Dec 28, 2001
Monday passed away this afternoon. Over the
past 18 months she has had two incidents of liver disease, but bounced back
from both. Our vet "Dr. Susan" was amazed both times! In some ways Monday was a very
fragile cat, but she was also a fighter! Anyway... she was slowing down
these past few months... being 12 years old, no one was surprised there, but
nothing seemed seriously wrong. She seemed fine on wednesday. She suddenly
stopped eating yesterday so I force fed her baby food... sometimes when she
was picky this would jump start her appetite. This time it didn't work. Last
night she was drinking a lot of water but by early morning she couldn't keep
the water or the food I fed her down. When I checked her litter box
there was blood in her urine.
She was going downhill very quickly. My husband John called the vet, leaving
a message. I sat
with her on the bed, stroking her and
watching her and eventually a feeling washed over me:
she wanted us to let her go. As this bolt of reality hit
my little sniffles suddenly turned into a big noisy
bout of crying. The next hour was a blur. Me holding Monday and sobbing.
The vet on the phone, first with John, then with me trying to explain the
situation with
heart pounding and mind racing. Dad offering to drive us to the clinic, Mom coming
along, consoling me, crying herself.
Dr. Susan eased Monday over the Rainbow Bridge
at 4:30pm... she felt that even if she were
hydrated and fed through tubes, she was so "wasted" that she would probably
die during the night. We didn't want her in any more pain and we wanted to
be with her when she passed. It was painless and quick but... well, if you've
lost a furbaby you know how we felt as we held her
and felt her slip away. We're having her cremated and John is going to
make a memorial box for her ashes, with room for a photo on the front.
This evening John and I talked a lot about Monday, looking at all the
photos we have of her on the walls of our apartment.
Before going to bed I played "Memory" and "My Heart Will Go On" on the piano over and over.
It helps to imagine Monday "ascending to the Heaviside Layer"; of course I don't know
where she is right now but I she "is" somewhere, somewhere where there is no pain
Dec 29, 2001
The holiday season has come to an abrupt halt for us. Last night we stayed home
and watched "Ghost"; it was strangely comforting to shed some of our tears
for a couple of fictional characters.
We had planned on going to a pre New Years party tonight but neither of us
feels much like celebrating. This afternoon we drove to Home Depot to buy materials
for Monday's urn: a nice piece of red oak and some plexiglass.
I'm going to use a photo
which I shot several years ago... Monday in one of her classic "meditative" poses.
John is going to build the urn ... he's a carpenter...
and I will sand and varnish it.
I still haven't told many people about Monday's passing; just a few close friends.
But I have decided to upload parts of this journal to my website eventually, in the hope
that my experience might help some others. I'm just not ready to "go public" yet.
Dec 30, 2001
I thought I heard Monday's sweet purr in my ear this morning. Then I woke up.
Now it's evening. John finished building the wooden urn today and I sanded it,
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony on the stereo. Music
seems to ease the pain of parting even as
certain passages temporarily intesify it. We've had the CD player on almost constantly
over the past few days:
Beethoven, Mozart, Loreena McKennitt, Stevie Nicks, and at the moment, George Harrison's
"All Things Must Pass"... especially poignant since George himself passed away just a
short month ago. A local club is hosting a tribute to George and The Beatles at the end
of January and we may go to that. I'll probably cry, but that's OK!
Monday's new "house" is now in its new home, between statues of Kwan Yin and Bastet on
our personal altar in the living room with a bit of fur from her brush inside.
Dec 31, 2001
I dreamed that Monday led John and me down a long passageway in a kind of
feline shopping mall, with cats lined up on either side of the path,
watching us as we passed. I thought of my neighbors who lost their beloved dog
of many years earlier this month. They drove directly from the cemetary to
the shelter, adopting a new puppy that same day.
Yes, we will open our hearts to a new furbaby one of these days;
there are so many cats in the world in need of good homes.
Not today though. Neither one of us feels ready yet.
Memories of Monday still bubble up constantly.
She was a unique combination of fragile and feisty... a sweet, soft little
purrball who wouldn't take crap from anyone.
She was an expert fly-catcher and liked to "help" me
make the bed by chasing imaginary prey beneath the sheets.
She hated being brushed but loved being stroked and rubbed.
She would purr in time to our stroking, was crazy for catnip
and pity the fool who came between her and her catfish or chicken dinner!
And she loved to stalk around the apartment at night, then
climb into our bed to snuggle early in the morning. I've never felt such soft fur.
I can still feel Monday's energy around me. Whether this is some sort of
ghostly visitation or the murmurings of my own heart or both I don't know. And it doesn't
matter. It's enough knowing that the love she inspired will never die.
Thank you to all who have sent cards, letters or otherwise
offered their condolences on Monday's passing, especially
Mom & Dad, Kira, Beth, Betty, Aunt Del, Lois, Ruth, Annie, Hans, Pat & the Crowley Cats, Anne, Margaret,
Carla, Lea', Marie, Sharon, Dennette & Ozzie.
Special thanks to Pat Crowley for this lovely memorial candle.
Honeybear's Memorial Page