The Story of Hobbes

[This will be another post where much less We is used in lieu of more I. {Sorry Rachel.]


It's been a long time. Almost two years. Despite a whole load of things that have happened over the last few years, it remains prudent to keep them private...for awhile.

However, there are some things that don't require as much discretion.

This is one of them.

You're not supposed to have favorite pets. Just like you're not supposed to have favorite children (should you have them).

But it happens.

Juniper & Hobbes, 2008 

Hobbes (and his adopted brother Juniper) came into my life in the Spring of 2008. They were kittens from a shelter in Canada.

I had just bought my first house, and had only planned on getting one - because every home needs a cat. The cat I had selected was Juniper because he seemed the most friendly. Later it became evident that he was friendly because I had been eating potato chips before going into the shelter and he loved the salt on my fingers. Still he was beautiful, so I chose him. While scoping out the kittens the man I was dating at the time fell for one of the scrappy ugly loud cats,who was pacing back and forth across his shoulders screeching, and I couldn't say no. So I got them both.

Turns out the cat I never wanted would be the one I couldn't imagine life without.

In his first week Hobbes got sick. I was having a low-key house party and so I cradled him in my arms all night, walking among my guests. I believe that it bonded us in a unique way.

A year or so later I rented out my house and moved Hobbes and Juniper from a big three bedroom two-story to a one bedroom apartment...where, depending on who you ask, I lost my mind, had a mental breakdown, or found myself (or, myselves, as the case may be).

In that apartment I crumbled. For the better part of 7 months I experienced severe mental health issues. I was "a bit" out of control, having fits of panic, at one point laying on my kitchen floor screaming and crying because I thought was going insane. I would hardly sleep. I drank a lot and would pass out on the living room floor. I would be short with the cats, yelling at them when they would meow incessantly while I was trying to write (entries for this very blog). It was a painful time. For half the year in that apartment I was a bad cat mommy. I don't recall how often the litter box got changed, or how frequently the water got replenished or the dish got washed or if I kept them fed. I do know that Juniper and Hobbes deserved so much better. But we survived together.

In October of 2011 we packed up and moved back to the states due to some work permit issues. Ultimately I ended up living with The Mother for about a year and a half.

She took care of the cats when I went to England for a couple of months. In that time she got them declawed - if they were going to stay in her house this was part of her conditions.

Juniper and Hobbes had new buddies to play with, as Mother had her own cats and was taking care of my cat Louis (named after the vampire from 'Interview with a Vampire'), whom I had relinquished to her when I moved to Canada nearly 8 years earlier. We survived.

Finally, in spring of 2013 I bought a house in the Midwest of the United States. A small two-story with a basement and plenty of room for the cats. They made the house home.

They had very different personalities, Juniper - the cat I had chosen from the shelter so many years 

Christmas, 2017

ago - was a loner. A beautiful loner with wonky back legs, neurological issues, and abandonment trauma from when he was a kitten, which is common with cats separated from their mothers too early. He wasn't my favorite. But I loved him dearly. And so did Hobbes.

Juniper passed away this past December, 2018, dying while I was on one of my regular trips to Los Angeles. He had been sick for awhile, fluid had built up in his lungs. We caught it early and they were able to remove some of the liquid which provided him a few final months of love, cuddles, and treats. He was 10 years old and left behind his brother Hobbes, who was the same age, and his two new siblings - Whiskey, 3 years old at the time, and Baxter,1 year old at the time (two accidental rescues).

Hobbes and I grew increasingly close over the years. He would sit on my lap and push himself into my arms when I was playing video games and I would happily give in.

He would sit in my lap and look up at me in the most lovingly way. Some have said his love for me was unusual (some might use the term creepy), as they'd watch as he would slowly reach is soft paw up to my face as if he wanted to stroke my cheek, and then he would try to coax my face towards him so he could lick and nip at my nose. Kitty kisses

When I would get out of the shower he would be sitting on the seat of the toilet waiting. As I would dry myself off he would reach for my wet hair and lick the water from it - sometimes he would chew a small, but thick, bundle of it off, but it was hard to be angry about it. 

Anytime I was using the washroom he would put his front paws on my knees and pull my face down to his with his paw for kisses.

When I would mow the lawn he'd sit in the dining room window and watch me, and when I'd have to stop nearby it to empty the bagger I'd talk to him and pet at him through the screen.

Whenever I would fill my water bottles for work with ice from the outside of the fridge he'd reach up, stretching against the refrigerator, and meow. He loved filtered water and ice in his water dish.

Some have remarked in the past that he had a very unique personality compared to other cats.

He loved me unconditionally. He was the only living thing that has ever made me feel unquestionably loved. I don't care how crazy that sounds.

                                                                  ~     ~     ~

When I came home from Los Angeles last Wednesday and did my check-in with each of the cats he was the last to check, mostly because he didn't come to greet me at the door as usual.

I wasn't in the door more than 10-15 minutes before I was out the door with him, in the car on the way to the emergency vet, terrified. There was definitely something wrong with him. He had fallen sick during the day and was lethargic and despondent and his mouth smelled horrible and it was sticky.
I lost it.
I was crying, panicking, growing more fearful. I was sure he was going to die in my arms on the 40 minute drive to the nearest emergency vet (the nearest vet in general).
I was holding him, kissing his ears and singing him nonsense songs, covering him in snot and tears as I told him what an amazing companion he is.
I thought he was going to die in my arms on that interstate.

Instead he died in my arms in a private room at the emergency vet clinic about 24 hours later. 

                                                                  ~     ~      ~

I jumped out of the car and handed them my baby. My love. And they whisked him away to immediately administer an IV of liquids and stabilize him. Through the tears I tried to decide if I would opt for CPR if they had to revive him, or choose DNR. I went for the CPR, which later I would learn in most cases is probably not the best idea anyway.

It wasn't long before they decided they would have to keep him for at least two days. He had arrived dehydrated, body temperature dropping. His blood work did not look promising.

His creatine levels were at 11. The high end of the acceptable range is 2.4.
His globulin readings were also high.
He was in kidney failure.
And on top of that he was suffering from a fatty liver.
They kept him overnight, texting an update before bed, and one in the morning.

The following day I had to work but was able to plan to see him in the afternoon.
They sent me to a private room to spend time with Hobbes when I got there.
But before they brought him in I was greeted by the vet.

He proceeded to tell me that Hobbes had gotten even worse. For the past two hours they had him in an oxygen tent because his breathing had gotten shallow.
He said he wasn't going to recover. There wasn't even a chance.
Through my shattering heart and tears and wailing I told him we should end his suffering.
They brought him, wrapped in a blanket, and placed him in my arms. They said I could have 5 minutes with him. 10 minutes tops.

He immediately reached one of his soft paws up to my face, and as it dropped down he began gasping for air. Before the nurse even left the room I called to her and asked her to bring the shot. He continued to gasp for air in my arms as I sobbed and told him how much I love him, how lucky I was to have had him, how amazing he is.

They gave him the shot and his body started to relaxed against me..

I sat there for about a half an hour cradling my dead cat, the love of my life, in my arms. Kissing his soft ears, covering him in tears.

His ashes joined Juniper's today, along with an imprint of one of his paws, 
and several prints on paper of his little toe beans.

I thought I had several more years with Hobbes. All the cats I had known, which is numerous, up to Juniper, had lived to be around 18 years old. I thought Juniper's death was a fluke, a rare occurrence. Hobbes was going to live forever.

I was, and still am, in shock.

That this light in my life is gone forever. Now when I do all of the things around the house that he used to be a part of there's an emptiness. When ice comes tumbling from the ice maker, it's almost unbearable. It took me days to use it. He will never sleep in the crook of my arm, or be my little spoon again.

When I was done mowing the lawn last weekend I sobbed in the shower and then passed out on the bed. I miss him so much. His funny little face and his weird little ways.

And it was all preventable.

                                                                  ~     ~      ~

I use an app called Pet Desk. It's a communication app between you and your vet. On it you can review things like medication information and blood test results.

This past April I had taken Hobbes and Whiskey to get their teeth cleaned and opted for the blood tests - a very important thing to do before an older pet ,or a pet with health issues, goes into surgery. The primary concern for everyone was Whiskey because he's Feline Leukemia (FeLV) positive, so his immune system is compromised which makes him susceptible to infections.

I am in the habit of taking notes when the vet or the technicians call, so I have notes related to that time period - none of which reference Hobbes or the test readings that are now clearly warning signs. When I was prompted to go back and review his blood test results from April I was alarmed and angered to learn that at that time his creatine levels (a key reading for kidney function) were already at 2.8, a full .8 higher than Whiskey's 2.0 which they felt warranted a discussion. But they never mentioned Hobbes'.

As a matter of fact there were a couple of blood markers that were a bit concerning that nobody felt the need to address; a point that I have already brought up with my vet when I discussed what had happened, demanding an apology from the person responsible. I got the apology a day later, but it was weak and ineffectual. I have since had to take another cat in (Baxter, he's mostly fine) to the vet and I stayed an extra half an hour until his blood tests were complete so the vet was forced to go over them with me. I have told them that in the future when I get blood work done for my cats (of which there are now 4) at their establishment that I would be waiting the half an hour for the results fin order to have a face-to-face discussion about the readings. With as much money as I have poured into that place, in the several thousands this year, I am now going to make them work for it. Because there is nothing more heartbreaking than someone/something you love dying too soon because of the negligence of a professional.

In the end I decided to write this blog post because
a) This event needed to be documented, because Hobbes was a very important part of my life.
b) As stupid as it sounds I was having a difficult time participating in social media or post about this, save a private post on FB, or anything, because the crushing heartache broke me. I also could not withstand one single assclown who would try to demean my grief if I posted about what I was feeling. Social Media is a different place these days.
c) I wanted this story out here in the ether so that it may prompt other pet owners to be more proactive in the care of their own pets by using tools like Pet Desk, by reviewing test results and researching what they may indicate.

I was lucky to have adopted two kittens (Cori and Siri) at the end of May (who were sick when I adopted them) which prompted skipping my Los Angeles trips for the summer so I could be with them for the first few months, which meant I got to spend a lot of quality time with Hobbes.

I had often talked to Hobbes (as a crazy cat lady does) after Juniper passed about how I didn't want him to die while I was away. That it would be devastating. I know it's a long time from now, I would say, but please don't go when I'm not here.

He died in my arms at 4:45pm CST on September 5th 2019, while I kissed his soft ears and cried into his loving face.

He had waited for me. 

                                                                  ~     ~      ~

Selected photos from the thousands that exist...

    

Always helping with projects

  

 

Hobbes & Baxter, 2019

  

Our Adventure Dog, May She RIP...

She was born on a farm in the country outside of a small town surrounded by other small towns in the the middle of nowhere in the Midwest of the United States. She was born of mixed breeds, Austrialian Shepherd, Keeshond, and Border Collie. She was gorgeous.
She was chosen because when we knelt to pet the puppies  in the litter they all ran away. But she stayed. She rolled over on her back for a belly scratch. She was ours immediately.

We named her Keesha. Her full name was Keeshandra, but at one point she was named "Keeshandra Sky 'da Bomb' Anderville" as named by one of two roommates who wanted her to have an amalgamation of her and the other roommate's last name. Everybody loved Keesha immediately, and it would be the same through her entire long life. She had a wonderful, gentle, yet protective disposition...and she was a bit batty sometimes and not at all graceful. You couldn't not fall in love with her.

Keesha started off life a princess among cats. About 16 to be exact. They, of course, were Mother's cats. It was just a year after high school graduation when we got her. We had moved up North, a few hundred miles away from where we had been evicted and left with no place to go, for what would be one of many forays in adult life involving living with Mother.
Sometimes it was as if Keesha thought she was a cat, crawling into your lap, as a full grown dog, rubbing her head and pressing her body against you in the way that cats do.

She got all the love and attention she wanted as she chased ducks across the yard and dug holes in the middle of potted plants. Later when we'd moved across the road to a derelict old farm house, she spent hours running in the fields, often bringing back something dead to bestow proudly on the doorstep, much to terror of the roommate who had only experienced city pets.
In the snow she'd dive, coming up for air, covered in powder. Nothing kept her sitting down, she wanted to be everywhere at once.

Alas, she was to move away from the vast fields where she spent her days running and playing, just under a year after she came to live near them. In a little two door Honda Civic, with her two human "mommies" and as much of their belongings as possible...and two cats...she headed west.

When she got there she had to live in an apartment, but it wasn't all bad because despite the rules she got let out to run free in the complex and have all sorts of new adventures. She didn't adapt to the potty training though, which took her almost four years to figure out. Nor did she ever take to a leash. If she was going for a walk, SHE was walking YOU.

She made many dog friends, some she went camping with near mountains and big lakes, swimming for the first time, running everywhere, her tongue hanging out in sheer happiness.

After her mommies weren't friends anymore and she moved to a new place with her two cat friends she had to say goodbye to them because the her new "daddy" didn't like them. She got a new sister, a horrible beagle mixed breed named Dolly who would be mean to her all the time and hit her with her front leg, which had a metal bar implanted in it. She was a spoiled dog who didn't take kindly to her new housemates. But at least she got to go to dog parks, swim in the streams there, and play Frisbee. She had endless love and energy for playing catch.

It wasn't long before she had to say goodbye to the big green mountains and lakes she loved, and go on another long road trip to a new home. She and Dolly moved East and she became a Chicago dog. She finally got a big backyard to play in and all sorts of new smells to experience.

She may have thought her big adventures were over, but it wasn't before long that her human mommy packed her up and took her away from her new family. Which was fine with her, because she didn't like them anyway, and loved adventure.

Unfortunately she had to live in a kennel for a couple of months before moving west again. Her human mommy packed up all of the things she could fit into a Ford Bronco II and they set off for something new. This time there were mountains to explore again, but these were more brown than green, and sadly there were no lakes. But there sure were adventures!

In the span of a year she got to live with a whole new set of people, tattooed and pierced people, and a little person.
And then just a few months after she had arrived, she got to move to Florida for awhile that included adventures sleeping in the Bronco II at a muggy Louisiana gas station, and then again in Kansas at a cold snowy rest-stop after it had been decided they should return to the mountains.
And then she lived in an old pool house in a bad part of town where her yard was a filled in swimming pool full of dirt. It wasn't the greatest of places and she wasn't allowed to go for walks, but at least she still had her human Mommy, and her mommy's tattooed friend, Body Piercer, to keep her company.
One night, while her human mommy and her roommate were trying to skip out on the rent in the middle of the night, to move to a better safer neighborhood, she almost got taken as collateral by an angry land lady! Luckily she was saved from being separated from the people who loved her, and she went to live in a new place...but that wouldn't last long...

Her human mommy went a little extra "crazy"...and she was stuck in one room with her for many many long days, and then was asked to move out. Having no place to go at the drop of a hat, it was back to the Bronco II for a few nights of sleep while things got figured out. But it was pretty cool, because she got to sleep at a park with a great view of the mountains, and got to run and play way more than she had been able to. And she got a new human daddy. The best human daddy a dog could ask for.

So she was packed up again, this time with a trailer hooked to the Bronco II, and they all headed east towards the Midwest to live with her human grandma, where she would spend the remaining years of her long life, in various different homes in the same city. She got to go on rides into the country ,and long walks in parks where she would play fetch and catch Frisbees and chase squirrels.

Her human mommy moved away after a few years and couldn't take her with because it was a whole other country; and her human daddy moved away too. She was left with her human grandma and grandpa, who loved her very much, and got a new giant yard for her to play in and took her to the lake every weekend from Memorial Day Weekend to Labor Day Weekend. She would jump around in excitement the minute she saw the coolers and suitcases emerge from closets, knowing that it was her favorite time of year. Her human mommy would visit, sometimes not so often, but in the last few years of her life she lived in the same house again, and went on lake trips with her...and then, one day, her family had to make a really hard decision involving her...

-----------------------------

She lived to be 17 years old. Her birthday had just passed. Last summer we had talked to Mother about what might have to be done, because she couldn't hold her bowels anymore (turns out she had been eating all of the cherry tomatoes from the plants in the garden and they were causing her to have accidents) and had started to lose her eyesight and her hearing, and we wanted a summer at the lake to be the last thing she remembered. But because she was still really active at the end of last summer, and despite her deteriorating senses she still managed catch toys, her "eternal rest" was postponed.

She made it through the winter, and this Spring had still been taking nightly walks. But then about three weeks ago it became apparent that she couldn't see or hear almost anything anymore, she stopped playing fetch, she no longer pulled on the leash during walks, she stopped eating and lost half of her body weight. She no longer enjoyed the things she had enjoyed her whole life and each day you could see the deterioration.

So it was decided that she should be given her final rest. She had the most amazing life almost any dog could have had - this story was but mere highlights of her many adventures - and lived longer than most pets, and it would have been cruel to let her continue to be in more pain, starving until she couldn't move anymore at all, just because it was going to be hard as humans to let go of her.

We took her into the vet yesterday. The scale read 20 pounds as they weighed her one final time. We were left to say our final private goodbyes before the vet came in to explain what would take place. Mother paid extra so Keesha could have a morphine shot before the euthanizing shot because it's a more relaxing way to go.

We cradled her head in our hands and held our face against hers, tears streaming, and whispered in her ear, telling her that she was the best dog ever, and that everybody loves her, and that it'll be okay.
Even before they had inserted the needle her eyes looked so tired, and before the full shot of morphine was injected she was gone, her head heavy against our hands.
It was probably one of the hardest experiences we've had over the last few years, and unlike any we can recall.

We've never had to put down a pet before, not as adults. As kids, growing up on a farm, those kinds of things got handled differently, or the pets died of natural causes because farm life is much closer to the life an animal lives in nature, and in nature animals don't live as long as house pets...especially those mother cares for. (Mother says the secret is water, plentiful water, as much as they want.)

Keesha was Our Adventure Dog. She was a constant loving and patient road companion. She was one tough hippie broad of a dog with the disposition of an angel.
She will be cremated and returned to her family. We have requested that some of her ashes be sprinkled at the lake she spend so many summers playing at.
And some of the ashes we want, so we can take small amounts on our travels, so she can keep having adventures, and forever be Our Adventure Dog.

 

RIP, sweet angel dog. <3

RIP Louis

When we got our first apartment, even before we were 18 years old, we got out very first pet, one chosen by only us, a beautiful tabby cat. He was so beautiful that we always told people if we were a girl cat we'd have a crush on him. We named him Louis after the character in the Interview with a Vampire series by Anne Rice, Louis de Pointe du Lac. (We were really into vampires back in 1997).

<3 Louis the cat. Taken a couple of days ago. <3
(Mom is currently trying to find a couple more pictures...)

Louis was a cat with a unique personality...the memories we all share of him are funny to us, like how he used to take road trips with us and refuse to be in the cage, so he would try to lay on the dash, or pace along it while we tried to drive, and eventually settle in our lap while we drove. (yeah, it obviously was not safe)

He used to do a funny thing where he would stare at us from across the room, run over to us, jump on our lap, bite us, then run back to the same spot and stare.

We lived in a tiny studio apartment for while and he would lay with us on our mattress on the floor and watch movies with us all weekend long, weekend after weekend, when none of our friends would drive the few extra miles out into the country to hang out with us.

Today we got home from buying a tent for our road trip we are to start tomorrow, and The Mother and Stepdad were not home. About 15 minutes after we got home The Stepdad came in the door.

"We put Louis to sleep" He said.

As strange as it sounds we thought he was joking, he has a dry and strange sense of humour, but behind him came mom with a bundle wrapped in a blanket, crying.

Louis had recently been diagnosed with kidney failure and had lost a lot of weight. Two pounds in the last week, as a matter of fact; and he was never a fat or overweight cat anyway. When they had gotten home earlier he was crying a lot, and couldn't stand very well on his hind-legs. They decided it was time to put him down so they took him to the vet.

We never got to say goodbye. That's the most painful part.

Mom is upset, she doesn't have any cats of her own anymore, we had long relinquished the right to call Louise solely ours. Mom has never not had a cat since she was 7 years old. She is now a crazy cat lady with no cats (at one point she had over 15). She has The Stepdad cat, and will be taking care of our two cats (J-Bug and H-Dog [names altered to protect their identity]) for the entire time we are in Europe the next time around, but that's not really the same.

Needless to say it would have been nice to kiss him goodbye, instead of hug his lifeless body in blanket. We couldn't bare to look at him without life, without his soul. We wish we could have been braver.

Tomorrow, when his body is cold, mom will bury him under the tree in the backyard, where he will join her other two cats, Uni and Jasmine, who died not too long ago, at the ripe old age of 20.

Louise, you were a great cat. A beautiful cat. A good cat. We are happy you are no longer in pain, but you will be missed.