The Cat Farm

Sasha was about 2 years old when Mickey caught her eye. Mickey was about 7-8 months old. Sasha had two kittens older than Mickey! And there were plenty of other more “eligible” tomcats in the colony that hadn’t had a date with the scalpel yet. But Mickey was who she loved.

Sasha hadn’t yet been trapped and I watched them bond. She went into heat, and wanted Mickey to be the dadcat so badly. I should have been horrified - after all I do rescue and Spay/Neuter is the hallmark of our efforts. But, they were so cute they made me laugh. At first he had no idea what she wanted. Then, he figured it out. But he was size-challenged. NO! Not that size - his body length was too short. After all, he was barely out of kittenhood! I’m not sure who ended up being the dadcat, but a little later I did manage to trap both of them.

Mickey was immediately neutered and vaccinated with modified-live vaccine. A couple hours later, Sasha was sedated to be spayed, but….ooops! She was further along than we thought. Criticize me if you like, but I don’t do late-stage spays. I can’t call myself “no-kill” if I’m putting each individual kitten down when it is still in the womb. So, Sasha was going to finish her pregnancy. But, another oops! No one was sure if Mickey would be shedding virus while his immune system responded to the vaccination. So - for the time - Sasha and Mickey had to be kept separate.

Normally I don’t like caging cats for much time, but that is what I did. They were in adjoining cages. They were large cages, side-by-side but far enough apart they couldn’t touch each other. But they were still “together”.

Three weeks later he was deemed safe and I opened the cages. She immediately crawled in his cage and curled around him.

Some months later Mickey got sick. He spent a few days in the hospital recovering. When he returned home I put his crate down on the floor and Sasha immediately climbed on top of it. I let him out, and they carefully sniffed noses. “Is it really you? Are you really home? Are you okay?”

They wrapped themselves around each other again. They loved to cuddle and were never far from each other. Sadly, whatever virus Mickey had settled in his heart and caused some damage. Today, nearly three years later, it suddenly flared.

I was at my computer trying to work. Sasha started crying loudly and insistently. I went over to see what the problem was. Mickey was laying down and in a matter of minutes went from laying to gasping for breath to collapsing. I couldn’t feel a pulse, so I ran to get my stethoscope and the phone, dialing the vet clinic as I ran. When I got back to him he was still gasping. His gums were white so I knew he wasn’t getting any oxygen. Had he expired right then, I would have let him go, next to his beloved Sasha.

But he didn’t - and respiratory failure is a horrible way to go. So, I gathered him up and headed for the clinic. By the time I got there he was looking better. As I told the vet what I’d observed she said “blood clot.” As they started to work on him he started to crash again. When his heart stopped again and restarted I understood this was not going to be an easy death, nor was it a fixable situation. The vet confirmed - even with aggressive treatment he would be “lucky to make it out of the hospital.” Everyone was looking at me to decide,  while they were grabbing tubes and needles and other tools to do the heroic stuff.

“Let him go.”

I stood in the hospital and held his lifeless body crying my heart out. Normally I let go more easily. I have the satisfaction of knowing we’ve done everything we could. This time I didn’t. It was the shock. It was also knowing we could have done so much - but ended up with the same result. And Mickey would have been the one to suffer while I made myself feel better by “trying.”

I came back home. Sasha was sitting on top of the box where they usually slept. She regarded me. Sasha is still pretty aloof, but I offered her my hand for a sniff. She leaned forward and sniffed. Then leaned back. She regarded me with unblinking eyes for a couple more minutes.

She went and hid. She’s still hiding. She knows.

In the matter of an hour her world was completely shattered. I don’t know how to comfort her - and that makes it hard to comfort myself.

She had a love that lasted four years. I want to write “only” four years. But, still - complete mutually reciprocal love.  That is something to celebrate, especially if you are a feral cat.  They were truly one cat in two bodies.

Mickey, you were so loved. And it is so unfair that you had such a short time with us. Goodbye sweet boy. We will miss you.

I knew the time was short, but I didn’t know it was so short.  I had to let Ninja go yesterday.

He spent most of Wednesday night and Thursday sleeping.  His heart rate and respiratory rate were on the low end of normal indicating he wasn’t experiencing any pain.  But, he was obviously getting weaker.  I was in email contact with my Go To Vet and she concurred that letting him die in his bed at home was a pretty good way to go.

Thursday night we went outside for a bit of fresh air.  Initially he just stayed in his bed and looked around, but then got up to explore.  His growing weakness was quite evident, but his vitals stayed normal.  Thursday night we snoozed on the sofa together for a few hours and then he wanted to sleep in his own bed.  Somewhere between 5:30 and 6:30 am he got up to use his box, but was unable to make it in.  The box was right next to his bed.  I found him next to it, in pee.

It was time.

I cleaned him up.  He purred the whole time.  I called and made the arrangements.  I fed the others.  I got myself dressed.

I was doing okay until I put him in the car. Normally I travel with cats in hard-shell crates in the back seat. ( I figure if an airbag can kill a small child in the front seat, cats have no business there.) But, given the circumstances, I put him - in his bed - on the front seat.  As I started to back out of the driveway he popped his head up and dragged himself over into my lap. And that is when I lost it.  So, that’s how we drove to the clinic - him purring in my lap - me with tears pouring down my face.

We were joined by my friend Sue, and we sat outside in the sun for awhile before we went in.  It was so obvious - he wanted to go, but he also wanted to stay.  I wanted him to stay, but knew he needed to go.  It was probably the hardest euthanasia I’ve ever been part of.  Don’t get me wrong - I am so glad we have that option. But, I don’t exercise it lightly.  Life is precious, and I am so grateful to have shared six years with him.  It should have been so much longer  - he deserved that - but it just wasn’t meant to be.

Today has been very somber.  He had such a presence. I knew that, but somehow you never really know until it’s gone. Then, it’s the size of the hole that is left behind that tells you.

RIP sweet boy - I hope you are running wild with your sister Nikita again.  And that you have an unlimited Orange Mousey supply where you are. That would truly be Kitty Heaven for you.

I’m sitting here watching Ninja snooze in the entry. The front door is open to let the heat out, and the screen door is securely latched to keep the cats in. Ninja is enjoying the evening air and that is making me glad. We all know his time is short. It’s so unfair to be ending his life, barely 6 years old. But cats and kidney disease are not good friends, and he is losing his battle.

We’ve been talking a lot lately, he and I. We share quite a history packed into such a short time. He’s one of Maggie’s kids. Born in the spring. One of the “miracle litter” that survived her near-fatal illness. He and his sister, Nikita were among the last to be named. Both coal black, I used to refer to them as the Midnight Twins and later as “the little ninjas” before they became Nikita and Ninja.

One night while they were still young they were playing - running in and out of my bedroom.  The door was open to the deck, and the door to the rest of the house securely closed to keep my cats inside.  Somehow, one of them was under my bed when I closed the slider.  The one outside was so distressed, that I ended up letting the inside one back out.  Pretty stupid when your goal is to trap them all and get them fixed.  I know - I’m too empathetic. It’s one of the reasons I’m a terrible trapper.  Anyway, I will never forget the picture of the two of them sleeping that night. They were curled up on the mat, paws wrapped securely around each other as if holding for dear life.

Nikita was easily trapped, but Ninja defied all my tricks. Had he seen too many others go into the trap to be fooled? Or did he listen to Maggie, who also defied all attempts at being trapped? But, Ninja did have one weakness. The orange fuzzy toy. It was shaped like a carrot, with feathers for the “greenery” but we called it The Orange Mousey. And Ninja called it “Mine!”

One night I was tossing two Orange Mousey toys around on the deck. Ninja would chase one and grab it, I would toss the other and he would drop the one he had to go after the one flying through the air.  He was like a dog!  A large, sleek black panther of a dog!  It was a game we’d played before, but this particular night I tried a variation.  I tossed one into my bedroom through the open sliding glass door.  Without hesitation he ran in after it.  I tossed the other one out on the deck and out he came.  I picked up the first one and tossed it out.  The the next one back in.  Predictably he ran back in.  I closed the slider.

Oops.  That wasn’t supposed to happen.  I hadn’t really planned for this, and now, at 11:30 at night, I didn’t have any plan for what to do next.  I walked around and let myself in the front door.  Then the practical side of me took over:  I went to bed.  With a ticked off wild feral cat hiding under my bed. Well…what would you have done?  I woke up during the night to find he’d moved on top of the dresser.  He was sitting in perfect regal cat position, glaring balefully at me.  Although I couldn’t get close let alone touch him outside, we’d been pretty good friends.  Now I was his jailer, and he was rethinking the relationship.

I would have been fine if I’d waited a few days and let him relax and learn I was the same person who played with him outside.  But, at this point, I was still influenced by all the “expert opinions” I was hearing daily and I was told to set a trap in my room to get him.  So, I did.  I heard the trap click when he went in, and the next morning took him in to be neutered.  He came home one very angry cat.  I intended to release him the following day, but we discovered someone was putting out poison. So, I delayed.  And delayed.   And he got more and more ticked off.

One day I decided I’d had enough of his attitude. I’d watched two feral momcats have a dispute without so much as a hiss.  They just stared at each other until the less dominant one backed down.

Yeah, yeah, I know - staring at a cat is a direct challenge. But, that is exactly what I meant, and that is exactly what I did.  I got on my hands and knees and stared at him.  He reacted by throwing himself at the door of the large dog crate he was in.  His ears were flat back and there is no doubt he would have ripped me to shreds if he’d been able.  I tried to be completely calm inside - zen-like.  It took over 15 minutes, but finally he started to back down.  His growling continued, but his spitting turned to hissing.  His ears went from flat back to sidewise.  He was still one unhappy dude, but the staredown was doing it’s job.  Gradually the hissing stopped and the ears came a little bit forward.  He settled down into a crouch.   The growling continued. I stared.  It’s hard not to blink! But, blinking is kitty-speak for peace/love/hi/don’t eat me/I won’t eat you  and I wanted to leave some doubt in his mind about my intentions.  Finally he settled down and tucked one paw under. A few more growls then they stopped. And, finally, finally, finally - he tucked his remaining paw under.

My knees were killing  me.  So…with his apparent submission to my “authority” I rocked back onto my heels.  At my movement….he exploded!!  Growling, hissing. spitting, stamping.

Whatever.  Round 1 was over.

We went a few more rounds before he finally left the hostility behind.  Over time he turned into a loving lap cat.  I am so glad I gave him a chance! He loved his life. And his mousey.  And he taught me that there is no such thing as a truly unrepentant feral.  Time, patience, a complete disregard for one’s personal safety (just kidding on that - sort of), tuna, and an Orange Mousey can tame the wildest beast.

Seven years ago I was sitting on the step outside my bedroom door. My first litter of rescue kittens were inside crying for their mom. The mom was outside, full of milk, crying for them. I was sitting on the step crying myself, saying “I’m so sorry - I have no idea what to do!”

Seven years later, not much has changed. Okay, well my crying has stopped (most of the time). And I do (sometimes) know what to do.

But the crying kittens haven’t stopped. And the crying mothers haven’t stopped.  And neither have the teary people.

We’re still full, thus closed to intake. Yet, in the past week we’ve taken in a 3 year old un-neutered male, who has been beat to snot;  a momcat (now spayed) and her 4 10-week-old kittens (all fixed also), and now - despite my best intentions to the contrary - we’re about to try to help a 2 year old female cat who’s owner has lost her home and is couch-surfing with friends. She’s had her cat since she was a baby and is heartbroken at giving her up. But. She loves her enough to want her to have the stability that she cannot provide for her. At least not right now.

Lots of tears.

I still don’t know what to do most of the time. But, seven years has taught me that there is almost always something I can do. I just need to keep looking until I figure it out - and then do it.

Anyone with room for a sweet, tiny (8-pound) spayed female? She just needs a soft landing while we figure out if there is anything we can do for her owner - and if not - until we can find her the stable home her owner wants her to have.  Maybe that is the “something” that you can do.