Bob Dole

I can't believe it's been over a month since Bob passed away. It was a tough time-between losing him, then losing three neonatal kittens who were rescued in honor of Bob-it just felt like too much. I got a very bad chest cold and have been sick for four weeks. It's finally passing, but something else is going on in my home that's added to the feeling of chaos.

The heirarchy between the cats has shifted. Clearly there are power struggles going on. Cats who have regularly been a "problem" are fighting with newcomers. The result are urine puddles and poop piles that aren't in the litter pan.

I get it. I really do. Not only is Bob gone, but we're test driving Doodlebug to see if he can live harmoniously with the other cats. Mazie, who I rescued just about a YEAR ago, STILL LIVES HERE. She's become more bold and brazen. She's staking out some territory, too.

It's easy to shake a finger and tell me to not have the cats, but I see Mazie as transient and overall she's a very good cat. The problems I see are with Blitzen, Nicky and Petunia. The others manage okay and they don't spray or mark the house.

The biggest culprit is Nicky. He will literally pee on the floor right in front of me. When this 19+ pound cat lets go, a lake forms below him. He also poops by the doorways, usually one of the first things I see in the morning.

In sorting out what to do, I have to remember that Nicky could be sick. Nicky could be upset that Petunia is asserting herself more than ever now that Bob, her arch enemy is gone. To rule out illness, Nicky went to visit Dr. Larry today.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Nicky, “Mr. Lovey-Dovey” at the Vet with Sam giving him a belly rub.

Nicky has lost over a pound in the past year, which is good, unless it's a trend downward from illness. He has one tooth that might be painful so he'll need a dental. Dr Larry did some blood work and a urinalysis-the results come in tomorrow. We discussed Nicky's water intake, which has noticeably increased over the past few months. This could mean diabetes (which I doubt since I did tested him a few weeks ago and he was normal), hyperthyroid (common in older cats and Nicky is 11) or renal failure (which we hope that's not what it is). ANY of these things, including his painful tooth, could be causing him to eliminate outside the box.

Then Dr. Larry asked me how many litter pans we had. I answered that we have three that are enormous. He seemed surprised, then said that we need a lot more. I questioned him about it because with the cats on a raw diet they don't fill up the pans and we keep scooping them at least once if not more times a day. He told me about a client who has TWO cats. She has one of those perfectly clean homes. She worked long hours and came home and found pee all over the place. To solve the problem, she ended up buying a kiddie pool (!!!), then placing SIX cat litter pans INSIDE the pool with fresh litter.

The inappropriate peeing stopped.

Each of the litter pans was used over the course of the day. There might be something to this after all. Our problem is that our house is a contemporary and all the rooms are open to each other. We don't have a lot of room for litter pans, but we will MAKE SOME ROOM, that's for sure. Tonight we're going out to buy some new pans. We'll see if that makes a dent in it.

The peeing problem is quite bad. It seems every day I find another place they were peeing on. We're trying all sorts of tricks and behavior modification and we've seen a reduction to not happening at all for the pooping, but the peeing..ugh...what IS IT WITH CATS? I am honestly trying to understand what they need and to give each one love and attention. I'm failing. I have to fix this.

Then there's Gracie.

Gracie is a sweet cat. She hardly has a mean bone in her body. Gracie was one of my first foster cats about 8 years ago. She was an "unwed" Mother to three kittens. Gracie's had Miliary Dermatitis for three years. I've done every test, treatment, seen every specialist I can and so far all I know is she seems sensitive to fish and homeopathy helped her stop being so painfully shy. I also think this may be the path to helping Gracie's skin now that we have her in a more calm frame of mind. You can read more about Gracie by doing a search on GRACIE in the sidebar. A few posts about her are HERE and HERE.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Gracie hiding under the towel. Maybe Dr. Larry won't see her?

A few nights ago I was petting Gracie. She's so jumpy I don't often get to pet more than her head, but this time she let me pet her belly. Right away my fingers detected something not right-a mass on her abdomen. It felt like an M&M.

Sam and I took her into the bathroom and tried to clip the fur away from her belly but we couldn't see much. This morning Dr. Larry got out the clippers and shaved her belly.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. The cyst is the blue thing. The scabs are scabs from her dermatitis (looks worse than it really is).

Before he shaved Gracie he felt the cyst. He had a grave look on his face that told me everything. I started to think..."Oh no..not cancer again..we just went through this with Bob...I have no resources if she's that sick." Dr. Larry explained why it didn't feel like just a simple cyst; that he couldn't get under it and the texture didn't feel right.

After he shaved Gracie he didn't look so grim. What appeared to me like a freakish blueberry, Dr. Larry thought might be, I will paraphrase, a pore, perhaps there's ingrown fur in the growth and basically it's like a big zit? I'm to put warm compresses on the thing for the next few days and see if I can encourage it to drain (pop). Weee! Fun! Almost as good as when Dr. Larry offered to let me express Bob's anal glands.

It could still be cancer. We're not out of the woods. If I can't get it to drain, then he will excise it. Gracie needs a dental, too, so he'll do both. We discussed that 3 years ago when she had her last dental, that she got this rash afterwards. He's going to sedate her differently so perhaps she will be less stressed. I know he'll go as easy on her as possible. It just seems as though her skin breaks out when she is highly stressed. I should have named her, Nervous Nelly.

As we struggle to cope with missing Bob and struggle to sort out what's going on with the remaining cats, I know that in time we'll have some answers. I just hope I'm okay with what I find out.

I was preparing to write about the conference I attended yesterday regarding the law changes for transporting animals into Connecticut. I was going to talk about what it may mean for my ability to rescue cats from the south, but all that is a blur now.

Last night I was sitting on my bed, playing with Doodlebug. It was 10:20pm. My phone rang. It was Maria. Oh no. She normally would not call me so late at night.

Maria's voice was low, emotionless, she was having trouble saying the words. I knew something was wrong. I wanted her to tell me what happened, but it was taking her too much time to get the words out and my anxiety was building with every second. I'm sure she was just trying to talk and not cry.

“One of the kittens just passed.”

It took a second for the news to sink in. My heart sank and I tried not to cry, too. What happened?! Maria felt he was just too little and underdeveloped-the runt of the litter.

Maria weighed the kittens earlier that night. Three were about 4.5-5 oz and three were around 3 oz. Maria had been feeling that something wasn't quite right about the smaller kittens, but she saw them being fed and she also gave them some milk replacer. Mama had gained almost ONE POUND in a few DAYS. Her diarrhea is resolving and she is clearly getting stronger, but it was too late for the little runt. We weren't even sure if it was a boy or girl who passed. I asked Maria to name the baby so she chose the name, Sammy.

I asked her if she thought the others would be all right and she said she was worried about the other two small ones. I asked her to make sure they were nice and warm-yes, heating pads were going...were they dehydrated? Did they need more milk? I didn't know what to tell her. I'm 1000 miles away and I could only try to think of who lived close by that could help. Should she take the kittens to the vet? If they had fading kitten syndrome there was nothing we could do. Putting them in the car would be further stress on them.

I started to regret referring to the kittens as Bob's Angels. Now it was coming true. Less than an hour later a second kitten died. Maria named him, Red.

I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I know that this happens. You can say it's nature. This is how it goes. The mother is barely a kitten herself. She was grossly malnourished. It's doubtful she was producing enough milk from each mammary gland. She is sick, herself, with diarrhea and is exhausted. There are many reasons why these two babies died, but I had been dreaming of having six orange babies running around my house one day. It was a comfort to having lost my own cat, Bob just two weeks ago. Now that dream was lost and utter grief was taking its place.

There was one kitten left that Maria was worried about. She named him Rocky because he was a fighter. She kept feeding him. Kept him close to her all night. Our friend, Izzy called her and gave her suggestions as to what to do, since she had just bottle fed the little white Angel babies (who are big enough to come here in a few days). Maria and I talked about taking the rest of the family to the emergency vet, but again-the fear of the stress on them just didn't make sense.

Brokenhearted, Maria fought hard for Rocky and urged him to stay strong, but early this morning, Rocky died, too. In his last moments, she held him in her hands and kissed him goodbye. She told him, as she did with his siblings who passed earlier in the night, that she love him.

Three of our kittens have died. The world can stop spinning now. Time has to stand still and take notice of these poor beautiful creatures who never even were old enough to open their eyes and see the world-who will never know the joy of playtime with their siblings-who will never grow into lovely orange adult cats. To say Maria is in pain right now is an understatement. To say I am not right there with her, is one, too. My heart is broken. I am terrified we will lose them all.

I feel like I jinxed the babies. I'm not going to call them Bob's Angels any more. They are “Bob's Pumpkin Patch.” They are going to make it. We are going to fight hard for them. They must survive. They are bigger and their eyes are opening. Let them not see the loss of their brothers and sister, let them see a beautiful world full of love. That's all we wanted for all our kittens, but like any rescue group, we will lose some along the way. These are the first kittens lost to us and we hope will be the last.

We need to fill our fundraiser for the kittens. They are going to have to have more vet care and monitoring and we want to make sure we have funds to cover all their needs. If you can help out with a donation, we would appreciate it a lot. If you already helped them, then thank you so much!

We have to find a way to be strong, for the ones are left, but I just want to crawl into my closet, curl up in the darkness and die. How do we go on?

This family deserves names and I was remiss in waiting so long to give them ones. An animal communicator told me that she never met an orange cat who didn't have a human name, so I'm keeping that in mind now.

Mama is Bobette. Means “bright fame.”

Three remaining kittens are: Teddy Boo, Jake O'Lantern & Mikey D. Cider.

LATE BREAKING UPDATE: IT IS VERY POSSIBLE THE KITTENS WERE BORN ON 9|11, not much earlier. Shelter thinks they were born the day after their mama arrived at Henry Co., not days prior. Waiting on confirmation, but this puts them at SIX DAYS OLD as of last night.

In honor of my beloved, Bob, who died 12 days ago, I decided to rescue a cat. When I found out about an orange kitty stuck in a tiny cage at Henry County, sick and starving with six tiny kittens stripping her of any energy she has left, I knew I met “the one” that needed my help. In this case, it turned out to be “the seven” who needed me.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. My darling, Bob.

I'm VERY VERY LUCKY I have good friends who support my rescue “habit.” Over the course of this morning and afternoon, I was able to put together a number of plans, which included the dreaded “worse case scenario.” They told us that Mama “was not doing well” and not eating. That could mean a million different things. Is it as simple as she's scared and unhappy? Is she getting an upper respiratory infection? Or is something deeply wrong with her? Something the Vet can't correct? Something VERY costly to cure?

I had to ask everyone on our team if they would be able to handle it if Mama had to be euthanized. I didn't even want to ask. Bobby didn't even bat an eye. He is willing to be our warrior. I knew I could count on him. Maria found a backup foster home in case the babies have to be bottle fed. Then Connie, understanding the risk of pulling a sick cat from a shelter, said that her group, Animals in Distress, would help us with initial vetting!

How could I say no?

So I didn't!

Then we all started to panic, worrying about the worst case...would Mama be OK?

Bobby got her out of Henry at 4pm. An hour later, I found out the good news-MAMA IS NEGATIVE/NEGATIVE for FIV+ and Feline Leukemia!!!!!

But why wasn't she eating?

I don't have complete details yet, but Mama has a small abscess on the base of her tail. That has been treated. Otherwise they thought she was in VERY GOOD overall condition. I don't even know how old she is or the birthday of her six little kittens. All I know is she is SAFE and will be in a warm, clean room with plenty of good food to eat. Hopefully, once she settles down, she will want to eat. She won't need to use a tiny litter pan as a place to rest. She'll have a nice, soft bed. She'll have the companionship of someone who loves cats deeply and hopefully one day, when they are all old enough, they will come to my home and be fostered here.

We don't even know if we have six boys or a mix of sexes. We barely even know what they look like. All that matters is that they're a lovely orange, perhaps more rich and deep in tone than Bob, but it works for me. I am so VERY HAPPY to be able to have been part of saving their lives. It softens the pain of losing Bob, just a little bit.

Today is the beginning of their story with us and unlike Bob, they will have a great start with everything they need so they'll never have to get FIV+ and suffer through a sad end the way Bob did.

I think Bob sent this family to me. I just found out they were born the day he died.

In October of LAST YEAR a pregnant mixed breed cat gave birth to three tiny kittens inside a stainless steel cage at a Kill Shelter in Georgia. As with all cats, pregnant or not, upon arriving at the shelter a clock began to tick down to a heartbreaking deadline-if someone didn't adopt or rescue this family before they got sick or had been there too long, they ALL would be euthanized.

©2010 Betsy Merchant. Mama-cat.

Every day I find out about families like this who need help. Most often, the most I can do is put the word out they need rescue and hope that someone can save them. This time, though, I knew I had room to take them on. My foster mamam, Maria, was willing to provide a foster home for them until the kittens were eight weeks old-old enough to be transported to Connecticut and my home.

©2010 Betsy Merchant. Her little babies.

It was just four cats. My rescue group could afford to provide care for them. It was a happy moment when I got the call from Bobby, my friend and our driver, saying everyone was safe and at the vet getting a checkup before going to Maria's house.

There was nothing unusual about this rescue. The mama tested negative for FIV+ and Feline Leukemia. Now the fun part for Maria, watching the kittens grow and making sure the mama was well fed.

©2010 Maria S. Baby CaraMelle.

That simple joy lasted for less than a week. The cats barely had time to hear their new names being called before one of them, Polly, began to get an upper respiratory infection. Of course, it quickly passed to her sister, CaraMelle, her brother, Chester and her mama, Mazie.

And so began a tortuous time for all of us. For five months the kittens struggled with their health issues. They would wax and wane between “almost” kicking the virus, then falling ill again. Whatever they caught was a NIGHTMARE-most likely it was a herpes virus gone mad. It cost THOUSANDS of dollars in Vet care and MANY sleepless nights for both Maria and myself.

©2010 Maria S. When I saw this photo, I was terribly worried that Cara would never live to see her first birthday.

Somehow the kittens and their mama survived. It couldn't have happened without a great number of caring people donating the funds we needed, over and over again so we could provide for this family.

In time, when Chester was healthy, we found him an amazing home with a family in Massachusetts who have two other cats and two Italian Greyhounds. Chster is very well cared for and loved. His sister, Polly was well enough to find her own forever home, too. She was adopted by another amazing family who also adopted our foster boy, MacGruber, so the two would always have a feline friend. Sadly, CaraMelle stayed behind. She was simply too chronically ill to be adopted.

©2011 Robin A.F Olson. Chester, Polly and Cara (front).

Cara had strictures in her esophagus. She needed endoscopy-THREE TIMES over the course of a few months at over $1000.00 or MORE per visit. Cara continued to vomit and was diagnosed with helicobactor pylori-gone wild. You can read more about her illness HERE and HERE.

But Cara was the luckiest of all. Cara had Guardian Angels on her side. There was Maria and Bobby, myself and then Connie, who is the President of Animals in Distress and a good friend to both myself and my rescue group. Connie supported Cara's needs in every way she could, even though Cara was not her cat.

©2011 Robin A.F Olson. My favorite photo of Cara.

In June, Mazie got sick and I asked Connie if she could take Cara and her siblings for a week. Connie, already smitten with little Cara, fell even more in love with her during that visit. It was a bond that would grow deeper as Cara spent more and more time at “Aunt Connie's” house after Chester and Polly got adopted.

©2011 Robin A.F Olson. Little Owl-Eyes.

Cara's specialist, Dr. K, had a mad crush on Cara, but it wasn't meant to be. I'd hoped it would work out-who better to give Cara a home? Dr. K. told us that Cara would suffer from bouts of the helicobeacter pylori for the rest of her life. She'd need to be on antibiotics from time to time and need a lot of Vet care. I knew that I might need to keep Cara here. Who would adopt a sickly kitten knowing the costs would be huge over her lifetime?

Cara thrived at Connie's. She got along great with all the other cats-and there sure were more than a handful to get along with. Cara finally was feeling better and began to grow. She's almost seven pounds now and loves life. She's no longer the sad shell of a kitten, but a lovely young lady.

Connie and I discussed her adopting Cara, but I didn't want to push the subject. We both knew what was involved and what Connie would have to take on, but Connie never hesitated. She was ready to move forward and make it official.

The day after Bob passed away, I met Connie and Jennifer and Katherine for a breakfast meeting to discuss our upcoming adoption event. It was good to be with friends after such a sad day. I brought the KA Adoption Form with me and slid it across the table towards Connie. She had no idea I had it with me, but grabbed the paperes and started to initial every line, then signed the bottom of each copy. She asked what the adoption fee was and I laughed. Connie covered some of Cara's bills already, there was no way I was going to ask for an adoption fee. We had a little chuckle, then I said; Congratulations on your new kitty!

In a way it was a very anticlimactic conclusion to the most expensive and challenging rescue we've done so far, yet here was the day I had been hoping we'd get to-the day when I could put away my fears about Cara's future and feel confident that whatever comes to pass, Connie will be there for Cara-100%.
I couldn't have hoped for a happier ending to this part of Cara's story.

©2011 Robin A.F Olson. Mama-Mazie. Safe & sound. Not a care in the world.

The only one who's left of this family is Mazie. I've never gotten even one adoption application for her. She's sleeping in the cat bed next to me as I write. She fits in perfectly with my cats, but I still hope to find her a great home. She deserves to be spoiled and have a family to love, but until we find them, she will be loved just as much by us and never again have to fear giving birth in a stainless steel cage at a Kill shelter and facing premature death.

Mazie is dreaming now. I'm pretty sure they're sweet.

Sam and I drank toasts to Bob’s life, then we did something I never imagined-we set up a place for Bob in our bedroom. It was late at night and the Vet wouldn’t be open until morning. We decided to keep Bob near us-not in our bed, but nearby. I put a small blanket over Bob’s body, foolishly, to keep him warm. I could see his head resting on another blanket. He looked comfortable. I kissed him good night with tears in my eyes. It was very surreal.

Sam fell asleep, but I could not. I kept thinking about Bob, reliving watching him die, wondering if I did right by him or if there even is such a thing as the “right thing.” I gave up trying to sleep at 3am. I went downstairs to my office and put together a little memorial page for Bob to be posted on Covered in Cat Hair. I wanted to close the door to this blog-in his honor. My heart was broken and my voice, silenced. There were no words for me, for now. Just tears.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Rest in Peace.

The next morning, we drove to the Vet. I sat in the back seat with Bob’s body on a cat bed next to me. His body was cold and hard. I petted him anyway. I thought about all the drives we made to Wappinger Falls, NY, for Bob to get chemo with me sitting next to him, his head resting on my hand. How I could feel his purr through my palm…the time he sat on my lap, he saw a truck passing and HISSED at it through the closed window—how it made me laugh. I remembered, too, that Bob never hissed at us.

I thought about how Bob was a stray cat that showed up at my Mother’s house in 1999; that my Father let Bob in the house, against my Mother’s wishes. My Father had dementia from numerous strokes, but he loved Bob and wanted him to be part of our family. Tragically, Daddy killed himself later that year. Bob stayed on with my Mother.

People will say he was her cat and that now he would go to Heaven and be with her, but I would argue that point. My Mother never cared for Bob. She fed him crap. She petted him, but she NEVER took him to the Vet. For the past five years I struggled to help Bob overcome the fact he had FIV+ because my Mother didn’t neuter him...how the FIV caused him all sorts of issues and probably caused the cancer to develop, too. I was so angry. Bob never had to die like this-and maybe he could have had an even longer life if he had just been neutered when he was young. My only solace was imagining that there were little “Bobs” all over northern Trumbull, CT. It made me smile as I looked down at my dead friend’s body.

We arrived at the Vet. We had to go to the back door of the building-of course, so the other clients wouldn’t see a dead cat and get upset. There was a big freezer by the door. I knew what it was for. I asked if we could put Bob in the body bag-that was protocol-a task they would normally do for their clients, but I didn’t think it was right for anyone but Sam or I to handle him.

They brought us a black plastic bag and some tape. We left Bob on his favorite blanket and I kissed him goodbye. Sam slipped his body and the blanket into the bag. I didn’t want to leave his body-I guess that’s pretty sick, but I did not want to let go. It’s our nature to feel this way, I knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier to leave him. I took another deep breath and carefully sealed up the bag. I wrote Bob’s name on the tape and drew hearts on either side of it. I knew they would place his body in the freezer, until the person from the pet crematory arrived to take him after the Labor Day holiday is over.

Bob will come back to me next week, but this time it will be inside a little tin box. I hate those boxes. I have a collection of them now. Each one reminds me of a life lost, of a friend I will never see again.

©2011 Ryan Feminella. This is the only photo of have of me & Bob together. It was taken a few weeks before he died.

My only comfort is knowing that I fought hard for Bob. I didn’t put him down months ago when he was starting to go downhill, I kept fighting for him-for his dignity-for the right to die in a natural way no matter how grueling it was on us and as long as Bob wasn’t in obvious pain. He was a living creature who deserved that basic tenet. Through this experience I’ve learned a lot more about being patient, being gentle with myself and others, and to deeply appreciate the little things. I look around and see my seven cats. This story will be about them, one day, but today we’re all together and we’re all basically fine. We have our obstacles, like anyone else, but maybe now just the fact that Spencer sits beside me washing his face after having his breakfast is just as wonderful as if I won a Lottery. He’s healthy and robust, relaxed and content. This moment is not ignored, it’s quite the opposite. This moment, like each moment today, should be revered because it isn't always going to be like this. I won't always have this moment. I don’t want to look back and realized I didn’t know how much I had, as the saying goes, until it’s gone.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. Beautiful Bob as he once was.

Bob was a magnificent creature—so perfectly calm, cool and collected with a big, big heart. I never heard him growl. He mooched food off my dinner plate and hated to be picked up, but there was something about him that always made me smile. I was honored to be part of his life and now, his death.

Rest in Peace, Robert J. Dole. Fly free.

I offered Bob some treats. He didn’t really want anything. He couldn’t seem to sit normally. He was “meatloafing” and then hung his head. He was sitting in the sun, at least. He wasn’t cold. I moved his bedding around on the floor to make him more comfortable. I offered him a sniff of catnip, but he didn’t notice it any more. I kept checking on him every few minutes. In the afternoon I picked him up and put him on his favorite blanket on the sofa. I rolled one edge up so it could act as a pillow. Bob rested against it, but never really settled down. I sat next to him and jumped, every time he moved. Did he need the litter pan? Did he want water? He was very weak now…where was Sam?

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. One of the last times Bob & Nicky had a nap together.

I called Sam, he was on the way home. I told him to hurry. Once he arrived we decided not to leave Bob alone any more. I fed Bob around 5:30pm. He really didn’t want it. I got two syringes into him, but he didn’t want the third. He threw it back up. He hadn’t vomited in months. He was so weak he could barely move. I gave him some water. He was so thirsty. He almost drowned in the bowl. He could barely hold his head up. When he was done, I dried his face and gave him a kiss. I’d been with him all day. I needed a break. At 8 pm I asked Sam to sit with Bob so I could look in on the kittens and get them fed. I sat with them for a little over an hour. I didn’t want to go back downstairs. At 9:15 pm I walked back into the living room. Sam was sitting next to Bob. I asked him how Bob was doing. I looked at Bob and he was lying awkwardly, with his head hanging over the rolled up edge of the blanket. I said something about it to Sam. He thought Bob was too warm. I’d put a heating blanket over Bob and he had gotten out from under it and laid down away from it-more like fallen over.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Growing ever thinner, Bob still enjoys being outside.

I lifted Bob’s head. He was facing away from me. His head was curiously heavy. He wasn’t resisting me at all. I put my index finger near Bob’s open eye. He didn’t blink or react. I could have touched his open eye, but didn’t. Bob was still breathing.

I realized that Bob was in a coma.

He was no longer responsive to our touch. It was time.

All I could say was; “Oh no…!” as the tears began to roll down my cheeks.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. All of his glamorous fur gone and still losing weight, Bob still had his dignity.

Sam sat on the sofa and I sat on a footstool so I could be just about the same level as Bob. We started to pet him and I talked to him. I told him I loved him. I told him it was okay to go, but that we would miss him for the rest of our lives. I told him to let go. I wanted this over and done, but I didn’t want this to happen at all. I wanted my old Bob back. My fluffy sweetheart who never growled-who everyone loved, but now he was dying in front of me and there was no turning back. I had to stay strong for Bob.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson.

Bob stretched out suddenly and put his front paws together with the paw pads touching. I suddenly smelled feces. Bob was letting go of his bodily functions. We didn’t move to clean him up, we just kept petting him and talking to him. His body was shutting down. This is what happens. We had to stay with it.

Bob’s breath became a struggle for him. He would take in a sharp breath, then let it out raggedly. Each breath was paced further and further apart. Then, Bob stretched out again, his body suddenly relaxing. I realized it was the first time he really looked comfortable in weeks. Then he took another breath…and a few moments later, there were no more.

Bob was gone.

It was 9:53 pm EST. September 3, 2011.

We got some warm water and paper towels. Sam and I washed Bob’s body. I lit a candle. We kept petting him and talking to him as we worked on removing the soil from his body. Though he was gone, it mattered greatly to me, to respect his remains and to treat them with great regard.

When we finished bathing his body and he was in a comfortable position, I tried to close his eyes, but I could not. I looked at his face and he still had that “Puss in Boots” look…emaciated and hollow-eyed, but it was still there. I loved that face more than I can say. I loved that cat more than all the others-even dead, his body growing cold, I was glad to be near him.

We sat with Bob and didn’t say much. After an hour or so I asked Sam to stay with Bob so I could go back upstairs and tuck the kittens in for the night. I walked into the foster room and sat on the edge of the bed. I didn’t want to see these two month old kittens-with their entire lives ahead of them. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to think about cats. I looked at Amberly and her five kittens and said; “My cat just died.” I hung my head and cried.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Goodbye my sweet friend.

Within seconds, every one of those kittens along with their mother, Amberly, came up to me. They formed a semi-circle around my crossed legs and started to purr. A few reached out their paws and touched me, wanting to be petted. It was if they understood my pain and were trying to comfort me. I told them thank you and gave them some pets, turned off the light and left the room, the tears racing down my face leaving a trail of drops on the floor behind me.

I couldn’t eat much or sleep. I had a constant knot of fear in my gut. Every morning I wondered if I would find Bob dead. A few mornings ago, I got up and I could not find him. I called to Sam, urging him to come down stairs to help me find Bob. We looked all around the downstairs, searching frantically. We knew Bob could no longer make the trip up to our bedroom, but where was he? I panicked and started to cry. I thought Bob tried to go downstairs to the litter pans-instead of using the one nearby in the kitchen. We found him at the base of the stairs one night, struggling to get back up the steps. I envisioned him lying there, unable to make it back, but he wasn’t there…so I blocked off access to make sure he couldn’t do it again.

©2010 Robin A.F. Olson. Blitzen and Bob.

After 20 minutes, I found him in my office, calmly sitting on a cat bed between two filing cabinets. I was so glad to find him, but knew that one day I would not be so lucky.

I got to a point were I hated to get up in the morning. I dreaded coming down stairs to start my day…to look for Bob—then the relief of finding him still alive. Getting him fresh water for the bowl, scoop the pans, clean up any messes the other cats made, get Bob’s food ready, get Bob fed.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Blitzen and Spencer watch Bob eat in case they can sneak some off his plate.

Some days when the weather was nice, I’d ask Bob if he wanted to “go outside?” He would walk over to the sliding door and I’d let him out onto the deck. I often had a dish of cat grass waiting for him to munch on. Oh how he loved it! Bob couldn’t get out into the yard, but he could enjoy the fresh air and summer sun. It was my dream that if Bob had to die, he would do it on his chaise lounge, on the green cushion, with the sun in the sky and the birds singing sweetly nearby. I knew it was a long shot, but that’s what I wanted for him.

©2010 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob in his happy place.

Some times Nicky would keep him company and the two would hang out all afternoon. A few days before he died, four crows flew near Bob, cawing wildly. I got up and grabbed Bob, brought him inside. I knew the Crows knew Bob was getting close. I was NOT going to let them NEAR HIM! The next day the same thing happened with a big hawk. It flew past my office window, screaming, flying towards the deck. I got up and saw it swoop over Bob’s head! I ran outside and screamed at it to go away. It flew off, but I knew that it would be back.

Bob never went outside again after that.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. First time on the deck in 2009.

Bob was so thin. I could see his ribs, all the bones in his spine. He lost the fat padding in his cheeks and around his eye sockets, but he could still walk and still purred a tiny bit and still used the litter pan. He seemed happy after the syringe feeding was over. I would always wash his face and coo and fuss over him, telling him he was a good boy. I wanted him to have some good, after the bad, that even if we had to syringe feed him that something nice would happen when we were done. Some times I brushed him. When he had his full coat-before the ringworm destroyed it, he loved to be brushed. Now I could only brush under his chin and his chest. I used soft bristles on the rest of his body. It was shocking how much fur he was losing now. There was more of his fur on the floor, than on him, but he was still Bob.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. MacGruber making friends with Bob.

I got to a point where I wished Bob would die. I hated myself for feeling that way. I couldn’t take the stress any more. Seeing him broke my heart. I couldn’t sleep or eat much. I asked Sam to call Dr. Larry just to find out if we could book an appointment. It was right after the hurricane passed through and they had plenty of openings. We didn’t book a time. I just kept going back to understanding it was my fear motivating me to do this. I had to do the right thing for Bob. Sam and I talked about it all the time. We checked with each other-do we do it now? What about today?

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob used to be much bigger, but now he is dwarfed by Nora and Nicky-who were his best buddies.

Bob survived the hypo incident, but the next day he was more frail than ever. Sam had to go to NYC to see his Mother. I didn’t want him to leave. He promised to come back as soon as he could. I knew Bob wasn’t going to live much longer. He was just too thin to survive more than a day or two and I was getting ready to call Dr. Larry.

©2010 Robin A.F. Olson. Blitzen and Bob enjoy naptime.

Bob was a bit uncomfortable. He couldn’t walk very far so I brought him water, which he drank and I carried him to the litter pan-and he used it. I washed his feet and I fed him. I kept reminding myself to be GENTLE, to LOVE BOB, to just feel my heart connection to him, despite the anguish of seeing him near death. I had to ride this out with him. These were my last days with him. It was my way of honoring Bob’s life by making sure the end was as good as it could be. Yes, it was KILLING ME inside. My heart was breaking. I took a breath and just looked at Bob. Then, I noticed…one of his pupils was dilated and the other was not. My heart sank. He’d probably had a small stroke. My poor baby. It wasn't going to be much longer.

...end of part 3...

I don’t like to get into a discussion about religion, but I have to admit that if I hadn’t spent a few years taking classes in Shambhala Buddhism (a Tibetan form of Buddhism) and taking Refuge as a Buddhist, I never could have handled this situation as I did. I kept reminding myself things that I learned-that it was MY FEAR of watching Bob die that upset me so much. That it was MY FEAR that made me want to call my Vet and have him come over and put Bob to sleep to stop MY SUFFERING over seeing him decline. I didn’t want to witness these last days. I wanted to run away. I didn’t want to see my once beautiful Maine Coon, fade away into a walking skeleton, with barely a tuft of fur left on his body.

But I didn’t run.

I stayed put. I did Tonglen. I focused on Bob. I took joy in little things—his interest in eating a bit of baby food, watching his cute, soft tongue gently lap at the plate. He’d often turn his head away when I brought him a snack. He’d rarely eat much of anything on his own. I’d warm the food, I’d sprinkle treats on it. I’d rub a bit on his gums, to get him to taste it. I’d see something spark behind his eyes for a moment, then, he’d suddenly eat a bit while my other cats circled him, hoping to get a bite of that treat, too. I had to stand near Bob with a broom, to keep the cats away. Towards the end, I just held the plate in my hands-an offering to my friend, hoping he would take another mouthful. “Each bite is a victory for you, Bob” I’d say. “Eat up, Baba-D! Good boy!”

Some times Bob would purr. When he was well, he purred every time we fed him. I found it so endearing. He and Spencer would sit side by side, in the doorway of the kitchen, patiently waiting for breakfast to be served. Spencer got served first, then Bob, then, the others. They’d all go to “their place” and we’d present each cat with a ceramic dish, a dollop of raw food on top. Bob would go to his plate and eat it right up. Some times I had to sprinkle bonito flakes or dehydrated chicken to help him find the scent of the food. He would purr and purr while he ate. I loved that sound. I recorded him purring one night last December. You can hear his “burbling purr” below.

[swf file="Bob_Purring.mp3"]

With my friend Jennifer’s help, I was able to learn how to home test Bob’s blood sugar. She left me with some tools so I could do it myself. We never got his blood sugar to a normal level-it was very high. I started him on insulin, but I was arrogant thinking I didn’t have to watch his blood sugar values. I was too scared to try to test Bob’s blood, so I just watched him. He was doing ok, but drinking a lot of water-a big sign of a diabetic issue, but he had so many other problems, I could never truly be sure. I made a big mistake. I thought Bob might need more insulin and I gave him a few drops more. In a few days he was doing very very badly. His fur was falling out, he could barely walk, he was emaciated.

I got up the nerve to test his blood sugar. It was 32. He was having hypoglycemic attack and could have a seizure and die at any moment. How could I have done this to my cat?! I called Jennifer about 10 times. She helped guide me through the process of getting Bob’s blood sugar to rise. We gave him kayro syrup. I checked his blood sugar again. I HATED doing it because Bob was so frail, I couldn’t easily get blood from his ears. I had to poke him with the lancet over and over again. I cried. I fumed. I cussed! I HAD to do this. I kept saying I was sorry to Bob. He sat there and didn’t fuss. He was always a good boy.

Over two hours of small meals every five minutes, some laced with more kayro syrup, Bob’s blood sugar rose from 32 to 41, then fell to 36, then came back up to 78, then down to 70. Bob felt well enough to wobble-walk around the living room. He used the corrugated cat scratchers on the floor. He had a drink of water. He used the litter pan, but had the runs-most likely from all the sugar we’d given him...but he was doing a bit better.

His left rear foot was raw and red. We had to keep it clean and free from litter. I would carefully swab between his toes with a Q-tip. I used calendula cream to soothe his skin. Some times we had to fill a small container with warm water and a special cat shampoo to soak Bob’s paws. Some times he cried a bit, but he had started to limp a little and we need we had to help him stay comfortable.

It was a battle every day for a few weeks; making sure I got up early so Bob would be fed. I had to get out fresh water for his bowl because he liked to have a drink in the morning. I kept the litter pan he used spotlessly clean-I scooped it about 5 or more times a day. I kept a schedule of when Bob should be fed. Sam and I took turns or mostly I fed Bob while Sam held and soothed him.

...end of part two...

As you may know, a few days ago, on September 3, 2011, my dear cat, Bob Dole passed away. This is the unvarnished record of the last days of Bob’s life. It includes a description of Bob’s last moments. While difficult to write, and to read, I felt it was my duty to close this chapter with a brave heart, not to whitewash it or make it more palatable. This is life and this is death.

©2006 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob comes to live with me in 2006.

Less than a month ago, I noticed Bob was getting dramatically thinner. We ended up taking him to the oncologist where they did $1600.00 of tests and told us that Bob’s hepatic cancer was back in what remained of his liver, that the small-t cell lymphoma was getting worse, that his pancreas was probably involved and that he was also diabetic with a blood glucose of 500-onset from steroids used to treat the cancer.

It was determined that chemo was not working any longer and that no further treatments were recommended. It was time to let Bob go. We could take him home and care for him or put him down. It was time.

©2007 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob and Nicky are fast friends.

I got sick to my stomach. My head ached. I cried when I looked at Bob. At first, we chose to euthanize him in a few days, but after spending time with Bob and having many conversations, we made a difficult choice-to provide him with palliative care-simply feed him, keep him clean and comfortable and let him go on his terms, at his time. We knew this would not be an easy road, but since Bob was diagnosed with cancer last December, it’s been tough. Nothing new here. It was a crap shoot doing this. I risked Bob passing in a lot of pain. I risked that if we needed Dr. Larry, that we could not get him here because it would be late at night or a weekend---or during Hurricane Irene. Yet, we OWED it to Bob, to give him the dignity to live those last days on his terms, not on ours. It is part of nature for ALL of us to slowly fade away, from the moment we are born. To prematurely interrupt that process because we are afraid of seeing what will happen next, is not something I could accept doing to Bob.

©2007 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob loved to straddle the top of my Mother's old recliner.

I began to pay even closer attention to Bob’s every move. Was he eating? Sometimes, but not enough. I had to learn how to syringe feed him. This was very difficult-from an emotional standpoint. Here I was FORCING Bob to eat, when he clearly didn’t love being fed this way. I had to struggle with him. It made a mess. When I prepared his food, it had to be in a slurry. Too thin and it would drip out of the bird feeder size syringes-too thick and it would be tough for him to swallow and he’d protest by lifting his paw to push me away. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too hot-or too cold. I added baby food to give him more potassium. I added a bit of tuna water or even blended raw chicken liver so it might taste better and so I could get more nutrition into him.

©2008 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob just plowed over any cat that might be in his path. Here Nora is getting squashed.

It was a struggle, not just with Bob, but with myself. I knew if I stopped feeding him, Bob would die. I knew if I kept going, was I just forcing Bob to live unnaturally? How could I live with myself if I just watched Bob starve to death? Yet, he was getting thinner and thinner no matter what I did. Every day I was shocked to my core at the sight of him. I couldn’t believe he could get so thin. We were feeding him every 4 or 5 hours with small offerings between that. It was exhausting, but it had to be done.

©2008 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob, Spencer, Nicky, Gracie & Petunia (and me under the covers).

Then, I came to a painful realization. Bob had been getting very low carbohydrate food. It was to keep from giving the cancer something to thrive on, but what I didn’t understand is that it was also probably keeping Bob from keeping any weight on his bones and it was keeping his blood sugar low-maybe too low! I was starving him and I didn’t even know it. Did you know that there is some sort of regulation that PREVENTS pet food company’s from listing carbohydrate values on their labels! You have to do math to figure it out. Why do they do this? To disguise the crap they put in food-you think you’re buying high quality stuff, but if it’s full of carbs, it’s going to be BAD for your cat. Dry food is the worst-even high quality brands-it’s VERY high in carbs and for a protein hungry, obligate CARNIVORE, it’s not appropriate…but Bob DID need SOME carbs in his diet, so I got something else to feed him to see if that would help.

©2008 Robin A.F. Olson. Home from being hospitalized for two weeks in 2008, battling Pancreatitis, Bob finally has his moment in the sun.

Every day I asked myself; “Is it time? Is he telling me he’s ready? Should I just put him down?”

...end of part one...

It's a good thing I was at a conference full of pet lovers because sure enough Dorian Wagner, of Your Daily Cute, who had been playing with one of the kittens, jumped up when I said I needed a Vet and said she knew where to find one. She made a quick call and the Vet popped her head up from across the room, waving over the top of a low room divider. We hustled BlueBelle over to her. She was very calm and relaxed, which was the polar opposite to how I was feeling. She was perfectly willing to asses BlueBelle's incision.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Kate Benjamin and BlueBelle.

She gently turned BlueBelle over and looked at her little belly. There was a bright red, open area. We told her about the crappy spay surgery. She said she thought that the glue (the GLUE?) had failed and popped the incision open, but that there should have been stitches inside the kitten that would hold her abdomen closed. She was concerned about infection and the wound opening further. I asked what I could do and she said to find some Crazy Glue!

The clock is ticking. We have to leave for dinner soon. Bobby and Maria are really tired and hungry. I just won a big award, but now I must find Crazy Glue in a hotel that has a tiny gift shop and NO OTHER SHOPS anywhere close by.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Ingrid with Truffles.

The front desk offered me a dried up tube that we couldn't even get the top off of, so I tried the gift shop. They DID have some glue! Okay! Great! I ran over to the Vet and the small gathering of ladies around the kitten. Now the Vet says she really needs some sterile saline solution, some betadine and a syringe with no needle. Yeah. I can get that...WHERE CAN I GET THAT? My mind is spinning! I have to HURRY. Someone figures out there is a drug store a few miles away. It's rush hour in the D.C. area. We have no idea where we are going, but I grab Sam and he says he will drive me over to get the things we need. Meanwhile there are about 20 people wondering what is going on and some of them have grumbling bellies. Thankfully, Ingrid King, said she would call the restaurant and change the reservation! WHEW...okay...time to RUN!

But wait...can I get the first aid kit from the front desk? Sure! I was running back and forth between the front desk, the vet, the gift shop, Bobby & Maria and Ingrid. My head was getting ready to spin off my neck. There was nothing much in the kit. The woman at the front desk said that the night before had been a busy night for injuries in the hotel and that the kit was mostly empty!! Still, I brought it over for the Vet to take a look though..but it was sorely lacking so I returned it.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Snack time in the hotel room!

We got an address for a local pharmacy and just hoped for the best. Sam started driving and the GPS wanted us to go in a different direction than the point by point directions we had from GoogleMaps. Crap! What to do? We just followed the GPS hoping it wouldn't route us into a lake.

The traffic was TERRIBLE. No one was moving. Tick, tick, tick...HURRY! I wanted to JUMP OUT OF MY SKIN! It seemed like the drivers in front of us had cotton shoved in their brain hole because they were driving really slowly and they wouldn't try to cross traffic to turn into the parking lot!

Once we got into the lot, it was packed full of cars. Sam told me to go into the store and he would circle around.

It took me a few minutes to find most everything, but I had to wait for someone to help me with the syringe, so I stood there on line, tapping my leg, wishing they would HURRY already!

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Time to head to Connecticut.

I got what I needed...$34 for this? Geez! Not complaining, but really? I jumped into the car and Sam sped off. Traffic back to the hotel wasn't as bad. My cell phone rang “where are you? we have another kitten that needs help!”

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Tree removal trucks getting into position before Hurricane Irene hits.

SHIT!

We got back to the hotel and the Vet said she wanted the First Aid Kit after all...so I ran back to get it...and she needed a place to work on the kittens. Truffles incision looked infected and needed to be cleaned out, too. We agreed to go to my hotel room so she could work on the bathroom counter.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Moments after arriving in their new home.

We loaded up all the cats, which saddened all the cat lady bloggers. They were not deterred. Many of them came upstairs with us! Before anything was done we had to promise not to say who the Vet was because like everyone at the conference, she was licensed in another state-even though she was just going to clean out a wound and put a drop of glue on the skin. I left her to do her thing while a few of the ladies watched the procedure. I needed to SIT DOWN and try to spend some time with Bobby and Maria, who were clearly energized by all that was going on, but I knew they needed to eat and have a chance to relax.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Blaze, Peri and Jack, ready to play.

The kittens did great. Their bellies patched up and looking better, the Vet excused herself and I thanked her profusely as she left our room! Where could I get a housecall in a hotel for kittens that needed help-RIGHT HERE! How lucky we were! We had antibiotics with us that the kittens were already getting so we kept them on their meds. We let them out of the cat carrier to run around in the hotel room while we all went out for dinner-at last! Everything was going to be ok now, right?

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. BlueBelle is doing fine now.

And it was...we had dinner with lots of PETTIE-WINNING cat lady bloggers, along with Maria, Bobby & Sam. We had a great time, great food, but sadly some of us had Hurricane Irene on our minds. Sam and I reluctantly decided we needed to leave early in the morning. Time was running out. We'd had our one day at BlogPaws and asking for another would potentially put us in peril...and the kittens, too, so we decided to call it a night.

Instead of going to bed, everyone came back up to our room to play with the kittens some more! Kate was on her belly, shooting videos of the kittens playing. Amberly took a huge stinky poop (we had a litter pan on hand) and we couldn't open the windows! No one cared. They were all cooing and laughing. I'd forgotten that I'm used to being around kittens most of the time and for them, it was more of a rare treat. It was really lovely to sit on the floor and watch the kittens and watch the joy and the delight on everyone's faces.

We bid everyone good night. We had to pack. Bobby & Maria still had 10 more miles to drive before they could get some sleep. For awhile I forgot about all my problems and what was waiting for me back home. It was nice, but far too short of a break. We got packed and set the alarm. Bobby & Maria would return in the morning with the kittens and we'd load up the car and head for home.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Amberly, always lovely and ready to chat wtih me.

Sam and I were very tired. The morning came too early, but we got ourselves out of bed. I went down to the car to start loading it up. I set up the dog crates where the cats would be traveling. I realized we didn't have enough room in the car for everything we had, so I made some changes so we could make it all fit.

Bobby & Maria were right on time. We let the kittens out so they could run around while we had breakfast. It was just the four of us eating, while BlogPaws continued on. The sky was slate gray and the winds were starting to pick up. I knew we had to leave soon. Irene was nearby.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. One of the many reasons the power was out. This is across Route 34, a main road in our town.

I was very sad to leave. I gave Bobby & Maria a big hug goodbye. We'd only just met a less than 12 hours before. We loaded the kittens into the car and began our trip home, deciding to take a longer route, away from the coast. It added an hour to the drive, but in the end, it was the right thing to do. We missed some flooding and a few tornadoes. The entire drive home we hit bands of violent rain, but they only lasted a minute or two. I looked the weather radar and we were literally skirting the edge of the storm the entire drive home.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. A common sight around Newtown, CT.

Seven hours later, we pulled into the driveway. I unlocked the door. I just wanted to see if Bob was still with us. I hadn't had an update on him and I was worried. Sure enough, Bob was sitting on his favorite red chair, looking a little more frail, but still with us. Once I knew he was ok, we worked on getting the kittens settled and getting ourselves unpacked.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. The Housatonic River flooded quickly. If you look carefully, in the center of the image, you can see a home. It's built on stilts because the river often floods, but not as bad as this time around.

Irene swept into town and took with it, many of our lovely trees. 80 percent of the town went dark. Almost a week later, the power is still out in 26 percent of the homes. We were VERY LUCKY our power didn't go out. Many of the roads were impassable, not marked that trees were down, so getting around has been tough. My car is STILL in the SHOP because they lost power and phones. We drove past there and you can see my car on a lift in one of the bays. We haven't gone out much and we offered shelter to all our power-less friends, but they are doing fine without and hopefully things will be getting back to normal again soon.

©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. The Pootatuck River was raging in downtown Sandy Hook, CT.

Now that I can look back, I know going to BlogPaws was the right thing for me to do. I'm glad I didn't miss out on the entire conference and I left yearning for more...for more connection to these good folks...for just a break from the troubles in my life. It was exhausting, but worth it. I'm glad I took the risk.