Something Squirrelly this Way Comes

Well as some of you know I love cats. We had five cats and two dogs when I was growing up and there's only been two years in my life when I haven't had a cat. Actually, it'll be two years tomorrow - July 29.. Granted for 3.5 years in college I didn't have a cat living with me but there were still cats at my folks' house.

Several of yall also know about Gallagher. For those of you who don't, Gherster was my beloved persian, the last kitty I've had the pleasure of sharing my space with. Gallagher taught me patience, kindness, forgiveness, tolerance, respect and how to always look on the bright side of things. He was an amazing boy and I miss him dearly. I talk to him every day. I tell him that I love him and wish him a goodnight every time I go to sleep. He was my soulmate. I know some of you won't understand this, "He was just a cat. A pet. Pets don't have souls." and that's okay. My heart knows what it knows.

The following (in italics) is an email I sent on August 3, 2003 to a pet grief support group. Their response, kindness and understanding has helped me immensely and I'm still a member today. The words I wrote then say it all.

In January 1998 I found Gallagher via the local newspaper. The ad read Free Persians. I called a friend and we went over to the vet office where the cats were and we promptly fell in love with the two that were left, Gallagher and Gallagher Jr (as the breeder had named them). The breeder no longer wanted the responsibility of long haired cats and was giving them away - with no pedigree certificate, of course. Gallagher looked rather iritated, impatient, and bedraggled. I have no idea how long he had been in that cage, but as I later came to find out he had been in a wire cage for most of his life, leaving him rather bowlegged. He had recently been shaved and his white fur was growing back in rather odd clumps. He had horrible breath and supposed stomache problems. He had these amazing yellow-green eyes that held you and you just knew that he was smart. That he knew what would happen if nobody took him home, that he had to be wary and brave and take care of himself. I picked him up and he fought like a mad man, scratching and biting at anything he could reach. Of course I fell in love immediately and brought him home. My friend rescued Gallagher Jr and renamed him Pierre. He was approximately three yrs old. Gallagher was about ten.

At my own vet I found out the cause of his bad breath. Of the teeth he had left only six could be saved, the rest were rotting out of his mouth. He had no stomache problems, just bad hygiene. The duration and extreme bad oral health, evetually lead to kidney problems. He was never totally healthly and free of drugs for more than three months at a time. He had chronic ear problems, eye problems, respiratory problems, UTIs, kidney infections (he once spent nine days in the hospital on IVs because of his kidneys), chronic renal failure (crf), and in the end, breast cancer.

In mid-June my vet found a lump at one of Gallagher's nipples and she recommended having it removed and tested for cancer. She said that she'd never had a male cat test positive for cancer but that given Gallagher's health history and his 'ability' to have the worst luck, medically speaking, it would be wise to have the tumor removed and checked. I found out July 9, that he had breast cancer. Given his age the vet and I both agreed that invasive tests would not be tolerated well by Gallagher. He was already on four medications to keep him stable and recovered slowly from the surgery to remove the tumor. She wanted him to come in again in three weeks for a re-check.

Gallagher was barely eating - side effects from the antibiotics - so I was giving him whatever he wanted, even baby food. I noticed the weekend before he was to go back to the vet that his breathing was odd. I couldn't quite pinpoint what, exactly, just not the usual. I thought it was the heat and humidity and set out more water and lowered the temperature. On Monday night, I looked in his eyes and just knew. He had an appointment at the vet the next day, and I just knew I wouldn't be bringing him home. Xrays taken while at the vet showed fluid in the pleural cavity (space between the chest wall and lungs). Gallagher had less than half the normal lung expansion and severe pressure on his heart.

Given his overall health, the amount of fluid, and the energy Gallagher had to use just to breathe, the chances of him surviving surgery to install a chest drainage tube were ..none. I knew he wouldn't survive the sedation to insert a needle for a quick drain of some fluid and even then, if he did survive it, he'd have maybe two weeks before the fluid was back to the same level. Two weeks of struggling to breathe. I had him put to sleep last Tuesday July 29 (2003). My vet gives a sedative before the final shot so that there's absolutely no suffering. Though he continued to struggle for breath, he was gone before he got that final shot. I held him in my arms and watched him die. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It doesn't help the pain any that it was the right thing to do, the best thing to do. He's still gone.

My vet did an autopsy and found another mass, just above Gallagher's diaphragm. Bloodwork showed elevated liver enzymes. Gallagher hadn't shown any liver problems previously. My vet theorizes that it was either liver problems that caused the build up of fluid (she told me the name of the disease but I don't remember) or cancer. I know it was the cancer. As soon as I heard about the fluid I knew, even before I read articles about fluid build up in breast cancer patients.

I've heard him meow a couple of times since his death. Even heard him sneeze earlier today. So I know he's around here, keeping an eye on things. I know he's healthy and happy now, free of pain and suffering, but it doesn't make it any easier to come home. He's not sleeping by the door when I come home so that he won't miss me when I walk in, he's not racing to hop on the chair before I can sit down, he's not in the kitchen demanding to be fed what I'm eating. Gallagher was, and is, the heart of ..everything. He was why I looked forward to coming home, why I went to work everyday, why I worked two jobs so that I could pay for his medication. Now there's nothing. The old saying "Home is where the heart is" is very true because I have no home now. Just a place with my stuff. Though, on those occasions when I do hear him, it's not so bad. Not quite a home, but more than house, if only for a moment.