CatFive "FiverGirl", 2003-2014
This was not the cat I expected to be taking in for that Final Visit ...
My favorite memory of CatFive is here: http://hawklady.livejournal.com/236364.html
... and #2 is here: http://hawklady.livejournal.com/63992.html
She was abandoned by her original owner, joined a feral colony around the dorms, was trapped, spayed, and released - all by five months of age. Students were abusing the colony cats, so I trapped the two youngest kittens in hopes that they could be socialized and placed. CatFive was one of the two; ScriptKitty was the other.
Both were pitifully malnourished and an absolute mess of internal and external parasites. And wild. ScriptKitty calmed down almost immediately, quickly decided she liked being petted, and a few months later decided she loved laptime. CatFive never truly tamed down, but did go through periods of being a pettable lapcat.
She was very hawklike in that respect: The more time I could spend with her, the tamer she got. But when the level of attention dropped, such as when my job had me on the road for weeks, or working long hours in an office rather than at home, she'd revert and go wild again.
Her first few months of life were abandonment and abuse. Her last decade was living indoors, with food, toys, other cats, a screened-in porch available in all but the worst weather, a regular supply of real mice and lizards and scorpion invaders to play with, all the petting she would let us get away with, and I hope happiness. She frequently played with toys or prey right up until her last days.
She purred a lot. In a sunbeam, when petted, when curled up with Script, when eating. It was comforting to know that even though she didn't seem to want much attention, she was content enough to purr.
Her last week was spent mostly curled up with ScriptKitty in their favorite spots in the library: upon whatever piece of furniture the sunbeam was currently hitting.
Her last petting from me at the vet office produced purring. She was too weak to walk, object, meow, or even lift her head, but she tilted it into my cupped hand for an earscratch and purred as she left us. I'll be back to pick up her ashes later this week.
ScriptKitty is not upset in the least. There has been no calling, searching, or obvious distress. She actively avoided CatFive that final night, as FiverGirl lay in the catbed broadcasting "I have given up" and purring while I petted and palpated her in ways she normally never would have tolerated. However cats make those mental and emotional adjustments to loss, Script has done it.
It is both reassuring and weird to have ScriptKitty not upset at the loss of her life-long BFF. I'm glad she's not upset and grieving. I'm sort of surprised at how easily she's handling such a huge change. It's as if the 18 hours a day the two of them spent together ... never happened or mattered.
Some people use "We can't save them all!" as an excuse to do nothing about a problem. I know I can't save every kitten, can't clothe every child - but I can sure as hell make a difference for some of them.
My favorite memory of CatFive is here: http://hawklady.livejournal.com/236364.html
... and #2 is here: http://hawklady.livejournal.com/63992.html
She was abandoned by her original owner, joined a feral colony around the dorms, was trapped, spayed, and released - all by five months of age. Students were abusing the colony cats, so I trapped the two youngest kittens in hopes that they could be socialized and placed. CatFive was one of the two; ScriptKitty was the other.
Both were pitifully malnourished and an absolute mess of internal and external parasites. And wild. ScriptKitty calmed down almost immediately, quickly decided she liked being petted, and a few months later decided she loved laptime. CatFive never truly tamed down, but did go through periods of being a pettable lapcat.
She was very hawklike in that respect: The more time I could spend with her, the tamer she got. But when the level of attention dropped, such as when my job had me on the road for weeks, or working long hours in an office rather than at home, she'd revert and go wild again.
Her first few months of life were abandonment and abuse. Her last decade was living indoors, with food, toys, other cats, a screened-in porch available in all but the worst weather, a regular supply of real mice and lizards and scorpion invaders to play with, all the petting she would let us get away with, and I hope happiness. She frequently played with toys or prey right up until her last days.
She purred a lot. In a sunbeam, when petted, when curled up with Script, when eating. It was comforting to know that even though she didn't seem to want much attention, she was content enough to purr.
Her last week was spent mostly curled up with ScriptKitty in their favorite spots in the library: upon whatever piece of furniture the sunbeam was currently hitting.
Her last petting from me at the vet office produced purring. She was too weak to walk, object, meow, or even lift her head, but she tilted it into my cupped hand for an earscratch and purred as she left us. I'll be back to pick up her ashes later this week.
ScriptKitty is not upset in the least. There has been no calling, searching, or obvious distress. She actively avoided CatFive that final night, as FiverGirl lay in the catbed broadcasting "I have given up" and purring while I petted and palpated her in ways she normally never would have tolerated. However cats make those mental and emotional adjustments to loss, Script has done it.
It is both reassuring and weird to have ScriptKitty not upset at the loss of her life-long BFF. I'm glad she's not upset and grieving. I'm sort of surprised at how easily she's handling such a huge change. It's as if the 18 hours a day the two of them spent together ... never happened or mattered.
Some people use "We can't save them all!" as an excuse to do nothing about a problem. I know I can't save every kitten, can't clothe every child - but I can sure as hell make a difference for some of them.