Random Photo Friday: Still Trying Pet Portraits

What the heck - have I seriously not posted anything to this blog since July? Yikes, time is going tooooooo fast. And I have oodles of photos from the past couple of months, not least the 1600 pictures from mine & Lorne's trip to Europe in August - namely, a soggy, cold, blustery and flash-flood week visiting family in England, followed by a cool, grey but drier week in the Czech republic, mostly in the fantastic city of Prague. What a place!

So, while I work my way through those photos (which reminds me, I don't think I ever even finished my Germany photos from last year), I thought I'd quickly post a couple of pet portraits I've shot recently.

Eeeeeeazy like Sunday morning.

Firstly there's our own enormous bundle of fur and cuteness, Louis. Suffice to say he loves basking in the sun as it pours through the window of our second bedroom. (Well, it's more of a den than a bedroom, since you'd be hard pushed to get anything larger than a pet-bed in there anyway.)

I purposefully shot this f1.8 to create a very shallow depth of field, highlighting his paw but capturing the lazy, snooziness of his overall demeanour. He was the perfect model.

The next image is of a wonderfully loyal dog patiently waiting for his owner outside of a coffee shop on Main Street. I used the same lens (my 50mm f1.8 portrait lens) again for a shallow depth of field, to highlight his soft, soulful eyes as he waited so calmly. Well, I say 'he' but he might actually be a she.

Patiently waiting. Dog Days on Main Street.

My Lightroom/Photoshop editing skills are really very basic. In fact I hardly touch my photos afterwards other than a minor tweek of contrast, exposure of colour temperature as needed. But for this pic I felt it warranted an olde-worlde look. I like the effect. I only wish I'd actually looked at his/her collar to get a name - I like to think of these captures as unique moments where two lives touch and the picture holds that moment in infinity. It doesn't seem right to not know the name. :-(

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!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Déjà vu- all over again, again, again and again.

You could be forgiven for thinking you hear an echo, let me explain.

Three weeks, 6 veterinary visits, 3 hospitalizations, 6 x-rays, 1 ultrasound, 1 sedation, 1 spleen biopsy, 3 different injections in the clinic, 4 at-home injections, 1 enema, 2 urine analyses, 1 feline blood panel, 1 geriatric blood panel, 1 cystocentesis, 1 radiographic written report, several rounds of subcutaneous fluids plus multiple prescriptions of cisapride, cyproheptadine, famotidine, adequan, sulcrate suspension, rhus toxicodendron homeopathic anti-inflammatory medication..... oh and a running total of about $3082 later......and we just might have identified a couple of things up with Mishka, albeit still no official conclusion at to why she constantly refuses to eat but often barfs if/when she does! Yikes, did I manage to say all that in one breath? Not without breaking a nervous sweat, I assure you.

This has been an expensive and frustrating month - actually 3 weeks - of exploring different things in a partially futile attempt to figure out what's going on with her. Heck I might as well sign over my paycheque directly to the vet, except that it's already exceeded my average take-home pay for the month. And while I know it's really not about the money per se, since I wholeheartedly accept full responsibility for Mishka's care, health and well-being - just wanting to find out what's wrong with her and what, if anything, can be done to improve her health and quality of life - it's still a huge chunk of money in a short space of time, especially right after Christmas and especially when we haven't really found the root cause of her gastro-intestinal issues.

Anyhooo, in pursuing chest/hip x-rays out of fear/suspicion something more ominous might yet be lurking there, we did discover that Mishka has something whacky going on with her front right shoulder joint in addition to definite signs of osteo-arthritis in both hips. At 13.5yrs old, the 'baby' of our feline family is sadly starting to show her age and in more ways than one. A specialist review of her x-rays determined that the look of breadcrumbs around her right shoulder area and a little on the left, is typical of a condition known as osteochondromatosis - calcifications/small particles of bone around the synovial fluid in her joints which are no doubt causing her some stiffness and discomfort and, along with the arthritis now showing in her hips, explains why she's much slower and hesitant lately when going up/down the stairs at home. Alas, the best we can do is give her anti-inflammatory and/or pain management medication (adequan), although a couple of injections of the latter seemed to make her lethargic, depressed and withdrawn, so we've had to hold off for now.

On top of that, when she finished off her first round of anti-nausea and appetite stimulant meds last week, she immediately began to go downhill. We noticed her drinking water profusely, refusing to eat for several days (again) and then barfing what little we even managed to force feed her (again).

Back to the vet we went and now, after further blood and urine tests this week, we received the added diagnosis that she is indeed at stage 1 of Chronic Renal Failure (CRF). Hence the echo-effect in the title of this post, since this is now the 4th time we're encountering this terminal disease; first Molly, then Otto, Kramer is presently at stage 3 and now it's Mishka's turn. It's a very sad diagnosis and not what you want to hear but if there's any 'benefit' to having gone through this already, it's that we know what to expect, we know how to handle it as best we can and we have a better understanding of the (unfortunate) limits of our own powers to heal or evade this degenerative condition. We can, however, help slow down it's progression - somewhat anyway. With regular doses of subcutaneous fluids, cats with CRF can continue to lead a very happy and largely healthy life for several more years and are generally not in too much discomfort, except for sometimes feeling unwell, until the end stage (stage 4) of the disease.

So now we have to add Mishka to the regular thrice-weekly rotation of subcutaneous (sub-Q) fluids that we've been giving Kramer for the past 18 months. Lorne runs the fluid while I'm the bearer of the needle, but both cats handle it very well, as did Otto before them, and are surprisingly easy-going about it, perhaps because it makes them feel better. (Unlike Molly who would literally fight us tooth and nail in that first year of giving her fluids.)

I'm not sure how I feel. I'm naturally a little frustrated that we haven't quite figured out Mishka's GI problems, but I'm also quite concerned about the bone degeneration and how that might progress and affect her mobility. Moreover, while CRF is nothing new in our house, it still adds a renewed and deep-seated sense of being so horribly powerless to prevent any of it. Our committment to giving them sub-Q fluids will help stabilize their condition but there's that nagging familiarity of just what lies ahead juxtaposed with the present unknown of how well Mishka might even respond to treatment or how fast her ailments might/might not progress.

The melancholy side of my nature feels acutely aware that this is the inevitable start to a slow but steady decline, but I have to enjoy each precious moment and accept that Lorne and I are equally committed to doing everything within our powers to keep our furry friends with us for as long as they are happy, comfortable and able to stay.

Yup, it sure feels like déjà vu.

We love - and have loved - them all dearly. Helping them in whatever way we can, especially when they need us most, is the least and regrettably the most we can do.

I Love Lucy...and I miss her every day.

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." (Vicki Harrison)

My little Lucy, what a treasure. I want to feel the softness of her fur and her wet nose against my cheek. I miss her gentle spazziness and stomping gait that always made us laugh. I miss her loving cuddles that made everything else simply float away. It's not right that there's an empty space in the corner window where she'd stretch out and look so content, soaking up the sun. It hurts so much that she's not here to climb on my lap the moment I sit down or trying to snuggle into my legs and somehow make herself extra-heavy when I try to move her. Whenever I look to the armchair, I catch myself still expecting (hoping) to see her there.
My thoughts turn to her every day and even though I try not to think about the painful emptiness of losing her, I'm nonetheless still fighting back tears when she's not there to come home to at the end of the day. I feel blessed to have had the privilege of sharing over 11 years of my life with her. She was my emotional support in good times and bad, my comfort, my faith and my unconditional friend and companion. From the moment she won my heart (advertized as a 'special needs cat' needing a new home) she was my soft and furry 'work in progress' as I worked with her through her nervousness, her fears, the unknown traumas that evidently marked her early years, the nightmares that sent her running from a deep sleep and her fear of brooms, vacuums and angry voices. By all accounts she was a bit of an emotional train wreck when I adopted her in 1998 and I devoted myself to nurturing her emotional and physical well-being, helping her grow and winning her trust - for which I was rewarded every day with her unwavering love and warmth, her wonderfully adorable nature and all her delightfully endearing quirky twitchy, stumbly and thumpy spazziness that made her so unique....and just so 'Lucy'. The little cat who'd come flying out of nowhere and onto the bed, diving and sliding around under the sheets as we tried to put on new linens or burying herself among the warm laundry, fresh from the tumble dryer, before we even had chance to fold it. The little cat who couldn't meow properly (except for occasional trips to the vet) but who managed a squeak of enthusiastic anticpation whenever she thought a treat or plate of food was coming her way.

Admittedly, when Lorne first moved in, I was more worried that Lucy would not handle it at all and might retreat into her former shy and anxious self - but Lorne showed just as much caring, patience and love for her and all her spazziness - that he was able to finally win her trust too, to the point she loved cuddling and laying on him just as much as with me. She even surprised us both by accomodating the invasion of three new cats that Lorne brought with him into our home.

In this picture (taken with my iphone, hence the blurriness) she'd been nosing around in a bag of stuff we'd just bought and managed to get the handle around her neck till she proudly sported the bag like a superhero cape. (Thankfully she came out of this better than she did shortly after I adopted her, when she did the very same thing nosing around in a bag of potted plants I'd just purchased. At that time she freaked out when she lifted her head and, feeling the weight of the bag handle around her neck, proceeded to run in circles at 60mph around & around my apartment, sending soil, petals and bashed up pansies and african violets right across the room.)

Little by little Lucy flourished and gained confidence, agility (gradually ceasing to overshoot furniture or fall flat on her face), her personality blossomed and she shared her endless charm with us all (even if she initially ran off and hid under the duvet from most people.)

The only thing that hurts more than the thought of facing the days ahead without my little Lucy Love, is the stark emptiness I imagine of having lived my life for the past 11.5 years, had we never found one another. She was truly loved and unreservedly happy – an absolute blessing and a glowing ray of sunshine in my life. I am forever changed, blessed and spiritually enriched thru the privilege of sharing the precious time we had together. While it hurts like hell to have lost her so soon and so quickly (to an out of the blue diagnosis of stomach cancer just 6 weeks earlier - in mid-November), and my heart literally aches for missing her so much, I try to take comfort knowing that she was such a happy cat - she felt very loved and there's no doubt that she absolutely loved us just as much in return.

She took a little piece of my heart away with her and I don't think I'll ever stop missing her but I'm truly thankful for having her be such a wonderful part of my life. I love Lucy....(aka Lu-lu, Loopy-Lu, Spaz, Lucy Button, Lucy-Luv-Love, ...etc.) and she is very, very missed.

Lucy: 1996 (?) to Dec. 28, 2009.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. Kahlil Gibran