Change of scenery

 A young man knocked on the front door about a week ago. I live in a place where front doors are used as an emergency exit if at all. We have had the occasional trick-or-treaters, a few times politicians trolling for votes, and once Jehovah witnesses. The Jehovah witnesses came round to the back subsequent times, although this past week, I got a letter in the mail from one of them witnessing to me. She mentioned she wasn't stopping door to door because of Covid. 

At any rate, I didn't recognize the young man at the door. He didn't look like a Jehovah witness. Turns out he wasn't. Nor was he a politician. He worked for an arborist. He wanted to let me know they were going to be taking down a neighbour's tree and because the tree was on or very close to the property line, they might have some of their equipment on my property. They wanted to let me know.

We chatted a bit, I went outside, and we walked the back yard. The tree is an old, large ash tree. It saddened me that they are removing it, solely because it's too close to their barn. He said the noise I'd hear would be their chain saws and a chipper. That saddened me, too. If you're taking down a tree simply  because its presence in its spot is inconvenient in some way, I'd hope you'd use the timber in a useful way. Not just all of it becoming instant mulch. Removing the ash tree will change the line of sight in our back yard a bit.

Yesterday, someone driving down the street ended up hitting a large tree in that neighbour's yard and struck a pedestrian who was walking on the sidewalk. We aren't sure why it happened. Whether a deer had run across the road or whether the driver lost control driving over wet leaves. There's a slight gash in the tree, but other than that, the tree looks as it always has. I do hope the injured man can make a full recovery. It gave us pause for thought. Any number of us use that sidewalk as we go for a walk, walk the dog (quite a few neighbours have dogs), or like our neighbour Vern, use it most days to walk down to the nearby post office to collect his mail.

Phoebe-the rest of the story

 I was looking at old blog posts and saw that I never provided the upshot on Phoebe. When I last wrote about  her, it was a month into the regimen of pill pockets for her meds, giving her fish oil, and working a lower protein cat food into rotation.

I knew we were on borrowed time, and I wanted to make the best of it. So did she. She was getting through the coldest part of winter but losing ground. She got thinner and altogether refused to eat the lower protein food. JoJo and Cooper weren't overly fond of it, but they'd eat it. No so Miss Phoebe. Nope. Anathema that would not cross her lips.

She was sleeping a lot more and more soundly. Another cog in the wheel clicked when I could open a can of something in the kitchen and not have her immediately walk in, just in case it was something she wanted to have. 

I discussed the End with my vet's office. They did house calls, but I'd need to give them a week's notice. They gave me the name of a vet, Dr. E, who makes house calls to put animals down. She was known for being able to come at once a lot better than they could manage at their busy practice. Of course, I could simply take Phoebe into the office right away, should I need to pre-empt the appointment. I much preferred to keep her at home and have the home visit.

It was the end of February. I prefer chocolate ice cream but always had a nonchocolate flavour on hand as Phoebe loved anything dairy and would insist that she have a taste of the ice cream. She strongly preferred eating it from your dish. She may have suspected we were somehow holding out on her if we put it in a separate dish for her. Whenever I ate chocolate ice cream, I'd lick the bowl clean then add a little of the nonchocolate ice cream for her. She was top cat now that Grace was gone, and she'd make a great fanfare of having her ice cream in the human's dish while the others got theirs in different dishes. Such a diva.

I was up to my eyeballs on a work project, had eaten a small dish of chocolate ice cream, and Phoebe hadn't stirred at all when I was eating. I knew that wasn't a great sign, but I was relieved that I didn't have to cater to her, as she had grown more petulant and demanding. The phone rang as i finished my ice cream. It was my client, interrupting my short break, and I walked my dish out to the kitchen while talking to them. I hurried back to my office and computer (about ten steps from the kitchen) and got back to work right away.

About an hour later, I went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea. There, on the counter was Phoebe. She had licked the ice cream dish clean and was licking her chops. She clearly enjoyed the dregs in the dish, and I'm certain she was thinking to herself that they'd have been wasted if it weren't for her keen sense of smell and jumping capabilities to jump from floor to counter to help herself.

She was sitting and looked over at me with a self-satisfied look. Another few licks around her whiskers to ensure all was clean, and she stood up and jumped down to the floor. As effortlessly and gracefully as ever. She paused a moment and then walked away like a boss, her tail held high and confidently.

While I was ruing leaving the dish like that without taking the few seconds to rinse it out and then leave it in the sink, I couldn't help smiling at Phoebe's panache. Even if eating that chocolate took a few moments off her life, the contented look on her face told me it was worth it.

Shortly after that, maybe a few days, she would sway on occasion. At first I wasn't sure what I actually saw, and it was random, a quick sway and then she'd recover and go on. I watched her more carefully. She was not eating as much, even if it were food she really liked. I needed to make the call to set up an appointment, but when? Would a week be too soon? Or not soon enough?

I had these thoughts on Friday. The vet's office closed at 4 pm, and they weren't open weekends. On Friday night, I noticed a misstep and a sway. I'd need to call them first thing Monday morning and see if they could come out. The swaying seemed to be a little stronger and she was taking longer to recover. She didn't appear to be in pain. But she was eating less.

The air started to smell like spring. We had snow on the ground still, and the ground well covered, but as we moved closer to the equinox the light and spring smell smiled at the snow. It would be on its way out.

For nearly 16 years, Phoebe would meow at us to get up if we were sleeping in past her breakfast time, or she'd jump up into bed, purr and meow to wake us up, want a quick pat and then would urge us to get moving so we could feed her.

Himself was away. Saturday had been a domestic day for me, some cleaning, some food shopping, lounging with the cats that evening. I thought about attending church Sunday morning, if I woke up early enough. If Phoebe insisted on an early breakfast, I would most certainly be up in time.

Sunday morning I felt the slight shaking of the bed as Phoebe alighted and walked towards me. She was purring and nuzzled my hand. I opened my eyes, she crawled up on my chest, and I knew to rise up. She had trained her human staff well. Only she didn't jump off my chest. She refused to move and looked deep into my eyes. I knew. With that look, she let me know it was time for her to go, and I needed to help her with that. 

I hugged her, pet her, and cried. She lay there stoically, seeming to understand that I knew I had to make that call, and it needed to be today. Someone had to come help her cross today; not next week, but TODAY.

When she moved off of me, I got up, blew my nose, and padded downstairs to get the cats' food dishes ready for breakfast. I called Dr. E. She answered her phone. No, it wasn't too early to ring her. I quickly explained the situation. For the first time in her life, Phoebe pre-empted breakfast to let me know it was time for her to go.

Dr. E. could come in the afternoon. I gave her the address, next town over from where she lived and a short drive. Phoebe spent much of the morning sleeping. JoJo and Cooper went about their usual schedule. Phoebe had lorded her top cat status over them to the point where they didn't really bother much with her. There was detente. The few times Phoebe got up, the swaying was more pronounced. She had eaten a little food, mostly the pieces with the fish oil on it. She welcomed the pill pocket. Mostly she slept. About a half hour or so before Dr. E arrived, Phoebe had gone under the bed to nap. She clearly didn't want to be bothered. 

Of all the cats who've lived with us, Phoebe was among the most social with humans. Human visitors were warmly greeted, and she always made sure she stood in such a way where they could admire her beautiful calico coat and encourage them to pet her. I think at times she really thought the purpose of their visit was to see her, and we were afterthoughts.

Dr. E knocked on the back door. Phoebe didn't come down to investigate. We went upstairs. Dr. E explained that she had had to crawl under beds before and could do it again as needed. Phoebe lifted her head, looked over at Dr. E who was sitting on the floor at the bed's edge peering at her, and blinked weakly. Dr E held out a treat to tempt her to come out. Phoebe sniffed the air, but had no interest. I suggested getting some tuna juice, as we referred to the water we drained when opening a can of tuna fish. All the cats liked it. Even Cooper had some on occasion. (Cooper's story will have a blog post all his own.)

I went downstairs and quickly opened a can of tuna, splitting the tuna juice up so each cat could have some. I served JoJo and Cooper then went upstairs with Phoebe's portion. I placed the dish beside me, so Phoebe would have to come all the way out from under the bed. She smelled the tuna juice, her pupils dilated, and she rose gingerly but quickly and made a bee line for the bowl. 

Dr E was glad to see her do that. I mentioned about the swaying and how it had become more pronounced and the missteps that were more frequent over the last few days. She explained that that was the toxins getting the upper hand. The kidneys were shutting down, so the toxins were building up. Left alone, Phoebe would likely have a seizure that would take her. After Phoebe finished the tuna juice, licking the dish clean, she vomited a little. It surprised Dr E and me. While Phoebe had vomited many times over her life, she had never done so with tuna juice. I cleaned it up, and Dr E stroked Phoebe's soft fur. She administered the first shot as I pet Phoebe. The first shot would knock her out. It didn't take long for Phoebe to lie on her side. Then the next shot was administered, the one that ends everything. Within a minute, Dr E listened through her stethoscope. Phoebe was gone. She had a little cat teepee to place her in. As she did that, I opened the window to let her spirit go free. 

I had agreed to have her cremated, so Himself and I could bury her together. It was also easier than digging a hole through the snow. I hadn't gotten around to digging it in the fall before the first flake. 

I carried the teepee down the steps and to Dr. E's car. I thanked her for coming on such short notice. She nodded and said I had called at the right time. That too many people wait too long, but I had not. I told her Phoebe let me know that today was the day. And as she could tell, Phoebe had her human staff well trained.

Dr. E drove away with Phoebe's body. I went back into the house. JoJo wanted to go outside so I let her out. I went upstairs to the bedroom, closed the window, and picked up the empty tuna juice dish. It was two weeks shy of Phoebe's 16th birthday.

I thought over the events of the previous several months and had peace about them. I hadn't taken any heroic measures or allowed any invasive procedures. I didn't force the low protein food after it became apparent that Phoebe wouldn't eat it if it were the last stuff on earth. I chose quality of life over quantity. I pet her every chance I got, and she gave me plenty of opportunities. In her last two weeks, she jumped from floor to counter because there was the extremely rare occurrence of an ice cream dish with some chocolate ice cream in it just calling her name. In her last few minutes of life, she had one of her favourite things on earth, tuna juice. I was grateful she let me know when it was time for her departure, so there was no doubt, and that I could accommodate her request to help her. That I could be with her at the end and go as far as possible to the very edge of the shore of the living as she left it and crossed the bar.