Venus’ Fundraiser

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Please follow the above link to donate to Venus’s life-saving surgery. 

I rescued Venus in May 2011 from Manhattan’s CACC’s death row.  She lost her home, then her left eye and now faces a new battle:  breast cancer.  She found love and contentment with my Beebop.  He was born with cerebellar hypoplasia, a disease which severely limits his mobility.  He lost his sister to the disease three years ago.  He, too, has found love again. 

I want to keep these two loves together for as long as I can.  Venus’s surgery will help do that.  Please help with a donation. 

Thank you.  God bless.

Venus snuggling with her Beebop

 

Ollie’s Memorial

I only knew my friend, Ollie, a few months but this big boy stole my heart the first day I met him.  He introduced himself by rolling over and offering that belly of his. 

Every day when I walked his friend, Rosie, Ollie would greet me with a headbutt.  Some days I’d even get a head to head rub.  He was quite the gentleman:  He always said hello and always walked me to the door to say goodbye.  I wish I had more time with this gentle giant.

Fortunately, his Mom and Dad took lots of photos.  I put this together some time ago:  it truly represents what a character this fella was.

 

a poem about Pyewacket

Pyewacket

After years, it seemed, of prayers and pleading,
Mom and Dad surrendered when you came along.
On the streets of Queens they found you wandering.
You rode wrapped round Dad’s neck all the way home.

You were blonde with hints of color
On your face, ears, tail and feet.
Your eyes were blue, gazing at one another.
What a blessing! A seal point Siamese.

You were the intrepid explorer
Right from the start.
Those who knew you better
Understood the depth of your heart.

You were elegant, beautiful
You were inquisitive, mischievous
You were loving and playful
You were protective and devious.

You were my friend, my confidante.
You were everything to me.
Our bond grew stronger, as the years went on.
Together, we faced many difficulties.

I’d sing to you,
“You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine,
You make me happy
When skies are gray…”

Although memories have faded,
Photos remind me daily
Of the nineteen years shared
With my Pyewacket, my Bunky.

 

a Tumbie poem

Tumblina

Discovered in a park with your brother,
You evaded ‘rescue’ like no other.
Once you arrived at the hospital,
I knew you were someone very special.

You were so tiny and unsteady.
My heart opened when you looked up at me.
I knew right there: you were my Tumbie girl!
I didn’t know how you would change my world.
Cerebellar hypoplasia? What is that?
An abnormally developed brain. Poor little cat.

Although walking was challenging,
You always took your time.
You embraced life:
You enjoyed playing
You accepted Beebop constantly at your side.
You were quite the flirt with the boys.
Receiving belly rubs was one of your joys.
Sometimes, you preferred to be alone.
So I nicknamed you, Greta Garbo.

I’d sing to you, “Tumblina dance,
Tumblina sing…”
I wanted you to have that chance
My tiny little thing.

I don’t know why to this very day,
You quietly slipped away.
I recall our last car ride
And how you smiled in the sun.
Your sparkling green eyes were wide
And like always, you wee sticking out your tongue.

I’ve imagined you in spirit
Dancing on those dainty paws.
I’ve imagined you in spirit
Singing in your sweet voice.

 

Another Spikey poem

Spikealicious

Five kittens, born in a sandbox at a nursery school,
Arrived at the hospital one morning.
There were two boys and three little girls.
The tuxedo runt with the crooked tail gave warning:
He stomped his tiny white tipped paws
And silently hissed, “Back off!”

All five were destined for ‘forever homes’.
Even though little Spike wanted to stay.
As fate would have it, when we were alone,
I heard a heart murmur: Spike got his way.

We learned of his v.s.d. much to our chagrin.
Spike’s prognosis was poor: he was given a year to live.
We found a cardiologist, who was much less grim:
A pulmonary artery banding should be ameliorative.
Spike had his surgery and never looked back!
He lived to love and be loved: he was a love bug.
He made friends easily; he had a real knack.
He stole hearts in NY and NJ with his Spikey hug.

He loved his housemates every last one:
All kitties, all ferrets and even a bun bun.
He enjoyed catnip, belly rubs and watching the unseen.
He chased water droplets in the shower and birdies on the tv screen.
He raised a paw to greet me in the window
And reach out to touch my face.
He would try to catch the falling snow
And play footsie through the door space.
He clawed my jeans routinely.
He was always by my side.
He cuddled with Dizz and Stevie
But gave Roo and Tucker a ride!

If Spikey taught me one lesson,
For there are too many to count:
It is that miracles happen
When you love with every last ounce!

 

A poem about Spike…

We discovered a v.s.d. 

at just a month old. 

“He won’t make his first birthday” 

Or so we were told. 

Refusing to accept this, 

We went on a mission: 

We met Dr. Schrope and Chris, 

A team with a vision. 

We learned something more promising: 

Spike just needed surgery. 

So a pulmonary artery banding 

was performed on his first birthday. 

Spike enjoyed many carefree years, 

winning the hearts of all He met. 

He endured his share of fears, 

conquering every one without fret. 

Sadly, now our hearts are heavy 

because our Spikealicious has moved on 

We can find joy in His memory: 

For it is on your left shoulder He sits upon. 

      

   

    

 

  

 

Rest in peace, Spikealicious

Spikey and his dragons

  

My Spikey passed on February 5, 2010 at 2 in the morning.  It was one of the most difficult experiences of my life.  There were moments during his transition, I wished it was me and not him going through it.  I wanted to help him but knew I needed to let him go.  I prayed that once He transitioned, He would have no physical memory of the last moments of his life.   I read recently that the soul exits the body before death occurs.  I believe this protects the soul from experiencing the pain of those final moments.  I am truly grateful for having read this.  This is part of what lets me go on even though I recall those last few hours with great difficulty.   I miss Spikeadoo every day.           

Knowing that Spike transitioned and believing He will return to me when He is healed are the other aspects that help me go on.  I hold on to the fact that He will return to me.  I believe souls, whether human or animal travel in the same circles.  I believe Spike was my Pyewacket.  Each incarnation approached veterinary hospitals with marked differences but I believe that was one of this sweet soul’s lessons in this life.  As Pyewacket, He had negative experiences with Vets.  He learned not to trust them and had difficulty trusting others.  He loved his family and protected us and his home.  Only we knew the sweet soul inside.  Spike, on the other hand, came into this world having to depend on Vets and humans for his survival.  He loved his Cardiologists and cardio techs; He loved his family, human and animal, and protected us with his silent hiss.  It was a running joke; however, we never believed there was any true conviction in ’scary Spike’.  All who met Spike knew the sweet soul inside.  He touched so many hearts in his seven plus years here.   Stevie, his best friend, and I were with him when he passed.  The rest of his family was close by:  Joe, Tucker, Roo, Dizzy, BeeBop and the ferrets, Pinot and Dori.  I know everyone misses him.  He was such a presence in this house.     

He had a way of getting in your heart and really taking hold of it.  By no means was this something you would accept begrudgingly.  When Spike loved you, He loved you!  He loved with His whole being.  He worked his magic on everyone He met.  It worked to his advantage and mine at times:  every emergency vet or technician He met was under his spell in no time at all.  He received extra t.l.c. and extraordinary care.  I was comforted in knowing those caring for Him knew He was special.   
     

Spike faced many health challenges over the years: He faced them head-on and brushed them off one by one, knowing there was something greater in life to live for.  He was such a brave soul.   He made me brave.  We were in it together right from the start.  I can clearly remember the first time we laid on eyes on each other.  He was in a carrier with his four siblings:  they were cowering behind him.  He was right up front silently hissing and bouncing on those teeny little paws.  I just laughed, thinking to myself,  “Look at this little 3 week old kitten protecting his siblings.  How brave.  How adorable!”  I wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight until that moment.        

Spike was one of a litter of five: three girls and two boys.  He was the runt and the outcast.  He really wanted little to do with his siblings when I was around.  I would let them out to play together and He would come right up to my feet, stare at me with those lovey eyes and MEW!  This was the beginning of something very special.  I nicknamed him, Velcro monkey.  I couldn’t keep him in a crate.  I could put all his siblings away but Spike wasn’t having it.  He wanted to be with me at all times, riding upon my left shoulder.  I raised his litter until they were old enough to find homes.  Spike was supposed to move to Virginia the week following Memorial Day.  The litter was home with me that holiday weekend.  They were all sleeping on my chest.   One by one I put them to bed, leaving Spike last for some extra snuggles.  That’s when I heard his heartbeat.  That’s when I knew He wasn’t going to go to Virginia.  Spike was meant to be my kitty.  He was trying to tell me that all along.  He knew I would only take him home if He had some medical need.  At this point, I already had three special needs kitties at home.  I wasn’t planning on anymore kitties, period.  That following week  Spike was diagnosed with a v.s.d.  The Vets told me, “… not to get attached to this one; He won’t live to see his first birthday.”  Too late, Docs.   More importantly, Spike celebrated seven birthdays!     

If it weren’t for my stubborn nature, i.e., my inherent need not to take ‘no’ for an answer and my questioning authority, Spikey and I would not have had the wonderful life we had together.  I know these personality traits usually manifest in negative outcomes but in this case, the outcome was quite the opposite.  The true wonders of life were revealed to me.  One little tuxedo cat changed my life!  Spikealicious taught me how to live and what to live for.  All without speaking a word.

 

Animals in Spirit

If the previous post didn’t convince you, I have two more quick stories.
Many years ago after my first cat, Pyewacket, passed, I was lying in bed talking to my Mom. I felt a cat jump onto my bed and in my lap. Not only did I feel Pyewacket, but both my Mom and I heard his bell on his collar as he made the leap!

A few years ago, my Aunt and I brought one of my very dear ferrets, Boo Boo, to the vet for his final visit. I brought his two favorite toys to accompany him on his journey. They were two life sized ferrets, whom at one time made ferret-like noises. Seconds after BooBoo’s passing, one of his toys still in the carrier where we left it, squeaked. The Vet nearly passed out! It was a very bittersweet moment. BooBoo was saying goodbye for now.

Pyewacket

Mr Boo Boo Bear

 

Spike confirms Tumblina crossed Rainbow Bridge

Image from Gary Patterson's "Family Tree"

My cat, Spike, has been sitting atop my printer for the past few weeks, since Tumbie’s passing. This is a new spot but not something extraordinary, right?
So I thought until tonight. When he sits on the printer he stares intently at a Gary Patterson print I have called “Family Tree”. The print is of a tree filled with various comical depictions of cats. Tonight he put his face right up against the print. So, I like most kitty moms, ask him what is he looking at. He continues to stare. I then spontaneously say, ‘is Tumbie sending you a message?’ He instantly turns around jumps off the printer to join his brother, Stevie, in my lap. Once in my lap, I look up at the print again and there, where he had pressed his nose, is a depiction of a kitty who looks a lot like my Tumbie leaping in the air chasing a butterfly! I started crying b/c when I wrote my blog the other day, I wrote I hope she’s chasing butterflies, something she could never do in life.
So my little girl is here and wanted to let me know that.

 

Rest in Peace, Tumblina

Tumblina at play

I am finally coming to terms with the recent unexpected loss of one of my kitties. Tumblina passed away on February 29th, 2008. She was probably the most gentle, patient and dainty little kitty I have been blessed knowing.
Tumblina was found in a Bronx park at 4 weeks of age. She was rescued from a group of children who were ‘playing’ with her. She was brought to the hospital where I was working at the time for evaluation.
Like her brother, Bee Bop, found three weeks earlier, Tumbie was diagnosed with cerebellar hypoplasia. This disorder is caused when the mother is exposed to the panleukopenia virus (distemper) while pregnant. Both kittens were unable to walk upright. Tumbie always took her time and was better coping with her disability than her brother. BeeBop was always in a hurry…
Tumbie enjoyed playing with feather toys; loved catnip and belly rubs and revelled in the affections of the men in her life. Yes, she was a flirt. She was a mothering kitty: she let kittens, including Spike and Roary, sleep in bed with her. She even let ferrets cuddle up!
She groomed BeeBop; tolerated his complaints; and suffered through his ‘landings’ and inappropriate bed arrangements.
She was patient with me. She followed me gently requesting to be fed. She would look up at me and gently meow from her bed, to say hello or make me take a moment to stop working at the computer and get down in her bed to share some love.
All of her housemates loved her. They often shared space with her and even played with her. They understood her disability and played to her capacity.
I, my family and her housemates miss her terribly. She was a very special soul. She quietly dealt with her illness, probably days before we knew she was sick. She looked at me one day as if to say, “I just can’t eat but I’ll try for you”. That was a Wednesday night.
Thursday we went to the hospital. She enjoyed that car ride over the bridge. She commented often. Her eyes were bright, her tongue was sticking out slightly, as it often did and she was smiling. Friday night she called to me; she passed with my arms around her and Joe’s arms around me.
My little angel returned home. I believe she visits us; I feel her close. She knows her brother will always need her. Until I see her again, I hope she is running and jumping over that rainbow bridge. I hope she is chasing butterflies.