Posted by allisonm on August 30, 2000, at 21:27:25
In reply to Re: Pets and depression, posted by stjames on August 30, 2000, at 19:06:42
I have three cats -- Spodumene, Rupert and Rosebud. Strays all.
Spodumene was dumped as a kitten in a parking lot, Rupert was left at my vet's, Rosebud was living downtown in a garbage heap. I had two before them -- Pantry, a vocal calico kitty-girl who died of kidney failure in January, and Gretchen, an orange longhair who was ditzy but loving. She had an unusual meow that sounded more like "murrr." We nick named her Murrwood. She was so excited to see mallard ducks swimming behind the house one day that she ran off the dock and into the bay thinking she could catch one (hence the ditzy label). She loved yogurt, and my husband used to let her have the remnants of his morning cup of yogurt, but she usually would get her head stuck in the cup and writhe around until she fell and the cup popped off.
I first got Pantry in 1984 as a kitten, then a few months later decided she needed a cat to play with because she was keeping my husband and me up at night. I got Gretchen from a family that didn't want her anymore. P & G were both Illinois cats. Then we moved to NY state. A neighbor found Spodumene, and I couldn't resist. He gave the older girls a fit, but they tolerated him. Then we lost Gretchen. My husband liked to let the cats roam outside, and one night G. didn't come back. We searched the neighborhood most of the night and in the morning, my husband found her dead on the shore of Lake Ontario. We got Rupert as a replacement because Pantry and Spod and we were sad. Rupert did everything Spod did, so we started calling Spodumene "Cat" and Rupert "Copycat."
Rosebud (my only girl now that I lost my Pantry in January) has a problem with spraying. I've taken her to kitty psychiatrists at Cornell University, tried the pheromone spray, and at different times had her on Valium, BuSpar, Elavil, and I've forgotten what else. (Maybe I should give her some of my Remeron or Wellbutrin. I've thought about borrowing her Valium.) None of the drugs worked. She and I now support each other in our respective states of mental illness -- my major depression, her neuroses. Rosebud nuzzles me when I'm thinking suicide and talks me out of it. Anyway, she sprays, so I have to keep her in a closed-off area in the house. I've put in a screen door at the kitchen, so she and I can have conversations. She only sprays on the pocket door to the laundry and the back door to the house. I put plastic up in front of the doors, and then newspaper to catch the urine on the floor. I change it two or three times a week depending on how much spraying she feels like doing. She usually only uses her box to poop, and she sleeps on fluffy towels in the bathroom sink. She has good windows for watching John the Mailman and for birds. If it's nice out, I'll let her roam in the yard -- she's the only one who does. I won't let the two boys out, but I feel badly for Rosebud because she's more cooped up. It's a hassle doing all of this (and she is singing at me now to come over because she can hear me typing), but I could never put her to sleep. She is very loving and affectionate and likes to be held and cuddled. I think she sprays because the two boys used to pick on her. I don't see how I could convince anyone to try her out alone in their house to see if she'd be OK when there are so many cats that need homes. The best part about Rosebud's spraying is that before my husband and I realized she was spraying, she was jumping up on the kitchen counter, backing up and peeing on the toaster. I didn't eat toast, but my husband always made two pieces every morning to go with his yogurt. He got pretty upset when we figured it out. :-)
When my husband left two years ago, he left me with the four cats. He wanted Pantry, but I said no because she was MY cat before she ever was "ours." A little over a week after he moved out, the night I learned my mother was dead, I was lying in my bed quietly and Pantry came up to see me. All I can say is that she knew. The comfort she gave me was better than any human's. We took care of each other.
Not long after my mom died, she went blind, but managed to find her way around the house as long as I didn't pick her up. Picking her up really pissed her off because she'd have to reorient herself. Her kidneys had been failing for several years, and I had been giving her subcutaneous fluids every other day or every three, plus diuretics, a heart pill, and ointment for her ulcerated eyes. Toward the end, she vomited a lot, and lost a lot of weight, then started vomiting blood. I nearly lost her last Christmas Eve, which was wrenching, but the emergency vet saved her with a blood transfusion (and put me in the poor house with a $1,000+ bill). But her old body just couldn't take much more after that. By January she was suffering greatly and I had to put her to sleep. She was my first cat. She had such personality. I knew what she was thinking just by the tone of her voice. I could ask her questions and she'd always answer me. Even on her last night when she was suffering so, she nuzzled my chin and licked my nose as I whispered to her.
The two boys follow me everywhere I go. I am rarely out of their sight. We have morning and evening rituals. In the morning, Spod will come up and lick my face or my arm or leg until I get up. Then he'll meet me at the bathroom sink because a running faucet always has the very best drinking water, don't you know. Then he lies down on the bath mat till I'm out of the shower and waits while I get dressed for work. If I don't rub his ears and talk to him when he meows at me while I'm drying off, he will bite my ankle or calf. As I head downstairs, both of the boys usually are waiting for me at the top of the stairs and once they see me coming down the hall, they race each other to the kitchen. Sometimes I'll forget something and go back to my room, so they'll come back upstairs to see why I'm not downstairs, then race downstairs again once they determine that I'm really on my way to the kitchen. There's also a bowl-filling ritual, and others as well. At night, Rupert will hide upstairs and wait for me to get into bed, then he'll run over and jump on the bed for his evening petting. If I don't pet him, he will pad up to my head and head-butt me in the face until I do (purring all the while, of course). If he sees my hand anywhere, he will dig his nose under my hand and try to lift it up on his head for more petting. They both start out sleeping at the end of my bed, then Rupert usually moves off because Spod takes over the space. So Rupert puts me to bed at night and Spod wakes me up in the morning.
Like others who have written before me, I obviously have a very strong bond with animals and could well do without humans in any capacity. I cherish my cats. I love to watch the swallows swooping in my yard at dusk. I carry on conversations with chipmunks. I talk to my apple snail and my goldfish. Animals have so much love. Humans have given me more sadness and heartache than anything else.
Allison
poster:allisonm
thread:279
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20000813/msgs/349.html