message 1 of 4
by John » Sun Dec 22, 2024 08:49 am
I mentioned last night that I thought I might relate the histories of some of my cats, partly because I love a good rescue/adoption story, and partly because I never want to forget. This is some of Poof's history.
Poof was born during the Summer of 1980 under a mobile home, all white and with relatively long hair. Poof's original name was "Jim" because they didn't know Poof was a lady. Worried about her, they offered her to me. Believe it or not, I was basically a dog person, (I still like dogs) but Poof caught me and I was hooked on the kitties from then on. Poof started out small enough to fit in my hand but grew into a moderately sized, beautiful lady. Poof was named after the little white puffs of smoke you saw when the Coyote chased the Roadrunner off a big cliff, then hit the bottom, and because she looked on camera like a white puff of smoke, and because it fit a lot better than "Jim".
I had 15 wonderful years with Poof. When I noticed she wasn't feeling well, I took her to the veterinarian who told me she had diabetes. Treating her was a steep and slow learning curve. I so hated giving her insulin shots. Learning about it introduced me to a terrific group of people called the "Sugarcats". I still hear from most of them almost every day.
Finally the time came when she just didn't feel like going on. I took Poof on one last walk around the yard in my arms, stayed up with her all that night, and the next morning I took her to the vet for the last time. I knew I'd be devastated when I lost her but I was still unprepared for the complete wreck I became. Barely able to function, I'd go for days without eating. At night, feeling like I was the only person on Earth, I'd cry so hard I'd go out to the garage so no one would hear me. That didn't work. You could still hear me. Every day I'd retrace that last walk around the yard. At night in the dark, I could swear I'd see her but when I'd approach, it would turn out to be a bleach jug, or a towel. The pain and the loss never left although I became somewhat more functional. For years, I might be driving and thinking about her and the tears would come. I always had the weird feeling I wanted nothing to change until she somehow came back. Of course, the world wouldn't wait and she wouldn't come back.
Poof's legacy though, were the countless cats I rescued or cared for after her, whose lives I saved and tried to make as perfect as possible, and the countless "cat people" I met and have remained friends with for a quarter century. Thank you all for being here, and for reminding me that I'm not the only one who cares and loves that much. John