Posted on 03/26/2008 1:22:00 PM PDT by Tennessee_Bob
The world is a far, far darker place for the loss of a little black cat
Pitch was a rescue cat. We went to a black cat rescue group 11 years ago to see about picking a cat, and we got picked instead. I sat down on the floor, and this little kitten with the crank in his tail came right up to me and climbed into my lap, and that was it.
Originally, Pitch was supposed to be “my” cat, as much as a cat can belong to anyone. However, when we got him home, he instantly adopted my then four year old daughter. She could do no wrong in his eyes. He followed her around the house like a puppy. If she were in her room with the door closed, he would sit there and knock at the door until she opened it. He slept with her, kept her warm on chilly nights, and in the morning, would make muffins on her stomach, and give her kisses on the cheek until she woke up.
When I got divorced, Pitch had to stay with my ex-wife. My daughter came with me, and would see him when she went to visit her mom, but until we had a house of our own, Pitch was over there. He became an outdoor cat for better or worse. When I bought my house, we went and picked up Pitch, and turned to the task of making him an indoor cat once again. When he discovered hot spots on the heated floors, it made our job much easier.
Pitch – Pitch Cat, the old man, Buddy, Partner – I called him all sorts of names – and he would answer to Pitch – he would come when you called him – was an unusual cat. My best friend stated, “I am not a cat person, but Pitch isn’t a cat.” He made friends with anyone that came over. He knew no strangers, only friends he had never met before. Scratch his chin once, and he’d be in your lap wanting more. My wife (I got married again) stated that she wasn’t a cat person, but she loved Pitch. You could hear the old man purring from across the room.
In December, we noticed that he was losing weight. A big cat – not a fat one, according to the vet, but a big cat – Pitch weighed in at eighteen pounds. When I got him to the vet, he was down to eleven. They ran a blood panel on him, and found that his kidneys were failing. They showed me how to run a hydration line on him, and gave me some Prescription Diet, along with some antibiotics for an infection he had. He perked up overnight, was his old self in a matter of 24 hours, and we were off and running. This lasted for a couple months, but we couldn’t get him to eat steadily, and in the end, we realized we were just watching him go slowly.
This morning, after everyone had left the house but me, he collapsed. I checked on him, and in typical cat fashion, he got up and was walking around the house. At lunch when I came home, he had collapsed again, and seemed to be having trouble breathing. I called the vet’s office, and they told me to bring him in, so I did.
I pride myself on being this rough, tough, ex-military kind of guy. I was a Staff Sergeant. I’m bad ass, but I was a huge baby when it came down to it. The vet came in and examined him, and I could hardly talk through the tears. She understood though, and was so very kind. They allowed me to stay in the room with him while they gave him the tranquilizer to quiet him down. He staggered around on the table, and finally laid down next to where I was standing. I wrapped him in the blanket that belonged to the Girl (Marissa – my daughter that he adopted), and sat down with him while the vet gave him the shot that sent him home. He was sicker than we realized, and he went very quickly – in less than a minute. There was one last breath – and I’m telling myself that it was a sigh of relief – and that great heart was stilled.
No more good morning kisses or making muffins in the middle of the night. No more listening to him talk to the birds on the feeder in the backyard. No more pain or suffering for the old man, my partner, my buddy. He’s gone home to the Rainbow Bridge.
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