fly free Theo

Theo crossed the rainbow bridge this afternoon. Nahum was with him the entire time offering him love and licks. 

This last 24-hrs was really hard, Theo looked very uncomfortable. As much as my heart hurts for his lack of physical presence, I'm glad he's not suffering. 

It's hard to imagine life without Theo. So much love, joy, and personality in a furry kitty package. 

Fly free my Theo friend. I will always love you, forever and ever. 

remembering Bert

Remember Bert? 

I rescued Bert back in 2015 when I was helping with a large TNR effort in a mobile home community.  Bert was trapped an unneutered, friendly boy wearing an old flea collar. No one in the neighborhood claimed him so I worked on getting him healthy and learning to once again trust humans.

While working with him, I feel hard for him. I loved him so much.

Bert was such a gentle, wise soul with so much love to offer.

Once he was healthy, I found him his purrfect forever home.

I received word yesterday from his human that he crossed the rainbow bridge after a courageous fight with cancer. She says he was such a gift to her and her family. He brought so much joy, love, and laughs to everyone. Such a special boy. I'm grateful for the update as I think about him often.

Be free Bert - I so look forward to more of your delightful tummy rubs when I see you again.

 💗

farewell Mr. Marvin

It is with tremendous sadness that I report, Marvin let us know he was out of rallies and ready to go home to join Willow, Max, Buddy, and MK. 

I love you Marvs - always will. Please say hello to Willow 

when you arrive in your new forever home. 

remembering The Willow

Today marks the one year anniversary of Willow's crossing the bridge. Where does the time go? It only feels like a month or two since we said that last good bye. It's still hard to believe that she's gone. What was at first thought to be a slow growing brain tumor ended up being faster than we could get her treatment.

We adopted Willow with her brother, Nahum, in May of 2009, shortly after Max died. She was full of youthful energy back then.

One of Willow's passions was hunting - she never got the chance to hunt anything big, but she loved hunting moths. We spent many nights hunting moths together. I would poke them with a stick to get them flying and she would hunt, dispatch, and snack! She was masterful hunter.

Back then, she didn't like to be held at all! Whenever we picked her up, she placed her front paw against the human and pushed out, so she could get as far away as possible! She would give us what we would become named as "the Willow-paw"! She was not the most affectionate cat then.

She loved hanging out on the clothes drying rack! It was her personal jungle gym!

Play, play, play... she never stopped playing. She would garb a little wool ball or mouse and swat it around the furniture. She would go nuts playing with toys. When she really got into the play, she would make her little special Willow sounds. She never really fully meowed but had her unique sound.

She was such a flirt! 

Her favorite food was pine needles! She would go bonkers over them! We guessed she once survived on pine needles as a young kit when her and Nahum were surviving on their own (pre-rescue). 

Over the years she became quite the cuddle bug and needed to make up for those lost years when she didn't like affection. She loved having her tummy rubbed.

Willow had a purr motor that never stopped! She purred when she slept, when she ate, when she did everything. She had a very rhythmic, soothing purr. She had the best purr!

Willow was not a rule follower! She could be mischievous, but she always did so out of her curiosity and innocence, never malice! Of course she had me wrapped around her little paw, I would do anything for her, including not see her as anything but purrfect. 

Willow always ate out of her special fish bowl.

Once she became cuddly, I couldn't sit down anywhere without her coming over and parking on me. She was my constant companion, which I adored! She would often choose to sleep in a lap or on one's legs.

The cats get breakfast and dinner - two meals a day. Willow decided those conditions might work well for the other cats, but she needed to spread out her dinner over several hours. So, she would only eat a portion of it at dinner time and then later would come asking for the rest. She would lead me to the bathroom where she could have the rest of her dinner in peace without the other cats harassing her. Of course Theo never understood this arrangement and always seemed to think Willow was getting extra dinner. There may have been a few times when she accidentally forgot to save some of her dinner for second dinner, I had to sneak her some extra! Seeing her sad, disappointed expression was just too heartbreaking!

I looked all over for a picture of Willow and Theo together but found none. Willow was never very close to Theo but she loved to harass him! Theo is so high strung, she developed the art of sneaking up on him and charging him when he wasn't expecting it causing him to jump a mile in the air! She so loved doing that to him, and didn't do it with any other cat - just him!

I love you sweet girl! You'll always be my precious little Willow - a delightful gift. I miss you, everything about you and always will. I hope you are getting as much cuddle time and hunting as you desire. Say hello to Max and Buddy and I look forward to being reunited with you.

chaired

Serious Nahum fluffs!

---

I'm very aware that the one year anniversary of Willow's death is rapidly approaching. I've still not been able to write about her death or even update the blog to indicate that she's gone. I think about it often and even tried to write about it a few times. Something continues to keep me from accepting it, still feels like we just moved without her. I've come to realize that my spark for life died with her. Depression, sometimes overwhelming, has been the norm. A few months ago I cracked the lid on the un-felt grief and quickly experienced intense overwhelm. My pain-driven thoughts went to some scary places, so I did my best to close the lid once more.

This year has held many experiences. Willow's swift and unexpected death. Selling our home without another place to move to. Moving across country with six cats. (Trying to) settle into a new living space. Trying to love on my parents who act like they are allergic to love and connection. Starting a new private practice. All the while, my tender heart has felt mostly offline, closed. Joy and hope feel like distant concepts. Occasionally in my work, I would get moments of life and tenderness. The cats have usually been a great source of life, but now when I'm with them all I can think about is their impending deaths. Of course Marvin's recent death scare didn't help.

In early December I managed to re-engage in some dormant spiritual practices, but with my heart being closed, it didn't feel satisfying, and yet I knew it was helping. I started to think about maybe finding a spiritual retreat that might nourish my parched soul, and it would allow me to create intentional space to grieve and work through Willow's death. I found a place near Boston. I was thinking maybe a weekend or something, but then I noticed they had a 5-day directed, silent retreat that concluded on the 1-year anniversary of Willow's death. I prayed that a mysterious check would arrive to cover the cost and sure enough the next day, that very thing happened. Suddenly, this idea got very real and I was going. Yikes!

I leave tomorrow (Friday) to continue this grieving journey. I'm terrified to go into that dark cave of grief and yet I know I must - freedom awaits on the other side. I need to reclaim my will to live, which is what I know Willow would want for me. I'm terrified that if I go on this retreat I will discover that Willow did actually die and that I'll need to accept that and let go. The truth can be so painful. And yet, experience has told me that the truth also sets me free. 

The retreat starts Friday dinner time and ends Wednesday at lunch. Your prayers, thoughts, and purrs are all welcome. 

Brave heart, Tegan...

letting go

March 26, 2017

Thank you everyone who commented and/or sent a note about Willow. I plan to write a tribute to her when I'm ready. Right now the wound remains too fresh and intense. The grief feels overwhelmingly heavy.

March 25, 2017

There is much going on for us right now. We have been trying to move from Washington State to Vermont for nearly a year now and many obstacles and challenges have gotten in the way. We had a private buyer lined up to buy the house, but that fell through. Then Laura had a great job lined up, but that fell through. That left us both unemployed and thus unable to get another mortgage in Vermont. I pursued all sorts of options for rentals, but wasn't able to find anyone willing to rent to a couple with abundant cats.

I was terrified at the prospect of selling our house without another place to land, thus I resisted listing it until a viable option in Vermont presented itself. With no such options surfacing and savings accounts bleeding out, it became clear that the only way we are going to move is if we completely let go and trust. So, we did the terrifying thing - we listed the house. In fact, the house hit the market an hour or so before Willow died on Tuesday the 9th. That fact made an overwhelmingly tragic time all the more overwhelming.

photo courtesy of Laura

The housing market in our area is insane. Shortly after the house listing went live, the phone started to ring - a realtor wanted to come show it to their clients. Our realtor is a cat lover himself, so he understood and explained to the interested parties that we needed that night to grieve, showings would commence the following day. 24-hours after the listing went live, we had two amazing offers that were well over the listing price.

Blog followers know that I've done a ton of projects on the house over the years that make the house more cat friendly. My prayer had been that the new owners would appreciate all the custom cat modifications and their kitties would enjoy them too. And wouldn't you know it, both parties who made those first two offers are cat lovers too! That makes me super happy!

I love that Theo and Nahum both made it into the official listing photos!

Theo loves his front porch!

Nahum parked at top of stairs

We accepted an offer and the closing process is underway. If all goes as planned, we will be out by mid-February. Less than a month away. Yikes.

Many significant details remain unclear, such as where we will live once we leave here, how we will get there with all the cats, how our stuff will get there, etc. We are people of deep faith, so even though it's terrifying, I do believe God has a plan and will reveal the details when the timing is right. In my work at Onsite over the past year, I've been privileged to witness God work miracles in people's lives nearly everyday (including my own life), so I've been reminding myself of that truth when my fears start to get the best of me. Meanwhile, Laura has a second interview on Tuesday for what would be an awesome job, and I have second interview in early Feb. We will be making a house hunting trip to Vermont in early February and hopefully we can find the perfect place for us and all the cats.

It's been a huge challenge trying to grieve while also doing everything that is required to sell the house and I've been away at Onsite in Tennessee a bunch trying to earn a little income. Willow's unexpected death in the midst of all this other crazy has really thrown a heavy wet blanket over the intensely stressful season. With a very heavy heart, I'm doing everything I can to hold tight to my faith and courage while taking the next step into the unknown. Breathe...

Onsite, Cumberland Furnace, TN - Jan 16, 2018

thank you

Thank you everyone for your kind, loving words. It's really helped to not feel alone in the overwhelming grief. Meanwhile, my brain continues to struggle to believe she's really gone. Doesn't seem possible.

farewell my sweet girl

It is with overwhelming sadness that I have to report that Willow has crossed the rainbow bridge.

She had rallied after her time in the hospital over New Years and we were feeling hopeful about treatment but then she very quickly worsened. It became clear Tuesday night that it was time to let her go.

I love you precious Willow, I always will. Your time to go came way too early, My heart hurts, but I know you are now free of pain, free of the discomfort. Sleep well, chase bugs and birds. Eat as many pine needles as you like. Be free my sweet girl. Love, your guy.

Willow update

2017 ended for us with some very devastating news.

Saturday, Willow did really well. She slept soundly on one of us for most of the day. She ate generally well, was perky - it was a big change from Friday.

Dec 30, 2017

Then came Sunday. She arose early in the morning and started showing signs of discomfort. No interest in food. She was hunched in, not moving. I hung out with her for a while, noticing that her breathing was becoming more rapid. History told us where this was going, so we made the decision to take her to the specialty clinic emergency room (about 20-mins away). We had exhausted the resources of our local emergency vet and needed a neurologist and better diagnostic options.

We got everything ready so I could just put her in the carrier and run out the door. She was laying on a fleece blanket, looking miserable, out of it, and breathing hard. I just bundled her up in the blanket and placed her in the carrier. I completely freaked when she flopped over backwards in the carrier with no attempt to correct. She was like statue that had just fallen over. This was one of the scariest moments of my life, I feared she might be dead. I immediately closed up the carrier and literally ran as fast as I could to the emergency vet across the alley.

Dec 30, 2017

They immediately attended to her and we waited, overwhelmed with fear and sadness. A few minutes later, the vet told us Willow was having seizures (without the convulsions), which was why she was so unresponsive. It was helpful to hear that it was indeed seizures, and not death. The vet called down to the specialty clinic and they discussed how best to stabilize her for the car ride.

We made it to the specialty clinic ER without problem and they immediately took her back to stabilize her. Meanwhile, two good friends met us there for emotional comfort, as we waited many hours to be seen. So grateful to have such good friends. The general ER vet was fantastic, she had amazing ability to convey a lot of complex information with great clarity, kindness, and compassion. We elected to have Willow seen by the neurologist who suggested we start with a MRI, to find the origin of the seizures.

A few hours later we got the call - Willow had done well with the MRI and was waking just fine from the anesthesia. That was the good news, the bad news is, she has a non-cancerous tumor on her brain, a meningioma. The neurologist noted there are several treatment options that we can discuss more extensively once Willow is more stable. For now, we focus on getting her stable using steroids to reduce the tumor inflammation and some anti-seizure medication. If we just go the palliative care route (which would be just using those medications), she said we might have 6-9 months of quality life left. The other options that we'll discuss more when we pick her up, are surgery, radiation, and chemo.

Dec 29, 2017

This all still feels surreal. Is this really happening?? My Willow? My little girl? She's only 8, she's perfect. It's so hard to believe that we don't have much time left together. I'm numb. Exhausted. My heart is overwhelmed with sadness. Pain. Some gratitude in there too, for knowing what's causing her so much misery. Not knowing is hell. We'll pick her up on New Year's day and find out more then. We have a whole lot of loving to do on her in the time left.

Hold your furry family members extra tight, each day with them is a precious gift. We are grieving this New Year's eve and soaking up the love of the other cats and friends. Peace.

the gift of grief

It's been almost three weeks now since Buddy crossed over the bridge. Among the many seasons of life I'm in, grieving is one of them. I want to share a little about my grieving process this time around.

Coming home without Buddy was really hard. The energy in the house felt off, it's crazy how much quieter it was. The absence of his presence was deafening. As the days went on, the grief-pain began to increase. All the little things I've come to expect are no more. Buddy was the most vocal of our cats, he talked all the time. First thing in the morning, he greeted me with a loud MEOW! Every time I came home, MEOW! Whenever I sat down, he would immediately sprawl out on me. He wrestled me for every bite of mac n' cheese. Everything is different without him.

Eating the same mac and cheese without Buddy stirs pain of his absence. That pain feels like a gift, like a testament to the joy of his being. I am learning to welcome the grief-pain, to lean into it with gratitude.

The grief-pain is real and at times pretty intense. But this time my experience of the grief is so much different than any of my previous experiences. For the first time in my life, the grief-pain is not completely overwhelming me. In the past, reading about cat-blogosphere friends crossing the bridge would overwhelm me. When Max died in 2009, it was incredibly traumatic and I couldn't work for weeks. Suicidal thoughts even came in, it was really scary. Since then I lived in constant fear of having to go through that all again.

The day after Buddy crossed the bridge, I stopped by the house for lunch, and
Nahum hopped on my lap for some fluffy purr therapy - just what my ouchy heart needed!

Over this past year, I've done a ton of intense therapy work. (A little history: I experienced pretty significant pet-loss trauma as a child, which basically kept me in a perpetual state of hypervigilance as I anticipated the next death - my fear was rampant and overwhelming, can you say PTSD?!) A bunch of my therapy work involved working through that trauma.

I'm now getting to enjoy the fruit of having done all this trauma work, for the first time in my life, I can actually experience the sadness and grief pain without crazy anxiety and fear overwhelming me. Which means, I can stay in the moment and feel just the grief of Buddy's death without the past and future rushing in. This season of grief feels clean and for that I'm super grateful. This doesn't mean the grieving is easy or pleasant by any means, I still feel the hole in my heart and the sobbing still overtakes me at times.

When I picked up Buddy's ashes at the vet last week, I felt like the reality of him being gone really sank in. As I carried his ashes back, tears streamed down my face. When I got home, I sat with his box of ashes in my arms and I sobbed. The beautiful cat I knew as Buddy would not be coming home again.

  In this season of grief there is much I'm grateful for.

• Your kind messages, comments and cards are beautiful and have been like soothing balm for my ouchy heart. It really helps to know I'm not alone. The weight of grief is heavy and intense, sharing it in community makes it more bearable. I'm deeply grateful for all of you and your outpouring of love.
• My amazing, kind veterinarians and their staff that somehow are always available. I love that they bring their humanity as well as their medical skills and knowledge to their work. What a gift.
• Onsite and all the amazing healing that I've experienced through their intensive therapy programs.
• Buddy - his love was the real deal, just as mine is. The grief wouldn't be here if there wasn't such delightful love. The delight of our relationship was so worth the grief-pain I feel now.
• The love and joy of Willow, Nahum, Theo, Rose, Marvin, Oliver, and Pierre!
• God's love never seems to stop, even in the deep pain. Crazy.

 
The other cats are stepping up to fill in the now vacant roles Buddy filled.

Theo and Nahum have volunteered to have a go on the mac and cheese bowl. 

 

Nahum's started a rigorous cuddle-training program.

 

He's also taken to sharing my meals with me.

 

Every morning, Theo has been my new morning cuddle and prayer-buddy.

 

Willow's offering extra cuddles.

 

And Oliver is even stepping up and generously offering extra tummy rubs.

My grief is held in a beautiful container made of gratitude and love. My heart is grateful.