Reflections and the Rainbow Bridge

Tully, age 12 and Dante, age 6 weeks

Grief is an old friend. We've had many, many cats and a couple dozen are buried on our property. But the passing of Tully hits especially hard.

In the mid nineties I lived a very different life. I had just begun my Pagan path, and was not on speaking terms with the Christian God. I had crawled out of my fourth, and very abusive marriage. I had disowned my biological father due to his toxicity in my life. I had found yet one more knight in shining armor, who later proved to the most abusive of them all. I finally gained custody of my sons, and was desperately trying to keep them with me. For a couple of years things looked rosy. It was during those years that Tully came to be.

A few years later I lost my grove, my friends, my sons and all hope. It was one of the darkest times of my life. The knight in shining armor turned out to be a very dangerous sociopath and his extreme charm and manipulations had everyone believing his stories. After destroying my life, he went on to destroy even more lives. But that's an entry for another day. The cats were the only constant in my life. Their need for me, for affection, for care, for cat food, kept me going when I wanted nothing more than to give up.

With no where to go, I moved into The Fiber Geek's basement with my sixteen cats, including Tully and his littermate, Temptation. Later, the cats and I moved to North Carolina and eventually into the trailer I now share with Cameron. I think part of the reason I grieve Tully so deeply is because he represented a tie those days when my sons were with me, when my eldest son had not stopped talking to me, when the world was still filled with those possibilities of normalcy and family. Losing my cat is like loosing the hope I've carried all these years of a strong connection to my sons, to my grandchildren. The years move on, and the distance between us grows. And I've no power to change it.

Looking back, I saw the symptoms of Tully's illness. But my income is half of what it was in the nineties and cost of living has doubled. Vets and chemo are not an option. So we've loved Tully while we had him, and he was utterly devoted to us.  We went to the vet a few weeks ago for antibiotics, and he gained weight. He's spent every moment he could in my lap at the computer or on the bed. I think he's known it was almost time, and he poured out his affection. He's always been affectionate, but these last few weeks even more so.

Yesterday he didn't find his way to my lap. He slept most of the day. Today he refused food. This evening, he crossed the rainbow bridge. 

Tully has been a life lesson to this old, disillusioned witch. He was determinedly cheerful to the end. Indeed, he was the most joyful cat in the house. Only a couple of hours before he crossing, he was "smiling" with his customary cheer. He went swiftly and easily, and is buried beneath the pussy willow.

 Son of Brom, son of Isis, I give the cat goddess Bastet thanks for your life and your joy in living. I miss you desperately. May you please find your way back to me with the turn of the wheel. So mote it be.

Tully Cat

Grey cat: Tannis, in the middle, Marmelade,
Tabby: Tully, and Orange Cat: Rascal (2007)

It's Sunday afternoon and my cat is curled up in my lap asleep. He was asleep the day I found him, 12 years ago, curled up with his momma Isis and littermates, less than four hours old. I initially planned to have several of the kittens adopted out, but couldn't stand to let him go. My best friend, Fiber Geek, named him Tully for Tullamore Dew. It's our drink of choice during late night Filking.

I know the day he was conceived. I did not know, until then, that cat sex is a spectator sport! We had an evil bout of upper respiratory infections run through the house. A neighbor moved out of town, abandoning Isis on the doorstep. She and Brom were the only unfixed cats in the house. She went into heat, and neither cat could be taken to the vet for surgery until they were well. Initially, Brom was too young and inexperienced to know what to do. He definitely was not making the right approach. Firedancer the First solved his problem. With every cat in the house (12 back then) in a circle around Isis, crouched in position, my very neutered Firedancer stepped up, demonstrated how to pleasure a lady, and stepped back. I had no idea he has such knowledge, as he had been neutered very young. Brom watched with deep attention, and then took his turn. I counted the weeks. Four kittens. Three survived.

For the first three years of his life, we called him Tully of Little Brain. He just didn't seem too bright. He raced around like a maniac, got into things and fell off high places. He brought me joy and laughter during a very dark time in my life. He grew so fast he never knew where his feet were. He had me fooled. He had learned playing dumb got him extra treats and attention. More recent years revealed a very elegant, very intelligent cat. Never any problem, gentle and loving.

Two weeks ago Tully was diagnosed with end stage cancer. The vet said to take him home, love him, feed him anything he wants. My rail thin cat, who lost all his teeth a year ago to the cancer, has gained two pounds. Yesterday I found the swollen lymph node in his neck, an inch away from the cancer. We count his life now by breaths and purring.

Yesterday I had to run to the store for cat sand. The check out clerk inquired how many cats I have. When I replied 22, she asked, "Do you know all of their names and personalities?" How offended she might have been if I asked her children's names and personalities. I simply replied my sons are grown and gone, and of course I know the furchildren's names. Yet even as each is precious and unique, some do bond more tightly than others. Tully is very near my heart indeed.

When it's my time to cross into the Summerlands, I want to cross with the grace of my cat. I'm sure he knows he's dying, yet each day he is cheerful, enjoys laying in the morning sun, and devourers every bite of food I give him. Tully has always been an easy cat, happy to have attention, cautious with his claws, delighted in the moment whether it included cat nip, cat food or attention. He is a study of Mindfulness. My clients at the clinic and I could learn much from him. Soon he will cross the Rainbow Bridge, joining his poppa Brom and momma Isis.

May the Goddess Bastet keep you and hold you, and love you like I do, Tully. May she guide you gently to the Rainbow Bridge when it's time. Know my heart goes with you, and you will be welcomed back again with the turn of the wheel.

I love you, Tully Cat. I shall miss you more than I can say.

More Grief: In Memory of Thor

Thor, a powerful name for such a shy cat, found me ten years ago on a hot fall day as I headed into Pet's Mart. Nestled into the palms a pregnant woman's hands, she was desperately seeking a home for him. His feral mother had the kittens in the bumper of an old Edsel. When Momma cat was hit by a car, the young woman went looking for the kittens. She was too late for all but Thor. Dehydrated and starving, she nursed him back to health for several days. Crying because she loved him and crying because she couldn't keep him, she was seeking a home for the tiny charcoal grey ball of fluff. Her baby was due in a couple of days and the apartment had a no pet rule.

I told her that if no one took him before I came out of the store then I would. I had had Toulouse for two years. I had just adopted/rescued Dickens, Starshine and Firedancer. I didn't need another. I no sooner made it into the store than my decision was made. Pivoting on my heel, I went out and claimed my kitten. Terrified, he rode home between the truck door and the seat. He remained a shy, reclusive cat all of his life. He just never lived up to the towering thunder of his name. Yet he was a loving cat that grew into a beautiful Tom. Huge paws told the story of a cat who should have been much bigger, much heavier. But he was never ill a day of his life.

"Thor hugs!" was the word I would croon to him as I nestled him against my chest. He would wrap his paws around my arm, cuddling under my chin in happiness. He loved to drink water straight from the facet, and I would leave it running for him while brushing my teeth or showering. When he'd get too reclusive, hiding behind the dryer or in the shower, I would spend a few days "wagging" him. Soon, he'd be sleeping on Cameron's chest at night again.

This weekend we realized the extent of the fleas in our pets. Fairly broke, we purchased Hartz flea protection, which I have used previously with success. This morning Thor didn't drink much water when I was getting ready for church. This afternoon I realized we had a problem. Before I could get Cameron on the phone, he had two seizures. I thought he was dead after the second, but he revived. Cameron met me at the door, abandoning a buggy of cat food and cat sand at Wal-Mart, to rush us to the emergency vet. Negotiating cost, horrified at prices, we compromised, put off bills, made hard decisions. They wanted to bathe him first, finishing getting the flea debris off him. He didn't make it through his bath. Another seizure and he was almost gone. Sobbing, whispering to him to go ahead and cross the Rainbow Bridge, we asked the vet to finish the process, to not let him suffer. He was gone before the syringe emptied. Tonight Cameron has buried him next to Bubbles.

The vet told us that he had probably had a previously undiagnosed condition. He was underweight--we assured her this was good compared to what he's often been at. Indeed, as a kitten, I had to create a growth spell because the vet worried he wasn't going to make it in those early days and months. He lived a loving and happy life of ten years. Not bad for a cat that needed magic to live.

And so Toulouse died two years ago, as did the first Starshine. My familiar Bastet died four years ago. Gimli and Jason died the first year I lived here (the vet begged us to take them after they had been abandoned at his office for months). Firedancer has gone, as has Butter Cup and Brom. Butterscotch and Champagne were adopted out. Persephone the First died right after I moved here (a rescue, she never gained adult size). I once had 20 cats brought from Atlanta in another lifetime. Bridget died last summer along with her mate Bandit. Maya (born of Bridget and Baulder) only weighed three pounds and stopped growning. She lived to be three. Bubbles died this weekend and Marco died earlier this summer. By dog Brittany died four years ago at the age of 12. All came to me in time when I lived as a heterosexual woman. A time when my children still lived with me -- a time before the oldest stopped talking to me, or denied me my grandchildren. I still have Tannis, Dickens, Lotus, Xian, Silvermoon, Tully and Temptation.

The grief of loosing furbabies is profound. We've had so many of them along the way. While people often express shock or disapproval of our large number of cats, we have loved each. Indeed, when I lived in Atlanta each was fixed, got yearly shots, frequent vet visits. When my income became a quarter of what it once was, the vet visits decreased, but my love did not. Losing them is like loosing a piece of my heart.

In Memory of Bubbles

Today we grieve. Bubbles, beloved furbaby, kitten of Bridget and Baulder, died early this morning. She was found curled up in neighbor's driveway, as if she had fallen asleep and simply stepped out of her body. She was 9 years old.

Bubbles had one litter of kittens and developed complications. She was not spayed, but never had another heat. She loved being out of doors, only sleeping in at night when we could convince her to do so. She was vocal, loving, and always greeted us when the car pulled into the driveway.

She adopted me by shear force of will. When I would go to Luna and Cameron's home for a visit, years ago while living in Atlanta, she would greet me at the door and stay in my lap until I left. Eventually, I gave in and took her home with me. Later, when I bought my trailer, after having lived at Luna and Cameron's for six months, she stayed with me but insisted on going outside. She soon learned to convince the neighborhood she would starve if not fed. She was a car slut, hopping into any car door open. Cameron frequently had to stop her from going home with anyone else. I made sure she was tagged just to keep anyone else from adopting her! Cameron often leaves her car window down, and Bubbles loved sleeping in the car. The only thing she appreciated more was finding an unopened bag of cat food. Often Cameron would go to get the cat food, only to find one corner torn open from Bubbles having had a snack. Blessed child of Bastet, you will be missed. We love you, baby girl.

Starshine's Thoughts for Today

When I came in from hanging laundry, Starshine had created his post.

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They Call Me the "Cat Lady"

Sometimes a fur baby will announce that he is coming home despite the number of children at your home. Meet Starshine, our newest fur child.

He is named for a calico literary cat, Sharshine, who is part of the Kinsey Milhone series by Alex Matthews. My original Starshine, sister to my familiar Dickens for Charles Dickens, passed away unexpectedly a few years ago. She also was a beautiful orange and white cat.

It became obvious very quickly who would rule this relationship.

Death Comes in Threes

About a month ago we lost our beloved dog Ewok. Cameron has spoken extensively about that loss and the many years they shared. A week ago we were preparing to attend Truth Teller's funeral. Then last night the neighbor knocked on the door. They had found our "grey boy" Marco beside their house. He looked like he had fallen asleep -- no sign of trauma or poisoning. But he had crossed the rainbow bridge.

The term "grey boy" refers to several generations of kittens that came from Cameron and Luna's home. The mother cats Bridget, Frya, or Wee Bit produced them, and Baldor fatheed them all. As kittens were often more closely together, and hidden until one of the human found them, not to mention co-paretned, Cameron and Luna were never certain of parentage. With so many rescues in the house, and unable to make it to the vet before the next litter was born, Cameron and Luna had a number of inbred grey and white cats over a period of several years. None were very bright, but what they lacked in intelligence they made up for with affection. Indeed, they were some of the most affectionate cats I have ever met.

Marco adopted me seven years ago when I moved to South Carolina to get back on my feet. I moved in with Cameron and Luna temporarily. We had much drama in those years. When Cameron moved in with me a year later, we made a no-drama, we are monogamous commitment.

During those months, I lived in Cameron's studio. It was a small bedroom dominated by a concrete and 2x4 bookcase and a map table. I had a single bed, six inches in a closet, and enough room for three stacking crates. Yet somehow, I made it work.

Because the space was so small, I decided I did not want any cats in the bedroom. Marco, however, decided to adopt me. He cried piteously outside my door, and lurked nearby to run in every time the door opened. Once he convinced me that he was sleeping in my room, word got around. I can just imagine the conversation he had with litter mate Little John, "Hey man, it's the best room in the house and you only have to share her with me!"

When I moved out, Marco came with me. Nine months later, Cameron moved in. Around that time, Marco escaped out the door. Occasionally he came home, obviously having been adopted

by a second family who had put a flea color on him. He always arrived sleek and healthy, and after about three days he would make it past us and out the door. After disappearing for an even longer time than usual, I gave up on him coming home, although Cameron remained optimistic.

Almost a year after his last disappearance, I opened the door and there stood a filthy, near starved, glazed donut faced cat. The snot covered his nose, cheeks and mouth. Only the white mark on his hip told me that Marco had come home. Grieving, almost certain my cat was going to die, we cleaned him up and took him to the vet the next morning.

Dr P didn't think he was going to make it. But he sent Cameron home with IV fluids, needles and special stinky cat food. Within 48 hours, I knew my cat would live. Two weeks later, with a bit of an occasional sneeze and two rounds of antibiotics later, Marco was reintegrated with the household.

Initially he was content to be an indoor cat. However, as the weather warmed the spring, he began getting out past us again. He loved to lead us on frantic chases, staying just out of reach and usually at a time that critical for us to be somewhere else! Cameron at last learned that if she sat and waited he would come home quicker, disappointed that she wasn't participating in his play.

Last Saturday night he sat side by side with his brother Legba (Marco's the cat on the right) playing vulture kitty. They were watching Christian Mystic getting settled to sleep on our love seat. The next morning he got out, and I never saw him alive again.

Loosing a furbaby is like loosing a small child. They depend upon us, and in exchange, offer a great deal of love. Marco adored laying on my shoulder and having his ears scratched. He was a traditional "grey boy," meaning he was extraordinarily affectionate.

Indeed, I take my role as a servant of Bastet very seriously. We have a total of 21 cats today. I love each one deeply, knowing their stories, their histories and their preferences. So the loss of even one strikes deeply. The scripture in the bible about the shepherd who seeks out even one lost sheep, and does not rest until the sheep is within the fold, describes exactly how I feel about our furbabies. To lose one, especially so unexpectedly, is more difficult than I can possibly put into word.

Until I cross the rainbow bridge and am surrounded by all my furchildren who crossed before me, I shall miss you Marco. Your memory is precious. I grieve you deeply.

Funerals are for the Living: Bagpipes and Amazing Grace

We gathered at the mortuary yesterday for our “viewing” of Truth Teller. Priestess expressed satisfaction with his appearance, although others were less comfortable. Priestess carried herself with great dignity. Unfortunately, she did fall at one point. She said that lupus occasionally can make her fall seemingly for no reason.

We were made welcome at Truth Teller’s parents’ home immediately following the service. They are quite well-to-do, and took great pleasure in showing off their recently renovated home which includes four and a half bathrooms, five bedrooms, a pool, a master closet that someone requested to move into–it had everything including a washer and dryer so laundry could be done on the spot.

I was greatly saddened to learn that Truth Teller had been an only child. His father takes off to New Orleans today to fulfill work responsibilities. I keep imagining his mother rattling around in that beautiful, empty house and I wonder where she fill find comfort.

Cat, who is in her early twenties, expressed dissatisfaction with the service. It had been performed by a lovely Scotts heritage Episcopalian priest. He just took over service at a local church where he’s "the fourth banana.” The other three had immediately gone on vacation, throwing him to the pagans. He used the common ceremony in their Book of Prayers, and it was lovely. Nevertheless, I’m certain Cat was not the only pagan left squirming. The ceremony was what Truth Teller had generously requested for the sake of his family. I hope they found the comfort in the service they needed.

Priestess has agreed to allow Cameron and me to lead a much more pagan ritual near Samhain. Perhaps my Pagan friends will find more comfort then. Nevertheless, I have to admit the service held power. There’s nothing like the mournful sound of bagpipes playing Amazing Grace to touch that collectively unconscious repository for grief.

We lit huge green and pink pillar candles on the house altar last night. Cameron, Christian Mystic, Cat and The Fiber Geek and myself each poured into them energy for balance and peace. May each of the people who grieve Truth Teller find their way through their grief with grace.