# Tabitha, I will love you forever



## morea (Feb 8, 2005)

I have been involved with cat rescues for many years, with some of my rescue cats becoming permanent additions to my family. That's how I met Tabitha.











In 2002 I agreed to go to a condemned building where several abandoned cats were living to take the cats out before the building was demolished. There was no electricity and no heat, and the nights in upstate NY are pretty cold in November. Someone had been going to the house on a daily basis to put food down for the cats, but there were no litter boxes or anything so the place was a mess. The cats had been sleeping inside a mattress with a hole chewed in the side in an effort to keep warm.

I took some friends and a bunch of carriers with me. We went into the building with flashlights and carriers in hand and started gathering up the cats, which I was going to foster until new homes could be found for them. This is where I first met Tabitha. I found her sitting on a staircase and said "hello there sweetie!" as I went to pick her up. The woman who had been feeding the cats replied "oh it's funny that you called her that! That's her name!" - which said rather a lot about her personality. 

I already had cats of my own, so I couldn't risk introducing the new cats until they had all been given a clean bill of health. I had a mostly-finished basement in the house that I was able to set up for the foster cats. Each one also got an appointment with the vet for a complete physical, spaying/neutering (if needed), worming, flea and ear mite treatment, and FeLv/FIV test - the usual.

Ear mites were actually pretty bad in these cats. It took quite a lot of time just to clean the sludge out of their ears so I could apply the medication they needed. They were all pretty used to being handled and lovable, and they appreciated the attention. 

Tabitha had been spayed and declawed by a previous owner and then dumped in the street. She had a very hard time with the ear mites and scratched and scratched at her ears all the time. One morning when I went down to feed the "basement cats" her ear had swollen up like one big solid lump. I had never seen this before, so I called the vet in a panic and made another appointment to have her checked out. The vet said that her constant scratching and head-shaking had resulted in an aural hematoma (a blood clot in the ear): 










(^ not her in the pic) which would need to be surgically removed. 

When Tabby came out of surgery she was so friendly and cuddly that she was "kneading" the vet as she brought her back out to me. The vet was quite taken with her, and said to Tabby, "look at you kneading. You're kneading dough. Look at you knead that dough. You're making little sandwiches, aren't you? What nice little sandwiches!" and Tabby, being a sweetheart, purred and continued making her little sandwiches. From then on, that was known as "making sandwiches". By that point several of the other foster cats had been adopted, and having received an otherwise clean bill of health, Tabby joined my upstairs (permanent) cat population. 

Tabby was always pretty independent. She wasn't particularly close to the other cats in the house. Tabby tended to do her own thing, but she loved people and she loved attention. 

I went through some very trying personal times, during which I took to sleeping on the sofa. Most of my cats continued to sleep on my bed, but Tabitha came out to the living room every night and slept beside me. She was there for me every single night without fail. I will always remember that about her. 










She was an older cat - I will never know how old - but she would make an effort at playing. This generally involved catching a feather toy between her front paws and then holding it down and licking it thoroughly, but sometimes involved some acrobatic rolling! (video)


She _loved_ catnip:












She enjoyed looking out the window at the birds and cackling at them. (video)










^ that's her with the white feet.


She also enjoyed watching the fish:












She liked to sit on the sofa like she was "a people":










which was really adorable. 


Tabby was such a gentle and accepting cat that I chose her out of my whole bunch as a "therapy" cat. We used to go to the nursing home together, her on a harness, and she would sit on a bed and let the elderly residents pet her. She was very patient and accepting and she loved people. My grandmother in particular missed her own cat dearly when she moved into the nursing home and really enjoyed Tabby's visits. 


In 2006 I was forced (for financial reasons) to sell my house and move into an apartment I was only allowed to keep two cats - and with some insistence the landlord finally approved three. I took Martell (who had health problems for which he had been dumped off at a shelter before - I was not willing to run the risk of him winding up there again), Tyrael (who needed special care) and Melina (who was my very first rescue cat, and was old enough that she would be difficult to re-home). 

A friend of mine offered to adopt Tabby kept her briefly, then gave her to his mother (who had more than her share of rescue cats already). The mother could not keep her because her own cats didn't get along with Tabby. At this point, Tabby went to live with my parents for a short time, but their cats wouldn't accept her either. In July 2007 after having proved myself a responsible tenant with three cats, I got permission from my landlord for Tabby to resume living with me. 

































She had been an indoor-only cat since I adopted her, but she loved going out on the patio (supervised, of course) to enjoy the fresh air:
































Tabby developed a chronic gastrointestinal problem that was never fully diagnosed. Repeated tests revealed nothing, no organ or thyroid problems or anything that should have been responsible for her symptoms. 

This was initially attributed to food allergies, and we tried several different foods. Some seemed to help, others didn't, but she was finicky about her food and refused a lot. We gradually found an acceptable food that she was willing to eat and later began treatment with cortisone and anti-inflammatories to help control her symptoms. 

Her episodes went on for over two years with bouts of remission but always returned with increasing severity. Repeated tests and multiple vets found nothing, and medication seemed to help manage her symptoms - but in time the medication would stop working and the dose had to be stepped up. The vet suspected a gastrointestinal cancer, which could be diagnosed with a biopsy under anesthesia, but did not recommend this at her age and in her weakened condition. 

I asked what would be done differently if a diagnosis of cancer was made, and the vet told me that they would take the same approach with medication but could opt to try chemotherapy under the guidance of a feline oncologist to buy her a little more time. We decided that the time this could provide would probably not be particularly enjoyable for her, and to continue the course of medication alone until it became clear that Tabby was no longer deriving enjoyment from life. Her quality of life would have to be regularly assessed and when we could determine that she would no longer derive enjoyment from life, the merciful thing to do would be to euthanize her, to provide a peaceful and easy end for her rather than letting her linger and suffer

As the next few weeks went by, this was hard to assess. I didn't want to cross the line where attempts to prolong life end up prolonging death. She still seemed to have happy days, and I would not deny her these. 

In the past 48 hours she weakened considerably, stopped eating, and only drank water - halfheartedly - when I held the bowl in front of her. She lost weight rapidly, stopped using her litter box, licked her lips a lot (feeling nauseous) and seemed to have trouble getting comfortable, fidgeting to find a position and not staying still for very long. She began to limp when she walked and seemed very fragile. 

At this point the vet told me that there was nothing more that she could do for her, that she was already taking the maximum dose of medication that she could stand, and that death was a given - she could not recover. The vet said that we had no way of knowing if she would pass quietly in her sleep or if she would linger for a few weeks, gradually starving to death. I couldn't put her through that. Yesterday made her last appointment.

I spent the whole day with her. I gave her some treats and she picked at them even though she didn't really seem to want to eat. I brushed her and read her a story. I tried to get her to play but she didn't have much energy. I scratched her and tried to get her to purr as much as I could. I took her out on the patio (but didn't set her down) and let her watch the snow for a few minutes, then snuggled with her and held her in my lap.

Last night I took the four cats and had a talk with them and explained what was going to happen. I told them that Tabby was sick, and I had done everything I could for her but that it wasn't enough. I told them that the only thing I could do to help her now was to send her to be with god, and that he would take away all of her pain and take good care of her. I told them that I would miss her more than words could say, and I knew that they would too, but that we needed to do this for her. Then I held her up to each of the others in turn so that they could say their goodbyes. 

I wrapped her in a blanket that my gramma made, which we used to snuggle up in together on the sofa. I wasn't about to put her in a cat carrier for her last ride in the car. She was very calm and sat quietly on my lap, looked around a lot and seemed interested in the ride. When we got to the vet we brought her into an exam room - they put down a fleece blanket for her, but I laid her on the blanket I had brought. They gave her a sedative to help make sure she was relaxed and then asked if we were ready. I said yes. They shaved a spot on her front leg, and she calmly sat there and let them poke at her and turn her on her side. Because she had started to become dehydrated they had trouble finding a vein, and the vet actually went and got a smaller needle. 

Then they gave the injection while I was hugging her and kissing the top of her head and telling her she was a good girl and that I loved her and I always would, and she put her forehead down on my arm and passed away. 

The vet checked for a heartbeat and said that her heart had stopped. She actually looked - healthier - for lack of a better word, after she had passed away. She looked more like herself, and less hunched up and uncomfortable. The vet tech arranged her into a sort of sleeping position and left us to say our final goodbyes (and me to cry heartbrokenly over her body). She looked so sweet and comfortable and sad, I don't think I will ever forget seeing her that way. I brought her collar home with me. 

I hope and pray that I acted in her best interests, that I didn't wait too long or act too soon, but that I did right by her. She was always more distant than my other cats, more independent and self-sufficient, but I think that she knew how much I loved her right to the end, and that I took the action I did for her sake and not my own. She is at peace now, beyond suffering and pain, and I will always remember her fondly as one of my babies. She is greatly missed and will always hold a very special place in my heart. 

There are still three wonderful cats here, cats that I may even have been closer to, but this house has never felt so empty. Her passing leaves a big hole in my life and an emptiness in my heart, but her beautiful personality and gentleness are something I will always remember with love.

She was a really sweet cat and never deserved all the hardships she faced. I try to take comfort in the knowledge that she is no longer suffering, and I hope that somewhere she is happy and well and purring contentedly in the lap of an angel.


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## Miss Kitty (Dec 22, 2010)

What a precious kitty she was, indeed. Those eyes are gorgeous! The picture of her sitting in the snow with her mouth open is beyond precious. My cat would probably kill me if I took her outside to see the snow or to just go outside. I'm that that you rescued her and gave her a comfortable home; it seems like she truly loved you. I am very sorry for your loss; I admit, I cried while reading that. Just remember that you stopped her from suffering any longer and made the right choice.


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## Susan (Mar 29, 2010)

I'm so sorry for your loss. Thanks for sharing your story...it was lovely, as was Tabitha. atback


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## morea (Feb 8, 2005)

thank you both. It is such a terrible pain to bear! It feels like it will never end. 

I am glad to have the opportunity to share her memory so that others can see what a wonderful cat she was, and can mourn her passing with me. I would have given anything to save her, I only wish that I could have done more. 

Thank you for your kind words. It does help.


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## sephi (May 9, 2010)

wow! what a heart breaking story, i am so sorry for your loss. she is very lucky to have you. time will heal your pain but great memories of her will never fade. 
RIP


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## LilRed (Jul 16, 2008)

She was beautiful. I am so sorry she had to go. I am glad she found you and your kindness, her angel while she was here. Thank you for being so good to her, and sharing her story. It made me cry too. The depth of your sorrow is but a measure of the love.


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## morea (Feb 8, 2005)

Thank you very much. It is comforting to know that even though she has passed on, her life continues to touch others. She was a wonderful cat, and I was glad that she shared her life with me. 

I sincerely appreciate the kind words and condolences.


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## razzle (May 20, 2010)

God I need a whole box of tissues. I hate when cats die. I want to save them all and have them live forever. Love the last 2 pictures. What a beautiful and prescious cat.

Kathy


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## Miso (Dec 5, 2009)

Pass the tissue  I'm so for your loss.


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## morea (Feb 8, 2005)

thank you. It's still very hard!

I contacted a local no-kill shelter and will be donating Tabby's remaining dry food to them (my other cats eat canned food, but Tabby always refused). I am sending them some toys and a letter thanking them for all that they do along with that. 

I know that Tabitha would have wanted to help other cats, and that's the best way I can think of, to do it in her memory.


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## Cats Rule (Sep 18, 2010)

Pass the tissue to me too. 

I'm so sorry to hear of her passing. I'm sure she knew you loved her, and you were both lucky to have each other. Very nice photos of her.


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