And then there were three......again.

In the days following Mishka's passing I really missed her unique and wonderful companionship; seeing her every time I turned around, having that little voice chirping at me from across the room or from upstairs if I was downstairs (and vice-versa) and having her nestle between Lorne and I on the couch in the evenings. That cherished and constant contact, vocally as much as physically. What good were all my little Mooky rhymes with no Mooky to sing them to? What point in whistling if unaccompanied by her admonishing interjections? And with no regimen of pills and such to administer, I felt an odd sense of redundancy - I had no job to do, no devout caretaking role. It's weird, but I missed that sense of being needed, especially because the boys are young enough, happy enough and (thankfully) healthy enough to just do their own thing. I imagine it must be similar to the empty-nest feeling most parents go through when their children first leave home, although Mishka won't even be coming back to visit.

It was that deep-seated sense of loss - coupled with knowing there are so many other cats (just like Mishka and all of our cats) desperately needing a home - that soon had me flicking through the adoption gallery on VOKRA's website. Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association, the same organization through whom we adopted Mel and Louis just 18 months ago. Only I wasn't necessarily looking for a kitten per se, just browsing other little cats looking for a loving home and the kind of devotion that I know we give unconditionally to our furry family. I definitely wasn't looking to replace Mishka, how could I? Well I couldn't. If there's one thing I know, it's that each of our cats has been so truly unique, there's no way we could - or should - be looking to replicate that. But maybe we could help just one more......

So Vokra's website is where I found this little love. Her name is Mudd, though literally moreso than figuratively.

Mudd on VOKRA's website

Admittedly my initial attraction was perhaps that she's the spitting image of Lucy, our amazing and adorable, special needs little treasure who we sadly lost to cancer late 2009. But Mudd's little bio was also what endeared her to me; extremely affectionate, talkative, snuggly, good with other cats or dogs. She just sounded so delightful and Lorne thought she seemed cute too. A few days later I found myself completing the online adoption application....and only afterwards came clean with Lorne that I'd done so. Ignoring perhaps that fundamental question, "Should we really get another cat?" (Would it even be fair? To the cat, the boys, to me and Lorne? Did it even make financial/economic sense, seeing as I don't yet have a permanent job? Would it just add more stress? Is it even the right time to be doing this? And, more importantly, do we even have the room for another cat given that our condo is so much smaller than anywhere we've lived before? And not forgetting that we're officially only allowed one cat....ooops.)

While Lorne also felt Mudd could be a great cat we literally struggled with the emotional and common sense realities of it all, back and forth, for about a month. At one point we actually set up a date to go and meet her but it ended up that Lorne was just too busy at work, the girl who was fostering her (who I estimate to be all of about 15yrs old) was very scattered about planning a date/time and, in the end, we held off. Besides, it turned out another couple was also interested to see her so we decided maybe it wasn't a good time/idea for us but, if they didn't take her, then perhaps we could still think about it.

Her photo and bio remained in the 'Ready to Adopt' gallery of cats and we continued to deliberate and talk around in circles about it for a couple more weeks. I suppose it bears a strong testament to just how seriously we feel about the comittment of taking on a pet, rather than doing it on a whim and figuring out the consequences later - which is how so many of these poor animals end up being surrendered or simply abandoned in the first place. Some days we seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to mention/re-visit the whole idea for a while and other days little Mudd's (unfortunate) name would pop up again - usually triggered by either me or Lorne peeping once more at the VOKRA website and seeing she was still up for adoption.

Part of me even wondered if Lorne might surprise me with her as a birthday gift or else write in my card that we should adopt her, but we remained silent, both conflicted as to whether it would be the right decision, right timing etc. etc. So my birthday came and went and I told myself to just let things lie.....but the very next day (May 2nd) came a follow-up email from Peg at VOKRA, "Mudd is still available, are you ready to adopt? Do you want to go and meet her?"

After further discussion we determined we probably couldn't put the idea to rest without at least going to see her - which we did on May 3rd. It's hard to tell what we both thought afterwards, no further ahead really. Besides, it's awkward trying to get a feel for a new cat when you know the poor thing's already stressed out just in meeting you. So the big, fat, looming question mark remained.

Later that evening there was a follow-up email from a lovely lady, Valerie, at VOKRA, excited to know how the visit had gone and whether we would be adopting Mudd. I/we still couldn't answer.

We decided to sleep on it but the next day I still felt no closer to being capable of making a decision either way and couldn't quite guage where Lorne was at with the idea. I wondered if that in itself - our utter indecisiveness - was perhaps an indicator that we just weren't ready for this....yet. If it was the right thing to do, wouldn't it feel better? Easier? Come with a sense of certainty and excitement rather than angst? I remember we were both pretty excited when we went through the adoption process with Mel and Louis (Oct. 2011). Like expectant parents.

Emotionally I hovered right in-between yes and no - feeling like it wasn't the right time, but afraid if we waited till the right time she might already be gone. Lorne, on the other hand, seemed to be leaning a little more towards no - mostly concerned whether it'd feel too crowded - and I wanted to respect that, not least because he's been really busy and quite stressed for the past few months, since Christmas in fact; crazy-busy at work, working long hours, busy with the whole house move - finding us a new place, selling of stuff on Craigslist beforehand, even selling our camper van - etc. and then all of us being steamrolled by Mishka's passing all happening so terribly fast. And of course even all of that comes on top of nearly a year of underlying worries about my whole cancer diagnosis/treatments too.

It's fair to say that I was feeling horribly selfish and incredibly guilty for even setting this ball rolling in the first place. I was moving closer to believing adopting Mudd would be unfair on everyone but me - the same feeling I'd had a couple of weeks earlier when (with a heavy heart) I informed VOKRA that we'd be holding off on our adoption application.

Anyway, I could go on an on about my angst-ridden internal dilemma but, in the end and with an element of (understandable) exasperation, Lorne said I should just email them back that we'd take her. That way, maybewe could pick her up the same day (Sat. May 4) and at least have a full night/day with her before going back to work on Monday.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard....
"Just send the email already, we have to get going." he remarked. (We had a booking at the U-Brew to bottle our new batch of IPA).

I hesitated a few seconds more, feeling quite sick with anxiety and my gut instinct telling me (yelling at me even) to write, "sorry, she's a lovely cat but we're just not ready at this time.....". I looked at Lorne (who was staring out the window), looked at Mel & Louis, looked at the empty spot on the couch where Mishka always hung out.......and sent my reply.

"She's a sweety - We'd like to go ahead with the adoption of Mudd. Is there a possibility we can organize today so that we might have the full day with her tomorrow before work on Monday?"

I closed my laptop, we left the house and I lugged a heavy, indescribable weight of anxiety, guilt, shame, selfishness, stupidity and overwhelming angst with me.....(for the next 3 days!)

We met with Valerie that afternoon to finalize the adoption and picked up Mudd that evening. I felt somewhat like a child again, paying for her with the $100 birthday money that I'd got from Lorne's dad, Stan. But since I had wanted this adoption perhaps moreso than Lorne, I felt it only fair. And in that last sentence also lies the key element of my emotional breakdown in the two days that followed.
For some reason, the whole month-long dilemma over the adoption process, bringing home Mudd and the instant change in dynamic of our little household precipitated a complete meltdown on my part.

Initially we kept her separate from the boys and that first night wasn't easy because she began crying at 5am, which set the boys off crying and whining, which woke us up and Lorne was so tired and frustrated that he ended up sleeping downstairs on the couch. I brought Mudd into the bedroom with me to try and calm her down, she seemed so upset and agitated. I just felt awful, really awful - sick to my stomach awful. Like I'd brought home this poor, innocent little cat who was all stressed out, everyone else was stressed, the whining was constant, the overall energy was extremely tense and screwy, no-one knew what to make of anything and everything had suddenly changed because I'd spearheaded an adoption that was largely irreversible.

Well, it's not that you can't give a cat back to VOKRA if it really doesn't work out - in fact they'd rather you do that instead of taking them to another shelter or giving them away - but Lorne and I know that we're not those people and that's why we even had such a dilemma in the first place. The kind of people who - as we'd learned from Valerie the day before - had adopted Mel & Louis as small kittens, only to turn around and bring them back to VOKRA a week later. One week! That just baffles me, although I'm glad they did because we ended up adopting them and they're amazing! But seriously, who does that? Oh, and we also found out that little Mudd was one of two cats surrendered by their previous owners because they were moving to a place that didn't allow pets. WTF???? WHY would you move to a place that doesn't allow pets when you have pets? These people who simply think animals are disposable and, once they lose their cuteness, get old, sick or don't suit their owners' precious lifestlye or furniture anymore, they simply get dumped on the scrapheap? I don't get it, really I don't!

Well, in the 48 hours after we brought Mudd home, I felt so bad wondering if I'd even done the right - or fair - thing, that it actually started to cross my mind. I hate to admit it, but for a moment in my overwhelmed, high-anxiety state of mind, I felt like I'd made such an unfortunate decision (and had clearly ignored the warnings of my strong gut instinct) that I honestly didn't know what to do to make it right. However, in the midst of that, I knew I couldn't give up on Mudd either - with only the best of intentions I/we had brought her into our home and should do right by her, even if I was still panicking about what 'right' should actually look like.

The enormity of my guilt and emotional/mental anguish leads me to suspect that perhaps it wasn't all about Mudd. Besides, Lorne seemed to be doing ok with it after that first night (thankfully the second night was much better) and even the boys were quickly adjusting to the newcomer in their midst, being quite curious yet fairly submissive - they just wanted to get close enough to check her out and Mel in particular seems smitten. But there was nevertheless a terribly heavy feeling in the pitt of my stomach, a lump in my throat and an ominous question running over and over in mind, "Was this a terrible and unfair mistake?"

With the best will in the world I'd made a heart-felt and compassionate decision to give this little girl a loving new forever home but soon realized my timing was far from perfect; coming too soon after losing Mishka, hot on the heels of us all adjusting to our new home and altered family dynamic, right in the midst of my job and our financial uncertainty, so soon after moving to a much smaller place, adding stress to Lorne's mental load and sending my own anxiety level shooting through the roof. Yup, it was a lovely thought and the decision was made with a caring and honest heart, but simply terrible timing on my part and this poor little cat - who only asked for a warm and loving home - was unwittingly stuck in the middle of it. Guilt, guilt, guilt and more guilt!

Overwhelmed by the intensity of my own emotions those couple of days, I had to dig deep and figure out what was really going on behind all this because it felt so much bigger than being about adopting a new cat which, to all intents and purposes, I had thought would be a lovely thing to do - why did it suddenly feel so wrong? But it wasn't just the 'adoption' that felt wrong, per se - it was something deeper within me that felt thrown into chaos, drowning in guilt and worry. Perhaps an accumulation of a year's worth of big life events catching up with me all in one fell swoop?

A well-meaning friend pointed out that perhaps I should just breathe and cut myself some slack. After all, in the space of the last 12 months, I've gone through:

• Losing my job
• Getting diagnosed with breast cancer
• Surgery
• Radiation
• Moving house
• Loss of a family member (little Mooky, after nearly 16 years)
• The imminent probability of being unemployed again (with my current contract drawing to a close and my Employment Insurance benefits finishing completely in the next couple of weeks)

So, on Monday (May 6) I went home a little earlier than usual in an attempt to take some time, hang with the cats and get things a little straighter inside my own head. And I'm so glad I did!

When I got home, all three cats were surprisingly relaxed - even with each other - just lazing around, hanging out and basically quite content. Within the space of 48hrs, Mudd seemed to be blending perfectly into our little homestead and the boys are so good-natured, they already seemed largely unphased.

Let me just say that internal angst is great for getting the house clean - I must have swept, vacuumed, mopped, dusted, polished, scrubbed and laundered like a mad woman. By the time Lorne came home, the house was near sparkling and I already felt soooooo much better! And you know what, even my stress over the stress it was all causing him had perhaps been blown up in my own head - he seemed fine and pretty relaxed about things really.

I'm incredibly grateful that Lorne is such an amazing husband and a truly wonderful life partner. On Sunday morning, while I lay snivveling on the bed feeling horribly torn and guilty, he would have been perfectly within his rights to say, "Well you wanted this", but he didn't. But then I suppose he couldn't have made me feel any worse than the selfish, stupid and crazy (irrational?) monster that I already thought myself to be. But he's so great in sooo many ways, not just about this. A large part of why I felt so awful and selfish was the realization of just how much he's been going through this past year as well as me and yet, through it all, he's always been right there for me offering his support in so many ways, I'm not even sure he knows just how much he amazes me. Every day!

Anyhoooo, I had given myself a thorough enough beating (mentally & emotionally) those couple of days that, by Monday evening, the storm finally began to pass - oh and I got my period. Hmmm, do you think PMS could have had anything to do with it too???

With the calm once again reigning down after my internal tornado, I'm delighted to say that Mudd is settling in just fine, all things considered. Furthermore we've decided to call her Ella - which was initially Vicky's suggestion, in sticking with the jazz theme we used for the boys, Mel (Torme) and Louis (Prima). I hope we'll all live together happily ever after!

Mudd/Ella already comfortable enough within the first week
to sit right in-between Louis (left) and Mel (who's
 looking at her adoringly).

Cancer leaves no room for complacency

I'm quickly approaching the first anniversary of being told I have breast cancer and, while I don't generally dwell on it, I was nevertheless somewhat nervous about last week's annual mammogram - albeit I don't get to join the 'screening mammogram' club anymore (as my oncologist described it). I'm now in the diagnostic mammogram club, at least for a year or two anyway.

And it was at last week's follow-up mammo (the first since just prior to my diagnosis) that I learned my small cancer actually didn't even shown up on last year's screening mammo. It was only by having noticed the small lump myself and mentioning it to my GP a few days prior, that I even had a pre-cautionary ultrasound to check it out. Had I not noticed it nor mentioned anything (given I'd already become aware of the lump a few months earlier but had decided to wait until the screening mammo, believing it was probably nothing) then I might never have got the diagnosis last year and it could still have been growing..... It doesn't bear thinking about!

Although I've made virtually no mention of the whole breast cancer thing on Facebook (I'm not that public about my life), I felt compelled to share this latest, quite shocking news, and similarly I'm writing it here, as a serious warning to all women, in the event anyone actually looks at this blog:

I wanted to post a personal note to my female friends on the importance of getting to know your boobs: In May 2012 I was diagnosed with breast cancer (thankfully very small & early stage) for which I had a lumpectomy, several weeks of radiation and will take the medication Tamoxifen for 5 years.

Imagine my surprise when, at a follow-up mammogram this morning, the technician confirmed that my ‘screening mammogram’ last year didn’t actually pick up any sign of the cancer, even though I’d indicated where I felt a small lump! Thankfully I had mentioned it to my GP around the same time (thinking it was probably just a gland) and she’d suggested getting a diagnostic ultra-sound just to be sure. As it turned out, that ultra-sound led to a biopsy and then the Big-C result no-one wants to hear.

I just wanted to stress how important it is to really get to know your boobs and how they feel, because a regular screening mammogram isn’t 100% reliable. Within 2 weeks of an ‘all-clear’ screening mammogram, I was told I had breast cancer. I’m definitely not trying to instill fear, I’m just saying you owe it to yourself, not to mention your loved ones, to get intimate with your boobs….so to speak. :-)

(Besides, I'm sure there are plenty of men who are only too willing to help out!)

Anyway, the lesson in all of this? You really cannot afford to be complacent - ever! I'm the first to admit that I lived thinking (somewhat naiively) that I was okay 'because we don't have a family history of breast cancer'. And then Vicky got it in 2009....and I thought it was freaky but it nagged at me nevertheless. But I still wasn't all that diligent about self-checking, even after Vicky's diagnosis (head-in-the-sand maybe?), though I must've been doing it subconsciously since I managed to notice that little lump on my right side, towards my armpit.......and I'm so thankful that I did!

Moreover, my cancer was small and early stage but was already classed as invasive - i.e. it had started to spread beyond its original location. Imagine I had merrily relied upon the apparent 'all clear' results of last year's screening mammogram, my story might have turned out quite differently indeed!

If I can help even one female (or male come to that) by sharing this unexpected revelation, then it's the very least I can do.

So listen up, people - it takes hands-on experience and diligence. Literally. What are you waiting for? There really is NO time to waste!

Goodnight to a very dear and wonderful friend.

Two of Mishka's favourite pleasures -
laying in the window and soaking up the sunshine.

"No Heaven will not Heaven be, unless my cats are there to welcome me." (Anonymous)

Sadly - just as the vet had predicted - Mishka's decline was terribly fast and, on the morning of April 2nd, with deep sorrow and a lot of tears, we made the difficult decision to release her from her suffering as we gently comforted her and kissed her goodbye. Sleep tight little princess.

Our treasured Mooky has gone to join the rest of the large and wonderful feline family we once had - Molly, Lucy, Otto and Kramer (who passed in 2006, 2009, 2010 and 2011 respectively). It chokes me up to think of them all - we loved each of them so dearly and were endlessly bemused by their very different and endearing personalities and quirks. I hope with all my heart we shall be so happily reunited with them all, when that day comes.



Molly - our fiesty and determined old lady, with
the super-soft fur and delightful squeak
 (18.5yrs - Sept. 2006)

Our adorable, cuddly and very unique, special and
quirky little love, Lucy (14yrs, we think - Dec. 2009)

We laughed so hard when we came home to find this scene.
These two baskets of spare blankets were on top of a cupboard.
Otto (left) and Kramer decided they made perfect beds just for them.

Otto's morning face - that look says everything :-)
He was probably plotting his next evil deed.
(19yrs - Oct. 2010)

Kramer - So full of love, but always ready for more.
Much more. Our little luuuurve machine. (18yrs - 2011)

One of the rare phtos with all 5 cats! Can you spot Lorne?

And sweet, princess Mishka - the big black furry
cushion with eyes (15.5yrs - April 2013)

 

Emotionally I know I'm still a little afraid to go too deep with my sadness at losing Mishka, my adorable shadow and companion for almost 16 years, sharing and enhancing almost the whole of my life thus far living in Vancouver. The beany baby kitten that sometimes drove me crazy chewing the phone cable or making her own mini hockey puck out of any little object she could find and batting it around my tiny bachelor suite, usually between 3 and 5am! Talking constantly, even moreso as she got older. Even if you weren't speaking to her directly she would have something to say, often from the next room. If she knew you were talking about her, then she would pipe up even louder. She certainly found her tonsils, especially if she was waiting for food or for the next dose of medications that, for the past few years, we've dutifully wrapped in Pill Pockets twice-daily for her - and which she enjoyed so much that, upon hearing the rattle of the pills in their containers, she'd literally come running - arthritic or not, she could easily out-pace the young guns, Mel & Louis, at pill-time.

Pill Pockets are the best invention ever! Mishka loved them and pilling her was a breeze - to the point she would certainly meow loudly to let us know it was time. If only they'd been around when we had Molly! That cat was a fighter and could hold an unswallowed pill in her mouth for a good 10mins, only to surreptitiously spit it out the moment she thought you weren't looking. And you'd have to wrap her in a towel before you could even try giving the pill, or risk losing an eye from those swift 'no billsh*t' moves of hers. The best time being when she gashed and bit Dr. Clarke at Granville Island Veterinary - the same guy who was so damn  bloody-minded and insistant 10 years ago that Mishka was dying from a cancer he just hadn't found yet. Ahhh yes, good ol' Molly!

Like I mentioned in my previous post about Mishka, there is some comfort in knowing that she led a long, very happy, extremely loved and definitely very well-cared-for life with us. There wasn't a thing we wouldn't do for her to ensure she was feeling happy and well. She worked with us just as much as we did everything within our powers (and medical capacity) to work with her and keep her in the best physical and emotional health. I honestly believe that she knew it and she loved us for it right back.

It meant such a lot to me to have all that time off last year and be able to spend it with Mishka (and the boys, of course). To be there to put food or crunchies down before her whenever I turned around. To watch her laying or rolling around in the sunny spot by the back door, chirping with pleasure and happily soaking up the warmth of every drop. To sit with her on my lap out on the deck, where she'd happily stay a while (whereas any other time she was definitely not a lap-cat). To watch how affectionate, gentle and playful Mel and Louis were with her, so wanting of her love and attention.

I was soaking up every moment with her perhaps because I knew age and health were no longer on her side and every precious moment was to be treasured. While she was definitely happy and doing incredibly well (right up until the week before passing) maintaining our Mooky's health was an ongoing challenge even though it held steady for so long thanks to the amazing guidance, attentiveness and deep compassion of the vets as Vancouver Animal Wellness  - predominantly Dr Michael Goldberg.

Nevertheless, I miss my shadow, my companion, my friend, my chatty ball of beautiful black hair, those beautiful eyes and that precious little face. She was a stunning cat, no doubt about that, and just as adorable on the inside as she was to look at. I'll miss her when I do my crafts and she's not there curled up in the seat right next to me. We miss her snuggling between us on the couch each evening. I know Lorne even misses the fact she woke him up every night (for the past year or so) wanting him to give her food or crunchies - to the extent he had to keep a small tupperware container by the bed....and Mishka knew it! I miss her shouting outside of the closed bathroom door, eager to come in and be petted while I finished getting ready for work.

The sweetest little cat who always had something to say. And, if you began whistling, she'd kick it up a notch. We could never quite work out if it drove her to distraction or was she simply trying to join in. Even if you whistled upstairs, you'd hear her start complaining downstairs. And, in the other extreme, if she heard you open a can of tuna in the kitchen, she would immediately come a-thumping down the hallway, meowing all the way. She could literally distinguish the sound of the tuna can against all others.

Once a light, skinny and silent sneaker-upper, Mishka developed a cute stomp in her latter years, so we could literally hear her coming, even from upstairs...thump...thump...thump...thump, due to mild arthritis and the fact that a few years on medications had increased her weight to a more healthy (or tad hefty) 5.8Kg as opposed to the 4Kg she'd been for quite some time while we tried to figure out her ongoing intestinal issues.

I miss my little Mooky so much. I miss talking to her, I miss her sweet, pretty face. I miss singing to her, seeing her by my side and sitting right behind me whenever I'm in the kichen - such an adorable little shadow of fluff. I miss pampering to her every whim and the constant dilemma of 'what does Mishka want to eat?' I miss her in ways that make my heart ache, but I absolutely know we gave her the best life she could ever have and we worked with her, and the expertise of our wonderful veterinary crew, in exploring every avenue to keep her happy and healthy and, for our efforts, we were more than rewarded in return by the most wonderful, loving, entertaining and endearing little princess we could ever have asked to share such a long and treasured part of our lives with.

Amid the loss and the quietness (without that little voice), a huge part of our daily routine has ended; morning medications, hairball remedies, hip/joint supplements, lactulose to keep the trains running, evening medications and supplements, subcutaneous fluids every other day and a scraggy-looking haircut every month or so. Not forgetting the ongoing efforts and variety of gourmet foods to get her to eat. In spite of it all our precious little Mooky was clearly comfortable, extremely content and happy to be around us all and, as hard as it was to say goodbye, I'm glad she wasn't in too much pain for very long.

The hardest part is knowing that the kindest decision we can make for our furry friends is also the very last thing we want to do.

You are in our hearts forever, Mishka - and when the time comes, we promise to bring tuna, Fancy Feast, Pill Pockets and a baguette!

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