My First Child
Tonight I bade a sad farewell to my first child. Nearly two decades before Colin's arrival, roughly seven years before I met Hari, a tiny bit of a kitten came into my life.
The first time we met was at my father's house. I came over to visit and my dad told me he had a kitten up in my old room. Not knowing any better I went up, opened the carrier and reached right in. The teeny little creature immediately snuggled against me and started purring, and I was smitten. I lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets but never hesitated. He was mine. Moments later my father came up to warn me that the feral kitten was not friendly, and apparently had done a bang-up imitation of a demon when my dad tried to catch it. He couldn't believe I was holding the kitten, but apparently it was love at first sight for both of us. Less than two weeks later I adopted a second kitten as a companion for Seamus, and he and Salina were inseparable.
Those two cats were my best friends, and my constant companions.
When Seamus was about a year old he ate the drawstring from a jacket of mine and nearly died when it became impacted in his intestines. I was a poor, recent college grad but never hesitated to approve the surgery that would (at best) give him a 50/50 chance of survival. (The cost of the surgery plus the diagnostics was, at that time, roughly 20% of my annual income.)
After the surgery when Seamus was in recovery I went to visit him. He was a mess, but I put my hand under his head and he purred until he finally dozed off. I slid my hand from under his head and was quietly leaving the room, then I turned back for one last glance. That poor cat, fresh out of major surgery, with an IV in his arm, was stretching his other paw through the cage... reaching for me. I scurried back to the cage and stayed until they closed and I was certain the cat was truly asleep.
In the years that followed I had a few boyfriends, a few jobs, got engaged and married, and we moved to New Jersey. My kitty friends were with me every step of the way.
Then seven years ago Salina was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I'll never forget the call from the vet, telling me that she had "adenocarcinoma, with extensive neoplasia." The vet gave her roughly two weeks to live, but she fought like a trooper. I fed her with a dropper, cared for her night and day, and she lived another six months. But at the end I knew we had kept her too long. That I had refused giving her mercy because I wasn't able to let go. On October 12, 2004 I had to kiss my dear Salina goodbye. I was heartbroken, but swore that I would never be that selfish again. That with Seamus I would try and do what was right for him, regardless of how I felt.
Seamus and I mourned Salina together. Every day when I would get home from work he would demand to be held for a few minutes. He didn't want food or treats or toys. He just needed attention, and I needed him. I would hold him against me, burying my face in his fur, and little by little the sadness passed and I was able to think about Salina and just remember the happy days.
Five months later after relentless harassment Hari and I adopted a puppy. Sydney came into our lives as a ball of fur and energy and I was worried that my elderly cat would have a rough time. He was always such a mush-ball... how would this little 10-pound cat deal with a puppy in the house. I needn't have worried. Hari remembers the day that he knew things would be OK. I was out of town, he was getting ready for work, and he looked down the balcony to see the cat chasing the dog mercilessly around the couch. Over and over and over. Our darling, sweet kitty turned out to be a tough tomcat after all!
A few years later we brought Colin home, and Seamus immediately accepted him. Laying next to the baby, stretching out his paw to gently touch the little guy... he was amazing. As Colin grew and became more mobile Seamus was still wonderful. He was slowing down but still vibrant enough to teach our little boy how to be gentle and loving to small creatures. (Syd is his blustery buddy - a wonderful companion for a boy, but she teaches him different lessons.) Every morning as we pulled out of the house Colin would shout his goodbyes as we drove down the street. "Goodbye Daddy! Goodbye Sydney! Goodbye Seamus!" And when we'd get home Sydney would over-lick Colin, nearly knocking him over sometimes... but Colin would walk over to Seamus (who came to greet us, but wisely stayed a step back so he wouldn't get trampled) and pet his kitty. When he would wake up he would look for the cat, and if Seamus walked into the room Colin would exclaim (with a giant grin) "DERE he is!!! Dere's Seamus!"
Over the past year Seamus began to decline, and for the first time he started looking his age. And yesterday Hari and I both realized and agreed... it was time. Tonight, exactly 7 years and 7 days after we lost our darling Salina we said a final farewell to our kitty boy. The first little boy in my life...
Hari came home this evening and we said our farewells. We gave him hugs, and brushed him gently, and prepared as best we could. Colin came over and hugged and kissed his mother, who was very sad but trying to keep things under control. As I was preparing to leave, Colin leaned over and gave Seamus a last kiss on the head. Hari picked our kitty up, and we took one last photo, then Seamus and I left the house together for the last time.
Tonight when you crossed the Rainbow Bridge at the ripe old age of 19½, with a river of my tears beneath your paws, I know in my heart that you were going to a better place. You can run and play again. You can snuggle and nap and exchange baths with your best friend Salina again. You can enjoy bits of ham, nibbles of fish, and roll in endless fields of mint. You can jump and climb, and groom your luxurious silky fur. And you can sleep in peace. Farewell my friend. My sweet Seamus... you are deeply missed, always loved, never forgotten.
The first time we met was at my father's house. I came over to visit and my dad told me he had a kitten up in my old room. Not knowing any better I went up, opened the carrier and reached right in. The teeny little creature immediately snuggled against me and started purring, and I was smitten. I lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets but never hesitated. He was mine. Moments later my father came up to warn me that the feral kitten was not friendly, and apparently had done a bang-up imitation of a demon when my dad tried to catch it. He couldn't believe I was holding the kitten, but apparently it was love at first sight for both of us. Less than two weeks later I adopted a second kitten as a companion for Seamus, and he and Salina were inseparable.
Those two cats were my best friends, and my constant companions.
When Seamus was about a year old he ate the drawstring from a jacket of mine and nearly died when it became impacted in his intestines. I was a poor, recent college grad but never hesitated to approve the surgery that would (at best) give him a 50/50 chance of survival. (The cost of the surgery plus the diagnostics was, at that time, roughly 20% of my annual income.)
After the surgery when Seamus was in recovery I went to visit him. He was a mess, but I put my hand under his head and he purred until he finally dozed off. I slid my hand from under his head and was quietly leaving the room, then I turned back for one last glance. That poor cat, fresh out of major surgery, with an IV in his arm, was stretching his other paw through the cage... reaching for me. I scurried back to the cage and stayed until they closed and I was certain the cat was truly asleep.
In the years that followed I had a few boyfriends, a few jobs, got engaged and married, and we moved to New Jersey. My kitty friends were with me every step of the way.
Then seven years ago Salina was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I'll never forget the call from the vet, telling me that she had "adenocarcinoma, with extensive neoplasia." The vet gave her roughly two weeks to live, but she fought like a trooper. I fed her with a dropper, cared for her night and day, and she lived another six months. But at the end I knew we had kept her too long. That I had refused giving her mercy because I wasn't able to let go. On October 12, 2004 I had to kiss my dear Salina goodbye. I was heartbroken, but swore that I would never be that selfish again. That with Seamus I would try and do what was right for him, regardless of how I felt.
Seamus and I mourned Salina together. Every day when I would get home from work he would demand to be held for a few minutes. He didn't want food or treats or toys. He just needed attention, and I needed him. I would hold him against me, burying my face in his fur, and little by little the sadness passed and I was able to think about Salina and just remember the happy days.
Five months later after relentless harassment Hari and I adopted a puppy. Sydney came into our lives as a ball of fur and energy and I was worried that my elderly cat would have a rough time. He was always such a mush-ball... how would this little 10-pound cat deal with a puppy in the house. I needn't have worried. Hari remembers the day that he knew things would be OK. I was out of town, he was getting ready for work, and he looked down the balcony to see the cat chasing the dog mercilessly around the couch. Over and over and over. Our darling, sweet kitty turned out to be a tough tomcat after all!
A few years later we brought Colin home, and Seamus immediately accepted him. Laying next to the baby, stretching out his paw to gently touch the little guy... he was amazing. As Colin grew and became more mobile Seamus was still wonderful. He was slowing down but still vibrant enough to teach our little boy how to be gentle and loving to small creatures. (Syd is his blustery buddy - a wonderful companion for a boy, but she teaches him different lessons.) Every morning as we pulled out of the house Colin would shout his goodbyes as we drove down the street. "Goodbye Daddy! Goodbye Sydney! Goodbye Seamus!" And when we'd get home Sydney would over-lick Colin, nearly knocking him over sometimes... but Colin would walk over to Seamus (who came to greet us, but wisely stayed a step back so he wouldn't get trampled) and pet his kitty. When he would wake up he would look for the cat, and if Seamus walked into the room Colin would exclaim (with a giant grin) "DERE he is!!! Dere's Seamus!"
Over the past year Seamus began to decline, and for the first time he started looking his age. And yesterday Hari and I both realized and agreed... it was time. Tonight, exactly 7 years and 7 days after we lost our darling Salina we said a final farewell to our kitty boy. The first little boy in my life...
Hari came home this evening and we said our farewells. We gave him hugs, and brushed him gently, and prepared as best we could. Colin came over and hugged and kissed his mother, who was very sad but trying to keep things under control. As I was preparing to leave, Colin leaned over and gave Seamus a last kiss on the head. Hari picked our kitty up, and we took one last photo, then Seamus and I left the house together for the last time.
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