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Rip Nova

Ker

By Ker,
in Rainbow Bridge

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Ker

Ker

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I saw you on the Mildura Pound website back in September 2008 and fell in love. You were a big, very p*ssed off looking blue point Ragdoll stray. I called and put my name on you straight away. Craig, the ranger was dubious. He said "Are you sure you want him? He's not a very nice cat". You were just scared. I didn't care. I wanted you. The vet estimated you at 6 years, but I was doubtful. I believe you had been used as a breeding stud, hence the name - Casanova, Nova for short.

You came to live with me, perhaps as a foster, with cat flu. I nursed you back to health and for the first two weeks, I thought I would definitely have to rehome you, as you appeared to hate me. After that time, you waltzed out of "your room" and joined the rest of the tribe and that was it. You stayed.

You loved Wish, the Birman kitten. You were the first to welcome him to the house and you could usually be found curled up with him. If it wasn't him, it was our maltese, Indi. You were Indi's favourite hump toy. You put on weight and blossomed into a lazy, fat, 9kg boy. My beautiful boy.

Apart from a couple of lesser bouts of cat flu, you were extremely healthy. Nothing sated your appetite. You still adored all other cats, but humans were more of an annoyance. I remember laying on the lounge a year after I got you and you jumped up, laid on my chest and went to sleep. 9kg of cat on your chest isn't too comfortable, but I was too scared to move. It was the first time you had ever done it.

4 short weeks ago, you got sick. Cat flu again, but this time, it was more. You had lost a LOT of weight. We went off to the vet and got you antibiotics. he vet's exact words were "He is a very sick cat. There is something more there. I suspect Chronic renal failure". If the vets estimate was right, 8 and a half is quite young for CRF, but you were older than that, weren't you? I told you then, through copious tears, that if you needed to go, that was ok. If you didn't want to fight anymore, let go and I would be ok.

Being syringe fed water and Nutrigel wasn't to your liking, but you were too ill and too sweet to fight. ntibiotics fought off the flu. You seemed to turn a corner, started drinking, eating tiny amounts and having a bit more energy. This morning, you were bad. I was rushing to get you to take you to the vet and you died before I got there

I'm so sorry I couldn't help more. I'm so sorry I didn't have a magic pill to make you live. We gave it a try, tried like hell to save you, but this battle we lost. I hope your last 2 and a half years was better than your first part of your life.

Thank you for teaching me the Ragdoll magic. Thanks you for the bumbling silliness that you blessed me with for 2 and a half years. Thank you for the memory of the Ragdoll paws thumping down my hallway. Thank you, more than I can ever say, for going on your terms. I didn't want to have to make the call and you ensured I wouldn't.

Thank you for being you, my special fat boy. Your pawprints will forever be etched on my heart.

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Ker

Ker

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Thank you everyone for your lovely words and commiserations. Although I only had him for 2 and a half years, he was so sweet and so silly you couldn't help but fall in love with him. Cats are special, and Raggies even more so,

He was living with my sister (also a DOL member), due to not being able to have cats here atm, so she was the one syringe feeding him and shoving Nutrigel down his throat. So she also had to deal with this in a BIG way. It's only thanks to her and her DH that he survived this last 2 weeks. When she called yesterday and said he was really sick, I thought that I would be having to take him to the vet to have him PTS. Nova spared me that, and I'll forever be thankful to him.

I took him to the animal welfare to have him cremated (I do it with all my pets) and the woman there was SO lovely. She was extremely sensitive and explained what would happen and said they were very respectful and never treated the animal roughly, even though they were gone. She made me feel very at ease. I chose a lovely wooden box for his ashes to be returned, and I just have to think of what to write on the plaque. I also kept a piece of his fur to have with the box.

Kids were very different. My son's eyes got huge, he got quiet and said he would miss him. My daughter asked a million questions "Why did he die, can we go see him, why was he sick, where is he, can we play with him when he comes back, can we open the box?" Blah. She's a horror.

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