Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
A picture from a couple of years ago when we were starting Boo on his introduction to the rest of the family after a couple of weeks in isolation. Emma (the black cat) was stalking Boo everywhere as he explored the house, and eventually he went under the baker’s rack in the kitchen for a little timeout. He was avoiding making eye contact with Emma and was clearly getting a little overwhelmed so we continued his introduction slowly, a few hours each day until everyone was comfortable.
When I got up off my couch I had to laugh when I saw the expression on Emma’s face. Her bewildered expression might have been explained by her wondering why we had adopted young Boo and brought such change into her life, but in reality she was reacting to the heat of a summer night. The picture meant a lot to me at the time, as she had hung out with me more and more that year and, rather than retreat to the cooler basement, she chose to stay by my side instead.
I’ve been sitting on this picture for a while, rather than posting it, as it reminded me too much of her suffering at the end of her life and the pain and frustration of not being able to save her. As time passes, though, more and more it’s gone back to reminding me of the bond I shared with my sweet Em.
… and boy is it angry!
Sam’s “shadow” was of course Emma, who came over when she saw I was photographing him. Emma, the cat who hated to be photographed, but photobombed every picture she could.
It pains me to think of all the old blog posts that are offline because I love going back and reading the stories, especially of the pets. I have thought of a way I could bring them back, probably should have done it a year ago, but it would cost a little bit of money and time, not sure if I’ll do it. In the meantime I was re-editing this picture of Emma after she knocked over the Christmas tree so that I could put the original post back online and laughed out loud when I read the story, I remembered most of it but had forgotten that as I was trying to get the tree upright, she jumped back into it.
The picture seems to suggest a pride in her handiwork, but that wasn’t Emma, she was walking over to greet me as she often did when I tried to take her picture. She wasn’t a mischievous cat, she just loved that tree. Sometimes too much.
Miss you Em.
Boo is clearly on the mend, he’s eating his normal meals and was pretty playful tonight, Sam even got in on the action for a bit. They’re both still a little high strung, especially Boo, so when we start their introduction to Trixie we’ll take it slowly. Our dog Ellie met her tonight for a few minutes but we didn’t push it, Ellie was a little wound up.
This picture is from September 2013, when all the pets were cuddled up around me. Boo, having been accepted by the older cats, was sprawled out in my lap with his arms around me. Emma slept down by my feet with Sam using her as a pillow. Ellie was curled up beside me, you can see a couple of her paws at the edge of the frame. Laying quietly covered in pets, these are my happiest times.
Sam is curled up in my lap at the moment while Ellie is snoring in her dog bed. My wife is upstairs with Trixie, Boo I think is in one of the cat beds just around the corner. What joy these little creatures bring into our lives.
I thought that when we adopted our dog Ellie in 2009 it would be our most difficult introduction, as our three cats were not used to dogs, but it turned out to be our easiest. Our toughest would be in July of 2013 when we adopted a shy little kitten we named Boo. When we met he was so terrified he literally shook so we took his introduction to the other pets even slower than normal, keeping him isolated for a couple of weeks, then slowly allowing him more and more time in the house at large.
With the slow introduction Boo gained confidence each day, which was fortunate, as we fell in love with the little black-and-white cat rather quickly. But one hurdle remained: Emma.
I spent most of that first month with Emma while my wife was with Boo, as Em was not happy with the arrival of the little fellow. Em had become my little buddy after Scout died early in the year and that bond helped when we started giving Boo short stints in the house at large. She’d follow him around everywhere he went, staring him down, and hissing if he got too close. You can see her in the background of the picture above, watching Boo from the base of the cat tree, while he plays with one of her beloved strings.
We’d let Boo out until you could see on his face that he was getting a little overwhelmed, and then we’d take him back into his secluded room where he felt safe and then Emma (and to a lesser extent Sam) could feel comfortable in their space too. A few days later and she was still staring him down, while he was mostly trying to avoid eye contact, but desperate too to fit in. When it was time for Boo to go back to his room, I’d shower Emma with as much attention as she could tolerate, and she relaxed a bit more each day.
A few days after the above staredown Boo and Emma were sleeping on my couch when Boo came in and nestled in between them, and I was delighted to see Emma not get up. By the end of August, a few weeks after Boo was given full run of the house, I came into my office and saw Boo using Emma as a pillow. She had long let Sam do this but it was a first for the brave little Boo (I apologize for cutting off her foot at the edge of the frame, but I was shooting quickly while trying not to wake her).
But my favorite moment of their introduction was in October when Emma had been sleeping beside my legs as she so often did. Boo came in and at first just curled up beside her, then he got a little more bold and put his head on her. But I was startled when he suddenly put his arms around her and just buried his head in her stomach. This woke her up and I was sure she was going to get up and go into the other room, but instead she stretched her arms down his back and cradled him. He turned his head for a little air and she spooned him and they fell asleep together.
That was our Em.
We adopted Sam and Emma shortly before Christmas in 2007, two weeks after our cat Templeton died. We were her third home, her previous family had adopted her as a kitten but a year later felt they had too many cats and had been unable to find a home for her. I took this picture of Emma two days later on Christmas Eve after she joined Sam in quarantine in our guest bedroom. Initially we kept them in separate rooms until their health tests came back, but Emma was pretty miserable in isolation and it was a relief when she could join her new little brother and they could keep each other company while still being kept separate from our cat Scout.
With Templeton and Scout, my heart was open to loving a new cat before it was finished breaking for the departed one, and so it is with Emma. We went to the Oregon Humane Society this morning to look at some of the younger cats, as Boo could use a playmate. The young kittens got adopted right before we got there but we had a chance to meet a sweet young cat that we are considering, though we have some concerns she might be a bit too shy. An outgoing young cat came up for adoption after we were there that we will meet in the morning, but perhaps she will be too much for Boo (and especially Sam).
It’s so hard to know. After all Boo was a terrified little thing who shook like a leaf when we met him, yet you’d never know it now by watching the confident little fellow who is taking over the household, despite being the youngest by far.
There’s no rush. Whoever we adopt will come to a good home, we just hope it’s the right one.
One of my favorite pictures of Emma, taken last summer. We discovered early on that she loved playing with strings, when she was young if you sat on the ground and dragged an old shoelace around you, she’d circle you until she was exhausted. Later she’d learn to predict your actions and try and jump over you to cut the string off at the pass. Throughout her life you’d find her sitting by one of her shoelaces, not wanting to miss out on the chance at a game of string.
String got more complicated when we adopted Boo as he also loved to chase them but with the exuberance of a young cat, something Emma didn’t always appreciate. I’d sometimes play with both of them, a shoelace in one hand for Emma and a shoelace in the other for Boo. If two-handed string was an Olympic event the gold would have been ours. Eventually though Boo would want to play with whatever string his big sister was playing with, so it was fortunate they learned to play together.
In the picture Emma is sitting at the entrance to my office, at the end of her life this is where she chose to hang out most of the time (not in the doorway, though, just a bit over to the left). She didn’t have the energy to play string towards the end, a clear sign of how sick she was getting. Sometimes she’d chew on it if you laid it across her paws, especially a ribbon from one of the Christmas presents.
When I look at the picture I’m struck by how lovely she was and the beautiful life we lost. But I’m reminded too, of the beautiful life we shared.
Luminous beings are we.
I woke last Thursday to our cat Sam walking on my chest. I checked my watch and saw that it was nearly 6 a.m. and knew my wife would be feeding the pets momentarily. I must have immediately fallen back asleep because I woke minutes later to our dog Ellie climbing in beside me, having just finished her breakfast, which doesn’t take long. She waits for me to get up because every morning after I make my breakfast I give her a dental bone, which has become her favorite treat.
Everything seemed normal in those first few moments until I remembered Emma died the night before.
I expected a wave of grief to follow but instead I just felt numb. Unable to go back to sleep, I went down to the basement to scoop the litter boxes and realized I was only scooping for two cats now, but I still felt numb and although I had planned to take the day off from work, began to wonder if I was going to be OK to go in after all.
But then I went up to the main floor to make my breakfast and saw a pen on the counter and started crying. Emma’s medications got complicated enough that my wife made a calendar of what she was taking each morning and night, and we’d use the pen to cross off the medicines as we gave them to her, and towards the end also wrote down her weight and how much baby food she ate each day.
As I walked to the cupboard to get my breakfast and Ellie’s bone a wave of grief hit me. My wife gave Emma her pills at her first morning feeding, which stressed her out enough that she wasn’t always able to eat as much, but she was ready to try again by the time I got up. She’d mill about my feet as I made my breakfast and then I’d sit with her in the kitchen to encourage her to eat as much as she could. So much of our lives towards the end revolved around trying to get her to eat, and now her absence broke my heart.
I grabbed my laptop and sent an email to work to let them know I was taking the next couple of days off. I still hoped I might be able to go in on Friday but I knew as soon as I woke that morning that I wasn’t ready. Each day brought healing and by Saturday afternoon I was ready to take down Emma’s beloved Christmas tree. Sunday I went up to my favorite refuge for part of the day, unsure of how long I’d stay, but I had some nice moments and it brought comfort as it often has before.
I’ve been back to work all week and while it hasn’t been my most productive week, I’ve done OK. If I get too distracted by thoughts of Emma I take a walk around the track across from my office, and had to take an especially long walk today, but it’s getting better.
Looking back through my pictures of her has brought as many smiles as tears this past week and has helped push me down the healing path. I took this picture of her last summer, a day after we adopted Boo and the day my mirrorless camera arrived, and was just playing around with the new camera. She’s asleep on the top shelf of the cat tree, I was laying on the ground shooting up towards the ceiling.
It still hurts that she’s gone and will for a while yet, but I’m so thankful for each day we spent with her.
Boolie 