9:44 a.m. - 2004-01-20
Cindi Lou and Chester
It was a sad ol' day on Friday. Two of my animal friends passed to the world beyond. Yes, two. And they left at almost the same time.
I got a call in the afternoon from my friend Monique (of the Pasteurella bunny rescue a few weeks back). She had taken her original bunny, Cindi Lou, in to a vet to get spayed last week. I had urged to her to seriously assess this vet's rabbit care knowledge, and to think about going to Alvin. But Monique complained that Alvin was too far away, and said that she had been going to this vet for her cats for many years and she felt very comfortable with taking Cindi Lou to her.
What could I say? So Cindi Lou went into surgery on Monday morning. She never fully came out of the anesthesia, and on Friday morning she died. It turns out the vet did a number of things you would routinely do with a cat, but you should NEVER do with a rabbit.
I can't say "I told you so" to someone who is suffering. I can only be a sounding board to help Monique sort out what happened on her own. But I feel terrible for little Cindi Lou, and it makes me so totally aware of how animals are so completely subject to the decisions of their caretakers.
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On Friday night I got an email from Jay in Boston. The header was "Chester - 1985 -2004 R.I.P.".
In the email Jay told me that 19 year old Chester, who had been having treatment for kidney problems, had been really failing over the last few days, and Jay had felt that it was time to let him go. Chester had been put to sleep at 11:30 that morning. Reading the email I started to cry. Bruce cried, too.
Chester was one of those cats like our Tylenol, always there at gatherings of friends, always hanging out in the kitchen when people came over for tea, or beer or to borrow a book. I have memories of him sitting on a compost pile in Jay's backyard, at a house he hasn't lived at for years.
And of course, I have memories of when we used to "pester Chester", a favorite pastime. He took it in good grace when we would tickle his whiskers or exuberantly rub his belly.
And there are memories of him over Christmas, looking frail yet steady, climbing into laps for a snuggle or a tidbit of food. He seemed wide eyed, as though getting a real good look at what he was soon to leave.
"I wonder, Ruth, do kitties have angel wings? And if so, will they chase after each other, mistaking themselves for birds?"
I don't know Jay. But I would like to think that Chester and Ty, and Kira and Maddy, and all the other cats that you and I have lost in our lives, are sitting in the sun in heaven, watching the real birds, and sleeping the sleep of those who no longer have pain or care.
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