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Chapter 2 - Companions My third kitty was actually the last cat I got that wasn't a rescue. Whizzer came into this world in early April of 1977. My fianc� and I picked her from a neighbor's litter. Her momma was a calico and her daddy was a large white with a grey patch on his head. She was to be a companion for Friskie who had moved with me from a large house where we grew up with my 4 sisters and 4 other cats to my new apartment where we were alone - and I would be at work all day. Whizzer was Friskie's, but she stole our hearts too, especially my fianc�e's. Whizzer was a character and a typical torti, she had a mind of her own. She rarely scratched people but loved to destroy anything else and in desperation we finally threw our hands up and were talked into front declawing. We were lucky to have a great, caring vet and he did a wonderful job, the only problem she ever had was she would try to shred things and they would remain intact, she would give the job her all then would look so puzzled. For people she had a special "treat" instead. She actually could ball her front paws into fists and even though she was a small cat (5-6 pounds) when she hit someone you could hear the impact loudly every where in an 11 by 22 room. She was the first cat I had ever seen to be snap trained. My husband (I married my fianc� in 1978) taught her to jump up into his arms if he snapped his fingers and she expected any one who snapped to expect and catch her after that. In 1985 or 86 I found a lump on her abdomen while holding her - our vet checked and it was cancer, early stage breast cancer and he removed the tumor and she seemed to recover completely. After that it seemed a spring ritual to spring clean and go in for removal of the latest lump. In 1992 we were told not to - the cancer was spread this time and at 15 she would likely not survive an aggressive course of treatment. In early fall she began limping and we were told the cancer was in her spine and told to watch the lame leg for signs of gangrene but that she was still in no pain (she was still ruling the roost). In November I got up one morning to find her dragging her back legs behind her and rushed her to the vets. She had developed gangrene in the good leg. She was too weak to consider surgery and I couldn't bear to think of her suffering for what would in all likelihood be only 2 or 3 days so I made an appointment for the next morning and took her home. We all slept on the den floor that night (hubby and me with Whizzer in between us) and in the morning he held her at our vets while our vet helped her start her journey to Rainbow Bridge. She became a Bridge baby November of 1992.
When we lost Friskie in August of 1980 we got Prissy to be Whizzer's companion. She was a rescue from the pound in December of 1980. She was a beautiful long haired calico who looked to be 6 months old or younger, and so full of fear and rage I talked them into letting me get her, paid their fee and brought her home. The next day at the vets I got floored, several times. My vet at that time was a gentle, tender, caring man - but as he checked my new baby I saw anger visibly change him. She was over a year old, bruised everywhere, and small from habitual starvation and malnourishment. SHE WAS AN OWNER TURN IN!! It took a year for her to trust my husband and I, 3 years to become comfortable and truly love us. Oh but she was so worth it. She was sweet and timid, and so beautiful. She only ever weighed 5 pounds. And she worshiped the ground Whizzer walked on. Whizzer was her guardian, her teacher, her momma, her boss. After we lost Whizzer she was lost - and I didn't know any support groups - it was the 3 of us to fight the grief monster, my husband, me, and Prissy. She began to decline physically, my vet thought the abuse was finally catching up, she developed congestive heart failure. She gave up, she was too grieved. In March of 1993 I rushed her to a local vet to stabilize her so I could take her to my vet an hour away. He allowed her to die in one of his back rooms alone - I have not been able to forgive him that - she was afraid of being alone.
I still miss my fiercely independent Whizzer after 21 years, and ache to hold my sweet timid Prissy. |
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