet like this before, and I am taking it very hard. But I had to write this testimonial for my baby, at least so I know she existed, and that such a small thing as a tiny black pound cat brought a profound experience to our family and lives.
Thank you, Scamper. I love you.