tamara_van_loo
03-28-2010, 05:52 PM
Meagan "Lionheart"
________________________________________
Meagan “Lionheart”, as her birth certificate stated, was a strong and sincere cat. I brought her home after I adopted her (she was already 9), crying and uncomfortable, she explored the car, finally finding a place in my arms with her nose up against my neck. This is when I made a big promise to a little cat that was already on her 3rd caregiver, that I would be with her until the end!
When I got her into my apartment, my cat Eli looked annoyed. As with most things, he did not approve. Her fur was a tangled mess (I learned later that she was not at all fond of being groomed), and the first of my tending’s to her, was a fitting "Lion cut" at the groomers. It was the only way to free her of the matted fur that was beginning to pull out of her tender pink skin. It was February and very cold in my little apartment, but Meg was fine. She found some comfort sleeping next to the warm boiler heaters against the walls scattered throughout the small one bedroom apartment. When it got warm, I tried to bring her outdoors with my supervision, but she had no interest, unlike Eli who always wanted to explore, Meg just wanted to be near me.
They tolerated each other until I finished college. I brought both of them to my parents' house and Eli stayed. It seemed the best solution for all of us. Meg would no longer have to deal with competing with Eli for his throne, Eli would be able to roam freely outdoors, and my parents would have an easy pet that they loved around them again. Meg and I set off to an apartment in Toronto.
When I returned to my parents' house again a few years later to finish my masters' degree, of course Meg came along. Once again, being patient, and firm, holding her own, although much smaller than Eli. She was great with change, we had each other, that was all that mattered, me and my cat.
When I got my teaching job, I had to take some time getting settled before she and I could be reunited once again. Feeling a bit guilty about this, but knowing it was the best for her. Once I found a little place, and moved in the few pieces of furniture I had I went and got her to stay with me in my new apartment. I was glad to have her back. Greeting me at the door, talking to me about things in her hoarse, cracking meow which was barely distinct, but had become so familiar and dear to me. She would barely leave me alone for a second, as if to tell me that she had remembered the promise I had made, and wanted to be sure I didn't forget.
The next summer I was moving into a larger apartment again. A duplex with a roommate, who wasn't very fond of cats. I assured her that Meg was different, and that she would not regret the decision to allow a cat into her life. Meg converted her, without any real work. She won over the heart of my roommate, and anyone else she met.
As time passed, I wanted a dog, thinking that a dog might be a nice new type of pet to include in the circle of my home. Meg took to Forest just fine. Giving him space to do dog things with me. She was getting older, already 20, and I began to wonder if this would be the time for her to let go. She was starting to move less, and more slowly. She had few teeth left, although I had tried to get them cleaned twice at the vet, and brushed them from time to time. Meg stopped eating as much, and I decided that she deserved soft food from now on, with just a sprinkle of hard on top, just for texture.
I always fed her the best, and am convinced this made her old age last so long, and extended her time with me. Forest, Meg and I moved into a small carriage house apartment a few years ago, and her health seemed to stabilize for awhile. For the next year I tried to do all I could to make her comfortable, even when she missed the litter box, I was not upset, just praying that it was not a sign of worse things to come.
She began to cry in the middle of the night, right after using the litter box. The only thing that made her stop was the sound of my voice. I didn't bring her to the vet, every time I thought about it, I convinced myself that she was a bit better, and that she was old and most likely could not be fixed. I feel a bit guilty about it now, but I know I was just afraid that I would have to decide to let her go, and I was not ready.
This continued, then would stop, then would start again for the last few years. I would go away on vacation, having a friend come to care for her, preparing myself for the possibility of her not being there when I returned. She was still strong, and this past year it got worse, almost becoming a daily event. Every night I would hear her cry and it would break my heart, but selfishly, I did not want to lose her and would feel as though her quality of life was still alright the rest of the time. Justifying my decision to leave it, until recently, when I asked Meg what she wanted me to do. I needed a sign. The very next day one of my students told me about her cat dying that morning on the floor in front of her in a seizure. It was troubling for her and she wondered if it was painful for her cat.
That was the sign I had needed, as much as it was difficult to hear. I truly loved Meg, and will miss her by my side. She would gently pat me with her paw when she wanted to get my attention for something - food, a pet or scratch, or just for me to talk to her. Sometimes when I am lying in bed, or on the couch I swear I can feel her softly touching me still - even if it is only in my heart.
I am so thankful for the opportunity to care for such a wonderful animal, and so many memories. She will live on in my heart.
________________________________________
Meagan “Lionheart”, as her birth certificate stated, was a strong and sincere cat. I brought her home after I adopted her (she was already 9), crying and uncomfortable, she explored the car, finally finding a place in my arms with her nose up against my neck. This is when I made a big promise to a little cat that was already on her 3rd caregiver, that I would be with her until the end!
When I got her into my apartment, my cat Eli looked annoyed. As with most things, he did not approve. Her fur was a tangled mess (I learned later that she was not at all fond of being groomed), and the first of my tending’s to her, was a fitting "Lion cut" at the groomers. It was the only way to free her of the matted fur that was beginning to pull out of her tender pink skin. It was February and very cold in my little apartment, but Meg was fine. She found some comfort sleeping next to the warm boiler heaters against the walls scattered throughout the small one bedroom apartment. When it got warm, I tried to bring her outdoors with my supervision, but she had no interest, unlike Eli who always wanted to explore, Meg just wanted to be near me.
They tolerated each other until I finished college. I brought both of them to my parents' house and Eli stayed. It seemed the best solution for all of us. Meg would no longer have to deal with competing with Eli for his throne, Eli would be able to roam freely outdoors, and my parents would have an easy pet that they loved around them again. Meg and I set off to an apartment in Toronto.
When I returned to my parents' house again a few years later to finish my masters' degree, of course Meg came along. Once again, being patient, and firm, holding her own, although much smaller than Eli. She was great with change, we had each other, that was all that mattered, me and my cat.
When I got my teaching job, I had to take some time getting settled before she and I could be reunited once again. Feeling a bit guilty about this, but knowing it was the best for her. Once I found a little place, and moved in the few pieces of furniture I had I went and got her to stay with me in my new apartment. I was glad to have her back. Greeting me at the door, talking to me about things in her hoarse, cracking meow which was barely distinct, but had become so familiar and dear to me. She would barely leave me alone for a second, as if to tell me that she had remembered the promise I had made, and wanted to be sure I didn't forget.
The next summer I was moving into a larger apartment again. A duplex with a roommate, who wasn't very fond of cats. I assured her that Meg was different, and that she would not regret the decision to allow a cat into her life. Meg converted her, without any real work. She won over the heart of my roommate, and anyone else she met.
As time passed, I wanted a dog, thinking that a dog might be a nice new type of pet to include in the circle of my home. Meg took to Forest just fine. Giving him space to do dog things with me. She was getting older, already 20, and I began to wonder if this would be the time for her to let go. She was starting to move less, and more slowly. She had few teeth left, although I had tried to get them cleaned twice at the vet, and brushed them from time to time. Meg stopped eating as much, and I decided that she deserved soft food from now on, with just a sprinkle of hard on top, just for texture.
I always fed her the best, and am convinced this made her old age last so long, and extended her time with me. Forest, Meg and I moved into a small carriage house apartment a few years ago, and her health seemed to stabilize for awhile. For the next year I tried to do all I could to make her comfortable, even when she missed the litter box, I was not upset, just praying that it was not a sign of worse things to come.
She began to cry in the middle of the night, right after using the litter box. The only thing that made her stop was the sound of my voice. I didn't bring her to the vet, every time I thought about it, I convinced myself that she was a bit better, and that she was old and most likely could not be fixed. I feel a bit guilty about it now, but I know I was just afraid that I would have to decide to let her go, and I was not ready.
This continued, then would stop, then would start again for the last few years. I would go away on vacation, having a friend come to care for her, preparing myself for the possibility of her not being there when I returned. She was still strong, and this past year it got worse, almost becoming a daily event. Every night I would hear her cry and it would break my heart, but selfishly, I did not want to lose her and would feel as though her quality of life was still alright the rest of the time. Justifying my decision to leave it, until recently, when I asked Meg what she wanted me to do. I needed a sign. The very next day one of my students told me about her cat dying that morning on the floor in front of her in a seizure. It was troubling for her and she wondered if it was painful for her cat.
That was the sign I had needed, as much as it was difficult to hear. I truly loved Meg, and will miss her by my side. She would gently pat me with her paw when she wanted to get my attention for something - food, a pet or scratch, or just for me to talk to her. Sometimes when I am lying in bed, or on the couch I swear I can feel her softly touching me still - even if it is only in my heart.
I am so thankful for the opportunity to care for such a wonderful animal, and so many memories. She will live on in my heart.