Heartbreak

In my last post I wrote about trusting your gut instincts. My 14-year old cat, Gracie hadn’t been quite right after having a dental cleaning. She was barely eating and becoming less and less active. I kept taking her to see my vets, telling them something was still wrong. We all tried to sort out what was going on, but as often happens with cats, they’re great at hiding health issues until they’re in such bad shape that their life is in jeopardy.

A little over two weeks ago, my vet, Dr. Larry, was very concerned about Gracie’s liver. He urged me to get an ultrasound done as soon as possible. It would give us a better idea of why Gracie’s liver looked strange on x-ray. The problem was that the vet who came to his office once a week and performed the ultrasound diagnostics was booked up for weeks.

Gracie's x-rays. Another good reason to do a baseline x-ray of your cat during a routine exam when they're seniors. (top) You can see how the center of Gracie's abdomen, where her liver is located, looks cloudy. That's the fluid buildup in her abdomen and her liver is enlarged. (Bottom) organs look more defined.

I knew we could get the ultrasound done at one of many emergency veterinary hospitals in the area, but Dr. Larry said he really wanted me to take Gracie to the one he considers top notch and that meant a trip to Pieper Memorial, which is over an hour drive away. Though other hospitals were closer, Dr. Larry trusted Dr. Sean’s expertise and he knew I'd do whatever was asked to get to the bottom of Gracie’s issues.

©2015 Robin AF Olson. Waiting for Dr. Larry.

The thought of the trip gave me painful flashbacks to the last time I went to Pieper. It was in 2012 and I had Fred with me; a 10-month old kitten who had lost use of his back legs. Dr. Sean was to look for signs of FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis) because that was our fear. I remember pacing anxiously outside the hospital in their garden. It was early April and still cold, but I couldn’t stay inside and sit quietly waiting for the results. I prayed and prayed that Dr. Sean would tell me Fred was going to be okay. Ironically, he did tell me there were no signs of FIP, but sadly Fred did have it and died a few weeks later. I didn’t want to have the same experience now—a clean ultrasound and heartbreak later. I angrily wondered why even bother doing an ultrasound if the results are so questionable, but it was safer than doing exploratory surgery by far.

Sam had been working around-the-clock on a very challenging project and was exhausted. I was emotionally wiped out from worrying about Gracie and didn’t sleep the night before the test. I was going to take Gracie by myself so Sam could stay home and tend to the cats, but Sam somehow dragged himself out of bed, after very little sleep, and we both took Gracie to Pieper. I was so grateful he made the effort because frankly I didn’t want to be alone. I needed him to be with us.

©2015 Robin AF Olson. A very sick girl on the way to Pieper.

It was a sunny morning and the commuters were out in full force. I sat with the cat carrier on my lap with the top unzipped so I could pet Gracie. She was not happy to be back in the car yet again, but she was comforted by my gentle caress. I felt sick to my stomach with worry, but we had to know what was going on and if there was a chance we could do something about it.

We didn’t have to wait long before a cheerful vet tech took Gracie from us. I stopped her before she could turn away and asked if didn’t Dr. Sean want to talk to us first and she said no, that he had all her notes. I found that odd and wondered if they didn’t value my observations. I’m not a vet so what do I know. Maybe it’s not necessary. All he’s doing is looking into her abdomen. Whatever I say won’t change what he finds.

I sat against the side of an austere hallway lined with chairs with Sam by my side. Sam was drinking coffee, trying to wake up and I was trying to be calm while my heart was pounding in my chest. I saw a lot of dogs with their parents. I tried to distract myself by people-watching. Did they match their pets? Not really. Did one of them have a really big behind when the rest of her body was tiny? Yes. Did I wonder if the golden retriever with the white mask of fur on his face was going to be around much longer. Yes.

A few minutes later, the tech arrived and said the Dr. Sean was ready to talk to us. My stomach did a flip-flop as I stood. I reached out to Sam for support as we entered a nearby exam room.

Dr. Sean entered and took a seat. I could read by his body language that the news was not good. He proceeded to tell us that Gracie’s liver was full of cysts and she had fluid in her abdomen. It was likely it was cancer, but to make certain it wasn’t just cysts, he wanted to insert a needle into one of the cysts to take a biopsy (called cytology). I asked about the costs and it wasn’t going to break the bank so I agreed. I asked if we could hope for it to be cysts and he said yes, but that it was unlikely. Of course he’d seen things like this before so I had to accept the fact that maybe this was the end of the road for our cat.

We thanked Dr. Sean and left him to do the test. I felt like my heart was going to explode. I wanted to run away. How the HELL did I miss my cat having CANCER? How is this happening? Just the day before all I thought I needed to do was fine tune Gracie’s medications so that we could get her eating better and now I’m thinking my cat is possibly terminally ill.

I needed to go outside. I didn’t want people to see me react to the news. I raced out the door back to the garden. I paced. I cried. I prayed for a glimmer of hope. Sam tried to comfort me but I couldn’t stand still. I wanted Gracie to be okay. I wasn’t ready for this to happen. My mind was swirling with dark visions of what the future held-if there was to be any future-for my girl.

It didn’t take long for the test to be done. One of the techs came outside to find us to tell us we could check out and take Gracie home. It being a Thursday meant that the results would probably not be ready until Monday. MONDAY?! I wondered if Gracie would be alive by Monday—and sadly I wasn’t wrong to worry about that.

©2015 Robin AF Olson. Gracie's little blankee area where she spends most of her day.

I’d set Gracie up inside a big dog crate with a cat bed and heated pad. She’d spent the last week on the bed, but now she wanted to lay on the cooler flat oriental rug near the crate. I imagined that her belly must have hurt based on how awkwardly she would lay down. I grabbed some soft blankets and made some bumpers for her to rest her head on and one where she could prop herself up. She’d sit up, stretching her abdomen, no doubt to give her enlarged liver and fluid build-up more space inside her. I wanted to keep her as comfortable as possible. I also had to figure out a way to get her to eat.

So began an all-too-familiar odyssey—trying to find the Holy Grail of cat nutrition to keep Gracie alive, at least for a few more days.

Part 2, to Hell and Back, next...and don't think you already know what's going to happen, because no one saw this coming.

Part 2 of 2. Read part 1 HERE.

An hour later Dr Larry came into the waiting room to escort me into the back to look at the x-rays. Before he could even point them out, I saw them. Petunia has a mass of stones inside her. One looked fairly large. While we could try a diet change to acidify her urine and dissolve the stones, the most humane thing to do is to surgically remove them as soon as possible. The diet change would take months and it might not work depending on what kind of stones she has. It must be incredibly painful, yet Petunia never acted like she was in pain. She always was ready for a pet or snuggle. She never licked at herself or squatted and left small pools of bloody urine, but she was very sick.

Dr. Larry asked me what I wanted to do-do the surgery or wait? He told me he'd do whatever needed to help, but all I could do was cry. I asked him the cost of the surgery and he told me it would be about $1500.00. He does these surgeries all the time (which is fodder for another post because WHY are so many animals getting stones in the first place?). Normally I wouldn't bat an eye and just say let's do it, but this time I was lost and scared. I HAD TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN and by God I would no matter what.

Bladder stones. Lots of them.

Dr. Larry patted me on the back and said not to cry. I didn't have the nuts to beg for a big discount. I had to be a grown up and figure it out. I would find a way, but some times it's just tough to struggle and struggle, then feel like you're starting to make positive changes, then WHAM!, another big bill. I know I'm not the only one who feels like that, but it's hard to keep your head up some times.

I told Dr. Larry that I needed some time to gather my thoughts. As I drove home, I flashed back over the decade of peeing issues we've dealt with. I was fed up. I can't list how many things were ruined by her because there were so many. I was sick and tired of trying to find a way to get the cycle to stop. I thought about how many times I wished Petunia would die so the rest of us could live in peace. I know it's wrong to think that way but that's how far I'd been pushed. But all that ill-will vanished, quickly replaced with shame when I looked over to Petunia as she sat in her carrier on the passenger seat. I stuck my index finger into one of the holes on the side so I could touch her face. She rubbed her cheek against my finger a few times, desperate for some love. I realized that Petunia must have been in pain for YEARS and even through all of that she still loved me. How could I be so heartless to her in return?

A few minutes after we got home I called Dr Larry's office and made the appointment for Petunia's surgery. There would be no waiting on this. It had gone on far too long already.

©2015 Robin AF Olson. Petunia was in so much pain and desperate to drain her bladder she ends up urinating on her own mother, who is in the spot where Petunia has been peeing the past few weeks.

Though I arrogantly thought we’d checked Petunia for everything last year, we hadn’t and she’s been suffering in silence, been called names and shunned because of her behavior. All it made me want to do was hold her and tell her how sorry I was for being such a moron. I recalled that when Petunia was very young she had struvite crystals in her bladder. We treated them with a special diet and within a year we started transitioning our cats off kibble, to canned food without grains, and finally to a raw diet. It never occurred to me that she could even GET stones again since she gets appropriate nutrition. It’s clear this may have been going on far before the transition and is only getting to a point of severity where we’re noticing it.

I am so ashamed. The only thing I can do to make it better is to get this surgery done ASAP and help Petunia get on the road to recovery. Perhaps she’ll never need to be on anti-anxiety medication but it’s also possible that her anxiety is the root cause. There’s something called FLUTD (Feline Urinary Tract Disease) that could be part of the problem and it's also VERY LIKELY related to a whole-host of issues Petunia may have called Pandora Syndrome.

Pandora Syndrome can be a combination of many factors—genetics, environment, stress and diet. The result can be IBD, dermatitis, cystitis and more. Once I read this article, I realized that because this might have genetic aspect we may never be able to “cure” Petunia entirely. Then the light bulb moment: Petunia’s mother Gracie must ALSO have it! It would answer the question as to why we have never found a treatment for Gracie’s mysterious miliary dermatitis.

©2013 Robin AF Olson. Gracie at one of her MANY vet visits.

I spent two years searching for and trying treatments on Gracie. I sought out different specialists, did tests and biopsies. Gracie's a lot like her daughter and tends to be high strung. We've been working with her every day and over the past year Gracie's become less and less fearful, but now is more clingy and demanding. Her skin is improving slightly. We got her to stop vomiting clumps of fur every day and she no longer “barbers” her fur. She needs more work to help her mojo return, but I think the fog is lifting off these mysteries. I'm not happy about what might be going on because it means these cats are just not able to handle the stress they feel and how to reduce that will continue to be one of the biggest challenges of my life.

While I have failed these cats, I also feel hopeful that we may finally have some light at the end of the tunnel. I know that someone out there will read this and will say “hey, that’s my cat!” too. Perhaps they’ll take their cat to the vet and discover there was more going on than imagined. Perhaps it will save a cat from being given up or let outside to fend for itself. I can only hope that baring my soul will help others, because I really hate myself right now.

So, to all of you who feel like they’re suffering with inappropriate elimination problems with their own cats, don’t make the same mistake I did. Even if you already took your cat to the vet and they found nothing, KEEP SEARCHING if you can't solve the problem. Do research online, talk to your friends who have cats, try to see the world through your cat's eyes and if you feel they are subjected to a lot of stress, there's a big clue to how to help them feel better.

Get your cat vetted again, if needed, or get a second opinion. Yes, it may be costly, but this is YOUR cat, YOUR responsibility. Your cat may be in a lot of pain and I can promise that your cat is not trying to get revenge or ruin your life. They’re not “BAD” cats. They’re communicating in the only language they know and it’s up to us to be better at translating their message.

I’m so sorry, Petunia, but I will make it right. I promise.

Your surgery is tomorrow.

©2013 Robin AF Olson. Petunia suffered in silence for a long time, but I truly think I've learned an important lesson.

You could describe him as just a big brown tabby cat with a white bib, cheeks and paws. You could assume that because he lost his home or simply got dumped and was found in the back of a Home Depot in northern Georgia, that he’s just another cat who needs a new home.

You’d be wrong.

Continued from Chapter 1…

Another hour passed. Celeste tried to rest a bit and kept fussing with and licking the kittens. She was clearly going to care for them, which was a great relief. There was always the chance she’d abandon them if I scared her or if she was a young, new mom. I didn’t know if she had delivered the last kitten or not so I paid close attention to the time.

It didn’t take very long before the fifth kitten arrived. At first glance I though the kitten was black, too, but as it was cleaned and dried I saw stripes-a little tabby. Since cats can have multiple partners, it explained the different colors of kittens. I made a joke about her being a slutty.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. The fifth kitten is born.

I so wanted to take delight in this magical experience but I soon realized my fears that something was wrong with #3. He just wasn’t nursing. He was trying but he couldn’t sort it out. I feared I’d have to intervene but I’d never cared for a neonatal kitten. I’d only fed 2-3 week olds and that is much different.

That’s as much detail as I can remember about the births because after that began a 24-hr fight to save #3’s life. Between exhaustion, fear and anger I’m not sure how much I want to remember about what happened next.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. While the first two kittens are dry and looking for a nipple, #3 is still wet and needing care.

#3 was half the size of his siblings. I had to try to feed him, keep him warm but not too warm. To not feed him when he was cold because that would kill him. To make sure the formula wasn’t too cold or too hot. How the HELL does anyone achieve this? On top of it, the little guy wasn’t too keen on being fed and was so tiny it would be easy to harm him.

I reached out to everyone I could. I asked a lot of questions. I took advice. I tried this and that, but I knew I was in over my head. I felt like a moron. Why take this on? Why not just rescue kittens that are already born and not have to go through this. I got some formula into the kitten but I wasn’t sure how much or how often to feed. Every person I asked gave me a different answer. It was infuriating.

A few hours later I had a moment of success. #3 latched onto a nipple. I was so happy. I thought maybe we were out of the woods. I got it on video, but he only latched on for a few seconds. After numerous attempts to get him to latch on throughout the next day, he never did it again.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Screen capture from the vide of #3 nursing. Sadly it was only for a few seconds.

I stayed up with him all night. I put him into my shirt. I’d heard if you put him between “the girls” he would be warmer. It seemed to soothe him. Maybe it was my heartbeat. As I sat in the bathroom with him under my shirt and a blanket over us. I tried to keep the faith as I sat on a cushion leaning my head against the wall, resting my eyes, trying to hang on for his sake. I was so sleepy, but I couldn’t leave him alone. I imagined how he'd look as a full grown cat, white with gray polka dots. Running up to me, his tail held high. I would say to him “Remember when you were born, how sick you were? I can't believe how big you are now.” More than anything, I wanted that day to come. He squirmed and squeaked, then raked his tiny claws against my flesh. Even in such poor condition this newborn still had sharp claws. Maybe it meant he was a fighter?

He would perk up after spending time resting on my chest, then become so limp after being fed his head would flop around. I couldn’t get him stabilized and felt ill equipped to do so. Seeing him so energetic in one moment, fighting me because he couldn't tolerate the phony nipple on the baby bottle, then crash like that set me on edge.

By 3AM I felt it would be ok to take a nap for an hour. I put #3 back with his family, then reached down and took off my necklace. It was a gift from my friend Connie, who also does cat rescue. It’s a cotton thread chain with some beads and a tiny starfish, a symbol rescuers relate to due to the story that goes along with it. The story has taken many forms but is basically that of a person throwing starfish stranded on a beach back into the ocean. The beach is covered with them and this one person can't possibly get them all into the water before they die. Another person asks the rescuer why bother if you can't save them all. What difference would it make? The rescuer replied; “Because it makes a difference to that one I can rescue.”

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. While the other kittens nurse, #3 does not. Though I tried over and over again, he wouldn't take to any of the nipples.

I didn’t feel I deserved the necklace. I wasn’t doing a good enough job. I hung the necklace over the edge of a picture frame in Celeste’s room and turned off the light. I had a bag of dirty litter to bring to the trash so I headed downstairs. I realized I hadn’t eaten and really had to pee. I was half-awake until I took one step into the bathroom into a BIG puddle of cat urine. Nicky had peed on the floor. I wanted to SCREAM, but all I could do was wash my foot and clean up the mess. After all this, my own cats couldn’t cut me some slack. They knew what was going on. I’d discovered three other areas where they’d peed within that single day. It was not normal behavior and I was resigned to just clean it up. I was too tired to care beyond that.

Sam stepped in to help out as he could. He asked me what to do and I replied I didn’t know. I was so brain-dead and scared and angry. I’d asked, pleaded for the vet to come...to just show me I’m feeding the kitten the right away or to let me come there, but they just said to keep him warm and fed. I felt abandoned. I asked so many people for help, offered to pay them to come help, but no one could do a thing. I was on my own and for all the things I do to help to not be able to count on anyone was something that I don’t know I can forgive.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Celeste never gave up on her son.

Around 6 AM I tried to feed #3, but he went limp on me afterwards. Limp like dead limp...no breathing...nothing. I furiously rubbed him, as his mother might do with her tongue. I turned him upside down foolishly thinking he’d aspirated the formula. I sat there and cried. I looked at Celeste with her other kittens and said “now we are four.”

I looked down and #3 moved. He was still alive. I put him back into my shirt and after a time he recovered and was wiggling around. I probably did something wrong, but I didn’t know what it was. I put him with his mom. She licked the formula off him. I got her away from the other kittens and put #3 with her all by himself. This is it. No competition. Celeste seemed to understand and sat with him, touching him with her paw, giving him a lick. He wouldn’t latch on. I hoped maybe after a day or two he would get the hang of it, IF he had the time. At that point I was very worried he had any chance to survive.

This story concludes with a final chapter, coming up next.

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Last night I got an email from Tina Buechner, a rescuer in Georgia, that made my heart sink. You may remember me writing about Tina’s (and mine) nightmare thinking we’d saved some cats from kill shelters only to send them to a rescue in New York State that turned out to be a hoarder. You can read the full story HERE.

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Tina’s email read: “I have to ask if maybe you could help me or give me advise what to do. I have been diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer and will be starting chemo next week. I really need to try to place 5 of my fosters to lighten the load on my husband and me so I can concentrate on my treatment. It breaks my heart as I have grown attached to them. I just don't know where to turn or what to do as I want them to get good homes so I can rest my mind… I am not able to go to Petsmart adoptions anymore and will probably close down my rescue.”

Even though I may have never met Tina in person, she’s a sister to me. That’s how I feel about all the folks I network with who do animal rescue. It’s a special sort of person who can put their heart (and usually a lot more) on the line to save the life of an animal. They give up so much and now here was Tina, forced to give up her life's passion in the hopes she can save her own life.

My sister has cancer. I am going to do whatever I can to help her.

The five cats listed below need a great HOME or great RESCUE or great SHELTER placement. After what Tina has seen with the hoarder, anyone interested in taking one or more of these cats MUST be prepared to be carefully screened. We may ask for photos of your home, your facility. We may ask for references from adopters or friends or family or Vets or all of the above. We MUST be 100% certain that all cats will be safe. The last thing Tina needs is to have something else to worry about. She needs to be able to focus on taking care of herself, but she can't live without cats, so she plans on keeping a few cats not listed here.

CONTACT ME: Robin Olson

EMAIL: info@kittenassociates.org

PRE-ADOPTION APPLICATION (for adopters only)

This application goes to my rescue group, Kitten Associates, which is located in CT. I’m going to screen all applications for Tina.

RESCUES/SHELTERS email me at above address to discuss

TRANSPORT: from Georgia can be arranged to points in the northeastern USA. Beyond those areas, email me to discuss. Transport to the northeast will be an added fee of $75.

KITTIES THAT NEED HOME/RESCUE PLACEMENT

Purrl

5 Years old, Female

White DSH with green eyes.

Weight 12 lbs, big kitty. Microchipped.

Adoption fee $60.00

UPDATE: Purrl is very bonded with Checkers (see below). We hope to find them a placement together.

Purrl is a very sweet but shy girl. She loves playing with running water, other young kitties and playing fetch with her mouse. She sits quietly on her favorite lap or snuggles under the covers.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Purrl.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Purrl with water.

Arby (Checker's Brother)

5 Years Old, Male

DSH Classic Tabby with swirls

Microchipped

Adoption fee: $60.00

I am a happy little guy who gives great head-butts and leg-huggers and will flop on my side for tummy rubs. Plus, I've been called a gorgeous hunk with my silky bullseye silver/black tabby pattern and have been mistaken as a Bengal (shhh, I didn't correct them)! I am the 'managerial' type and like to supervise all the house happenings, like vacuum cleaning, bird watching, and will help with supper to sample and make sure all is fit for eating! If you forget to give me samples, I will remind you with leg-taps, and then will loudly let you know if you ignore me. I always make sure you know when feeding time is as I like to keep a strict household routine. I love to play and chase my brother, Checkers, or other kitty friends to make sure they are getting their exercise. I am a young adult at only 5 years old so have many managing years ahead of me. I'm looking for my furever home where I can help with the household duties and will never have to be living on the street again. I do startle easily so would like a quieter home without young children. I only need a patient person who understands my traumatic start in life to give me time to adjust. After I adjust, I will become your best buddy!

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Arby.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Lovely swirls on Arby.

Checkers (Arby’s Brother)

DMH/Maine Coon mix Orange Tabby

5 Years old

Microchipped

Adoption fee: $60.00

Let me tell you a little about my great qualities, as there are many, if I must say so myself. I am as cute as a button with all the wonderful Maine Coon qualities - ear and toe tufts, leather-colored nose, bushy tail with long britches, big size, great head-butts and a 'Redhead' as my foster mom calls me, and my gold eyes match my silky long coat. I am a great bug-catcher and can spot a bug a mile away and catch it, just so you know what I am doing under that carpet! And, you better not leave feather toys out as I will catch and tear them apart, feather by feather. I love watching TV - especially dog agility as I think it's funny seeing those dogs following everything a human tells them to do - how funny is that?? My motor is loud if you give me some pets, especially along with some tasty chicken! I am still a young adult of 5 years. I would like to be with my brother Arby or would make a good companion for another kitty. I am listed as 'special' because I will need a quiet home and patient person to give me adjustment time after my traumatic start in life. Once I've adjusted, I will bond very closely with 'my' person and would love a lap to myself.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Checkers.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Checkers-loaf.

Teensy Weensy (Peppy’s Sister)

DSH/Burmese (has Siamese kink in her tail) Black with white tummy spots

2 Years old, Small cat.

Adoption Fee $85 (less if you adopt her AND her brother together)

Teensy is a sweet little girl that has had a rough start in life. As her name implies, she is a very small girl with a big spirit at only 6.5 pounds. She is such a little lover girl once she knows you. She has had one eye removed due to a virus and neglect from a hoarder but it doesn't stop her. She is looking for a great family to enjoy her sweet, playful nature. Teensy loves to sit on shoulders too. She likes playing with her big brother and gets along well with other cats so would be a great addition to a family who has kitty friends. She is very unassuming and will sit and keep you company. All she needs is companionship, play and special food for her skin. Lower adoption fee if adopted with her brother, Peppy.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Teensy.

Peppy (Teensy's Brother)

DSH/Burmese Black with white tummy spot

2 Years old

Medium sized cat

Adoption Fee $85 (less if you adopt him AND his sister together)

Peppy is a big beautiful boy at about 11 pounds. He has a shiny, slick coat with a little white on his belly. He has a very sweet, gentle nature and loves to lie on your lap. He has endured a lot in his short life but still loves people. His left eye has had 2 surgeries to repair some damage caused by a virus but he doesn't let it bother him. He is looking for a quieter family who likes to lounge around but has some time to play with him. He loves playing with cat teasers and soft balls he will bat around the house. He does great with other kitties and would love to have a kitty friend. Lower adoption fees if adopted with his sister, Teensy.

©2014 Tina B. Used with permission. Peppy.

If you can't adopt or if you don't work with a rescue or shelter, you can still help Tina and her cats by sharing this post socially on Facebook, Twitter, or email a link to this post to your cat-loving friends.

For all that Tina has done, it’s time for her to be the one who gets rescued. Thank you everyone. Let's make this happen!

The “Anniversary” approaches. We here in Sandy Hook, Connecticut don’t need more of a description than that. We know the anniversary referred to is of the horrific shooting that happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School last December 14, 2012. It was a tragedy that wiped away the lives of 20 children and 8 adults.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. One of the thousands of messages sent to help Newtown heal.

I realize some folks would have difficulty that I include the 2 people who caused this horror in my tally—the 1 who actually pulled the trigger and the other who arrogantly had an arsenal of guns in her suburban home combined with a son who she KNEW had mental illness and severe social issues. They died, too. The horror that occurred is unforgivable, but I gently suggest that after a year has passed, perhaps it’s time to include those people in our heartbreak and include them in our mourning as we struggle to move forward.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson.

What we have learned in twelve months is that people love our town. People who didn’t even know where Connecticut was, let alone Sandy Hook, sent us truckloads of letters and cards expressing their sentiments. These people are from all over the world, who just wanted to let us know how much they cared. They reached out to us and held us. They gave us gifts. They donated many millions of dollars to funds that go to the families of the fallen, that will help our town government run and more (GE “donated” 5 employees to our town to help our First Selectman with anything she needed).

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Love, the theme of so many messages of support.

As the sheath of heartbreak begins to fall away, what lies beneath that is what has been their all along-love; love that we may have previously held close, that we protected, fearful to express it. It was a love we may not have felt we had enough to share, but with the tragedy behind us, this love has grown bigger and grander and more open and fearless. It is more welcoming and accepting than any love we have ever known. It is because we don’t try to forget what happened, we use it as a reminder to cherish our fragile lives and the lives of everyone around us. It reminds us to not be afraid to reach out a hand and offer it to a stranger, not asking for anything in return, but having confidence that helping others helps us, too.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson.

Our town is already bracing for an onslaught of media coverage. Pat Llodra, our First Selectman, asks them to stay away and let us grieve in peace. The local Catholic church has signs in their yard warning: “No Media Beyond this Point! Police Take Notice.” In some ways I agree with that request, but for one reason I disagree. I would like the media to come here and focus not on the pain, but on the ways we have been helping each other and to use the media to remind others to mark this sad day by doing at least one good thing for a stranger. The families of the fallen ask for 26 acts of kindness, 1 for each person who was killed, and they ask that everyone do these things for people in their own community. We don’t need more things here, we need more love and that love should be expressed by helping others, simple as that.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. A Christmas card I came across. What a lovely message.

Last year my non-profit cat rescue, Kitten Associates, helped others the day after the shooting and it continued on for 5 months. We opened our home to anyone who needed us by creating what became an award-winning program called Kitties for Kids. Kids, parents, now-grown former students of Sandy Hook Elementary came to us. They played with our foster kittens. They petted our cat Nora’s big belly. The saddest of the children eventually smiled, even if it was a shy, tentative smile. It was the beginning of them finding their way back to the world from the darkness of a broken heart and we were honored to be part of that journey.

In a few days we will be re-opening our home. Kitties for Kids will begin again and for the next 2 weeks anyone who needs us will find open arms and new furry friends. Inasmuch as we know our community needs us, we need them, too. Hearing children giggle was an unexpected gift that gave us the fuel to continue to help others.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Our town hall turned into the display area for all the cards and banners. There were too many to read each one. I've heard they photographed every single piece, but my mind boggles at the thought.

Although blazing gun control legislations weren’t passed in the last year and we learned we may never know why Lanza chose Sandy Hook Elementary to express his rage, the love that has blossomed out of the heartbreak is magical and we hope it will radiate throughout the world.

I hope you will join me in doing an act of kindness on Saturday, December 14, 2013 to mark this sad occasion. I hope you’ll consider taking it up a notch and do 28 acts of kindness (or 26 if you prefer), whether it be to volunteer at your local animal shelter or buy them a 28 pounds of cat food, or to shovel your elderly neighbor’s walkway or to pay for someone’s groceries.

©2013 Maggie Russo. The lovely lady who keeps my hair looking great shared this photo with me. A stranger bought everyone at Salon Michele their morning coffee.

Let’s show the world that through heartache we can discover great love.

And may I humbly suggest that we don't stop there. Let’s continue to look for ways to help each other EVERY DAY and change the course of history, from one fueled by greed and selfishness to one of compassion and love.

The last time I felt like I had a family was in the late 1990's. My parents were alive, I had a career, our pets were thriving, relationships were intact. Clichè as it may be, I didn't realize what I had until it was gone, though it didn't disappear overnight or all at once. My family began to vanish with one loss, then another. With every change I scrambled to find a way to feel like I still had a family with whatever remained.

Dear Fred,

You’re in the foster room on the floor above my office catching the last few rays of sunshine as you rest in the little cubby on the cat tree. I imagine your respirations, too fast for normal, a bit shallow. Your tail lays limply, instead of flicking back and forth. You’ve been sick with something for months and it’s robbed you of the use of your back legs and now your front are gone, too. We’ve done so many tests on you, with most of them coming up negative or normal, only to find a hint of the horror you may be facing is FIP after all. Feline Infectious Peritonitis—a fatal disease.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Fred catching the last rays of sunshine.

I’ve never fought so hard to save a cat’s life. I’ve never reached out to so many Veterinarians, Specialists, anyone who might be able to help you. I’ve never worked so hard to raise money to make sure we have whatever we need, so we can provide for you—no matter what the cost.

I’ve been anxiously waiting for each result, praying it wasn’t FIP. There were MANY tests that said there was NO WAY it could be what we feared most, but one did point a bloody finger…a very high protein level in your spinal fluid…and that may be the only clue we ever get from science. The rest of the clues are witnessed in your weakening physical condition.

You’re just a baby, Fred. You’re only 10 months old. I know we lost your siblings, Pebbles and Bam-Bam a few days after they were born, but I never thought you or your brother, Barney were at risk, too. Please tell me if I did something wrong-or made you get sick! Did I cause you too much stress? Did one of the other foster cats in your room expose you to something that they were immune to? I didn’t think I waited too long to get you to the Vet, but maybe we were too slow to do tests, fearing the costs? I feel like I’ve let you down, Fred and I hate myself for that. I will never forgive myself for your death and I know you’re going to die. I'm so VERY SORRY, Fred. I know it won’t be much longer now.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Our Fred.

The treatment we hoped would work has done nothing other than make you gag when I give it to you. The steroids don’t make you hungry or feel any better. I keep thinking that I can’t give up on you. I just can’t, but now I see you barely able to sit up and I think, why am I doing this to you? Is it fair to let you be this way? You’re still “Fred,” in so many ways, but now I’m faced with the worst thing I will ever deal with and that is choosing when to end your life.

It’s so against what I have devoted my life to-saving lives, not taking them. I know that if you were in a shelter, they would have put you down a long time ago. I know if you were still living in that terrible place where we rescued your mom, you’d have died a long time ago there, too. You can’t expect to live in filth with little or no food and no vet care and survive very long. I know that you’ve probably lived with me longer than you would have lived anywhere else-even if you’d been adopted because I doubt anyone would not go to work so they could stay home and syringe-feed a kitten or spend thousands of dollars in Vet care for a possibly hopeless situation, so maybe that’s the meaning of this journey?

You didn’t get adopted months ago, when you had an adopter come see you because you were supposed to stay with me. I just don’t want to know what my lesson is in all of this because if it’s that cat rescue means euthanizing cats, I honestly don’t know if I am capable of doing that.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Barney fussing over his brother, trying to get him to play again.

I love watching kittens take their first steps and be part of introducing them to the world, but if it means I have to take the life of a precious kitten before he even has the chance to see his first birthday, I just don’t know if I have what it takes.

Dear Fred-I love you so much. You were so charming and carefree. You amazed me at how high you could jump and how much you loved to chase those feather toys. I’ve known you since the day you were born and I’ve looked out for you all these months.

I know I can’t fix what’s wrong with you. I can syringe-feed you, try to keep you clean and dry, since you can’t make it to the litter pan any more. I can brush you and speak sweetly, encourage you to be strong, while I try to be as gentle with you as I can.

I have one last offering for you, sweet Fred. Today you’re getting adopted. Sam and I are adopting you into our family. The contract is signed. You belong to us. Our goal is to find a forever home for every one of our foster cats, even if forever is only going to last another day. I can’t cure your FIP, but I can give you a loving home until your last breath leaves your body.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson.

I will never forget you, Fred. I know that one day we will do something very special in your honor because of the big impact you made on all of our lives. I hope your journey to the Rainbow Bridge is as beautiful as I can make it and that one day I will see you again.

Love always,
Robin (and your daddy, Sam, too)

I'd like to write a meaningful update about Fred, but the truth is I've become incapacitated by this horrific situation. Words are very hard for me to come by. I'm focused on providing round-the-clock care for Fred, for arranging his next test or Vet appointment and for finding a way to pay for it all.

Chloe sits in the center of the living room. I can’t see her back legs from where I’m sitting, a few feet away. Her front legs are comically dwarfed, little white mitts, in comparison to the rest of her body.

Chloe weighs 30 pounds. She’s so fat her shape is reduced to that of a blob with a cat head stuck on one end and a tail at the other.

It’s completely heartbreaking to look at her.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Look, but don't touch.

I met Chloe last week after getting a number of calls from my Vet, the Animal Control Officer in town and a woman who is friends with Chloe’s guardian. The story I got was that the guardian, who I will call Dave, was calling our ACO and Vet to find out if he could get someone to come over to euthanize his cat.

Upon further discussion it was disclosed the Chloe had been biting people and that Dave, being basically house-bound and disabled, had to get rid of the cat because his caretaker was making a fuss about her.

First, the caretaker said he was allergic ONLY to Chloe and not Lucy, the other cat in the home. If you find that as bizarre as I do, then join the club.

Obviously there were other reasons why the caretaker wanted to end Chloe’s life, but I couldn’t know the reason until I learned more.

The ACO said she might have to put the cat down if it was a biter. She couldn’t be adopted if she was going to hurt a future adopter. Chloe was at least 10 years old, if not older, and the odds of finding her any home were slim to none, even if she was a Siamese under all that extra weight.

I offered to go to the home to assess the cat. We could hear stories about her, but I needed to see her for myself. I was told the cat was chubby, but I had no idea how grossly obese she was until I met her.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Chole's back fur is quite matted and I'm sure causing her some discomfort.

I visited Dave, along with his friend, Frances (not her real name). She’d met Chloe many times, but was hard pressed to describe her behavior to me, which I found very puzzling. Is the cat friendly or not? What’s the deal here?

I entered the small living room of the 1-bedroom apartment. Chloe was sitting on the top of the sofa. As I walked into the room and sat down on a nearby chair, she came over to say hello.

She looked up at me with big round blue eyes. Her head is so out of proportion with her body that I wanted to laugh, but my mirth was short-lived. She approached me in such a friendly way that I put out my hand, back of my hand first, not with fingers in her face, to offer her a sniff of my hand. The second she sniffed me she backed away, growling and hissing. She made motion as if she was going to strike me so I sat back in my chair and made sure I didn’t give her any threatening eye contact.

I let her settle down. She sat in the center of the room, commanding the space. She growled softly, which turned into a whine, then back to a growl. Her ears were not flat. Her tail didn’t whip up and down in anger. Her pupils were dilated. I made no move to touch her.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. There IS a cat under there, somewhere.

I spoke with Dave and got some history on the cat. He’d gotten her a few years ago from a woman in Fairfield. Chloe supposedly slept on his chest and would tap him to get petted. That the day before three Missionaries had come to visit, all men, and she had been fine with them, so why was she so distressed by me?

We talked about food. He said he got really good food (not even close to good-in my opinion) for the cats, some sort of house brand dry and that was it. Clearly this cat was being given a huge bowl of food to snack on day and night. She could barely walk. I imagined that part of her fear was that she was too fat to flee, should I be a threat to her. She might also be in a lot of pain from carrying so much weight on her bones.

I’d worked out a deal with my dear friend, Katherine from Animals in Distress. We would get the cat vetted, then re-assess her behavior at that time. We owed it to Chloe to give her a chance to stabilize her weight and behavior before making any other decisions about her future.

Right or wrong, I believe there is a home for every cat. Some cats need a lot more time in foster care to be ready for that home and clearly Chloe might be the toughest case any of us have ever faced.

It’s one thing to deal with a feral cat, but a fearful cat is a different thing altogether.

Add to that the news that Chloe was DECLAWED made me realize we were faced with an even more difficult task. Not only couldn’t Chloe run away, she couldn’t even scratch her opponent! All she could do was BITE. No WONDER she was biting people!

Our choices were to either put Chloe down or give her a chance. Katherine and I chose to give her some time. The problem is we needed a foster home for Chloe and Katherine had to sacrifice the last precious space she has left in her home that doesn’t already have cats in it. It wasn’t ideal, but for now it’s all we had. No one would step up to take this cat and most of my fosters are sick and I know I’d have her with me forever and I just couldn’t do that to my cats. At least Katherine might be able to put Chloe into their shelter if she was ever well enough to go there.

A few days later, Chloe was taken to the Vet. I don’t know how they managed, but they did get blood work done and there was nothing indicating her thyroid was off, which could have caused her emotional issues, or that she was diabetic, which was surprising. I don’t know if the Vet looked at her teeth, but Chloe probably had some painful gums, at least, from all the junky food.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Oh dear, dear, Chloe.

Katherine brought Chloe home and placed her in a bathroom where she’d be living until we could get her settled. It’s unlikely we’d find her a foster home with her behavior issues, at least for now.

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I got an update on Chloe. She’s doing about as bad as any of us had feared. She is SO FEARFUL that she urinates and defecates on herself if she SEES Katherine or if Katherine tries to clean Chloe off.

Last night, Chloe BIT Katherine through her jeans, into her leg.

All Katherine was doing was trying to help Chloe feel more comfortable and clean. She called me, distressed, but laughing through her irritation. I felt so badly, but I hadn’t told Katherine anything other than the truth-the cat was NOT adoptable right now, but that we should at least try to give her a chance to blossom. These would be the worst days-hopefully better ones would follow.

I contacted my friend, Wendy Christensen, who is an award-winning author and illustrator. Her books include The Humane Society of the United States Complete Guide to Cat Care. She's written for Cat Fancy, Kittens USA, Catnip, CatWatch, Natural Cat, and Natural Pet. Wendy is one of my go-to people when I have a cat behavior issue that stumps me. Because she’s not directly involved with Chloe, I knew she could offer me perspective without any bias one way or the other.

Wendy wrote me back, a very long email. She was very troubled by what she was told about Chloe. She said what I also feared, it’s very likely that Chloe has been abused.

Wendy wrote: “I would concur that she's probably been abused. What she needs more than anything else is peace and quiet and a calm, stable environment. She is just too stressed to deal with any human interaction right now. I know it sounds "cruel," but she needs to be left alone to get some of her confidence back, stabilize and heal for awhile. She needs to be alone so she can start to feel safe again.

Her size has clearly made it very hard for her to move about and escape whatever peril she was placed in. Escapability is primary for cats' mental health. She has felt (and still feels) utterly trapped and at the mercy of others -- possibly the worst thing a cat can experience. She is in a super-super-sensitive frame of mind. She doesn't need a lot of space, but she DOES need safety, peace, quiet, stability, and predictability.”

Wendy said it was if Chloe has PTSD from what happened to her. Wendy’s heart was broken to know this cat was suffering so much and suggested we do not touch her AT ALL, even if she gets a bit soiled. Whatever happened to Chloe had deeply traumatized her.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. With pupils dilated with fear, Chloe readies herself to strike, but I can't help wanting to pet her and soothe her anxiety, regardless.

Of course, my first thought was, that the caretaker who hated this cat and wanted her put to sleep was responsible. What was he doing to her when no one was looking?

There’s no way to know if he ever even lifted a finger to Chloe, but it certainly makes sense. There’s no way to know that Dave wasn’t the one who harmed her either, but clearly something terrible happened to Chloe and now she needs us to understand that and give her the space she needs to heal.

And then there’s the other cat in the home, Lucy; Lucy who is so friendly and outgoing. What will become of her? We need to get her out of this place, too. It’s only a matter of time before she is so big she can’t walk either, or so sick from never being vetted that she dies.

Our first goal is to focus on Chloe and hope her sweet nature will emerge one day. I saw a flicker of that sweetness the first moment I met her. She’s suffering from crippling fear brought on by abuse.

With the gentle guidance of Katherine, and with lots of TLC, I hope that one day I can write about Chloe’s amazing recovery. Right now all we can do is pray for a happy outcome because right now Chloe’s life hangs in the balance.

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I realize this is a long-shot, but if you live in the Wilton, CT area and have lots of experience working with cats, if you can provide a SEPARATE space in your home that’s quiet and safe and you’re willing to basically just keep Chloe fed, but otherwise left alone, please contact me: info@coveredincathair.com

Chloe is going to need long-term care. If you’d like to make a donation to help Chloe, please donate via PayPal HERE. Animals in Distress is a 501(c) 3, non-profit so your donation is tax deductible.

Wendy has recently begun offering fee-based cat behavior consultations. If you're in need of her services, please contact wendy@wendycats.com for details

Another resources for help with cat behavior issues, is Wendy's latest book: Outsmarting Cats: How to Persuade the Felines in Your Life to do What You Want which was just published earlier this month.