The Other Manx Cat

Posted on June 22, 2012 3 Comments

{Image by Donatella Photography}

It doesn’t take Riley very long to sniff out a pet. Especially if there is a cat around. When we were at the Hug-a-Bub photo shoot we were at the photographer’s house and this was her cat. A manx, like Morgon. Only this Manx was more of a traditional Manx and had a small stub tail. Generally in any litter of manx kittens you will have a range of differently tailed cats from no tail, to small stub-like tails to a normal tail. The benefit of a normal tailed cat (like Morgan was) is that they live longer because they have less back problems.

Apparently this cat wasn’t much for visitors but Riley was a bit of an exception on the day, which of course she loved. It’s easy to forget because of her gregarious nature just what a gentle little soul she is. And all of her sensitivity just sits there under the surface most of the time and sometimes it peaks on through.

She still speaks about Morgan sometimes. Although with considerably less hurt and tears now. But whenever she talks about Morgan she asks if Floyd will stay forever. And now that enough time has passed for her grief I don’t lie to her about it anymore. I say that he will stay for a long time, but cats don’t live as long as people, so he won’t stay forever. She asks if we can get another cat after he’s gone. And I say yes. Grateful, that for her it is that simple.

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Grieving Ends. Mourning is Forever

Posted on November 15, 2011 1 Comment

It’s now been seven months since Morgan died. Riley now accepts that she’s not coming home, she’s not coming back and it is permanent. Which is a big relief to me – not having to explain it over and over again. And not to have to bear the burden of her grief as well.
And slowly, everything seems less raw. I can drive past our local vet without bursting into tears and I can look at the picture of Morgan on the bookshelf without feeling a lump in my throat. Time passes and it doesn’t heal anything exactly, but it takes the sharp edges off.

Riley misses the companionship as much as she misses Morgan. And so, not being sure that I was ready but being sure that she was I was thinking about getting a kitten for her and Piper’s birthday next year. Even though I know I’d be breaking all kinds of parenting rules by getting them a combined birthday present.

And then I get the news that a little boy kitten will be ready on the 23rd December. Christmas and kittens pretty hard to resist. But I thought about it for a few days. Was I ready? Was I at a point where I was emotionally ready to love another little being? Was I prepared to add all the physical needs to my list of things to do in a day? All things that I wanted to know before I committed. A pet is for life. And it is a big deal. I wanted to be sure. And I knew that part of that was most definitely not going out to meet the little guy. No one ever meets a kitten they don’t want to take home.

I will mourn Morgan forever. But my grief over it has passed. I can look at her and not see a lifeless body on a stainless steel table. I can look at her and remember the plethora of happy memories she left behind for me to hold on to. And I think there is more than enough room for Floyd in my heart without sacrificing any of the space that Morgan continues to hold there.

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I Like That She Asks

Posted on June 12, 2011 22 Comments

Every now and then Riley asks about Morgan. It will often come out of the blue. There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to it. She just asks. And it hurts. Like a good punch to the stomach. All of those memories come crowding in before I can hold them back. And I have to remind myself why I did what I did. That it was for love and for convenience.

There’s something about the way that she asks too. As though it was just a matter of her asking.

‘But I want to see her’

And it breaks my heart. But not as much as her not asking at all. One day I will wake up and I will realise that she hasn’t asked in a while and I will know that she’s not going to ask again. Because she has forgotten. And although I can tell her my memories almost like they where hers. They won’t be.

I don’t think I’ll have another pet. I think when the kidlets pester me for long enough to convince me they really want one, I’ll get them a pet of their own. I hope it’s a cat because I’m not really a dog person. But given Riley’s tendency to pretend she’s a puppy, I’m guessing a dog might be the more popular option.

Because honestly, I don’t think I could do it all again. And I want to know how long it will be before the first image I have of her isn’t the lifeless body on the stainless steel table.

I just miss her.

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168/365 The Girl Who Doesn’t Sleep

Posted on April 27, 2011 7 Comments

Naps are gone. Night time sleep is on its way. A mere month ago her sleep at night was blissfully reliable. She’d go down (relatively easily) and then only come into our room at around 4 or 5 in the morning. Thanks to the sibling adjustment period (please, tell me it’s a phase?!) she’s now up several times a night. She even had a rather spectacular tantrum last night because she couldn’t go and hang out with Daddy in the lounge room when she woke up at 11pm. I’m cruel, obviously.

But despite this bringing my sleep deprivation to a whole new level, I know that it’s more than a sibling adjustment. She lost her cat-shaped friend, gained a sister and lost a significant portion of mama time all in the space of a week. Josh told me that when they were alone today they had this conversation:

Her: I love my family
Him: Who’s in your family?
Her: Mummy and Daddy and Mags (Morgan’s nickname)
Him: And PIper?
Her: Oh yes, yes!

And the other day she listened to a video of Morgan meowing about 20 times. It’s easy to be distracted by newborn snuggliness after Morgan’s death. But every now and then I’ll be reminded. I now sit in an armchair that I never used before because I was so paranoid about Morgan clawing it that it was always covered in bags. And I still miss her.

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160/365 Memory

Posted on April 5, 2011 3 Comments

This photo was taken the day before I took Morgan to the vet to be put down. Yes, she is sleeping on a pair of Josh’s underpants. She was a strange cat, who also had a love of damp towels and cardboard.

Toddlers struggle with concepts of permanence. So it is was very expected that she wouldn’t relate to Morgan’s death being forever. She still talks about her in the present tense. Still says that she wants to show her things when we get home. She never asks where she is, but her concept of her and her relationship to her stays very much in the present.

But actually, adults struggle too. When I open our front door, I cringe a little bit expecting to hear the ear-piercing yowling that would normally greet me. And then I see the empty wall where the cat food used to be and I feel guilty for cringing in the first place. Or I see a dark piece of clothing in the bedroom or bathroom and I think it’s her, just for a second. I might know it’s permanent, but my memory hasn’t quite caught up just yet.

That split second isn’t unpleasant though, only the ugly realisation afterwards.

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157/365 Last Words

Posted on March 30, 2011 3 Comments

My belief systems are pretty hazy which is where being an agnostic comes in handy. I know that there are some things I don’t believe in – like concepts of heaven and hell. But I also know I do believe in an afterlife, even for cats. I just don’t know anything more with that. And I’m ok with the not knowing. I suppose that’s the crux of being an agnostic, you don’t know but it doesn’t really impact you either way.

So I had no idea what my final words to Morgan where going to be after she died. And at the time there was only one thing that made sense. Get to where you’re going and don’t ever look back. I hope wherever she is, she’s ok.

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Goodbye

Posted on March 27, 2011 32 Comments

The ad in the classifieds said that there were kittens for $20. But Morgan was free. The breeder said when we got there that he had just wanted to make sure that the kittens were actually wanted. In the beginning, the kitten I wanted was a black tom cat. I ended up choosing a tabby female manx. The only one with a tail. Because she was quick to run away from me and I liked her spirit. She had cat flu when she was a kitten and the vet said it was a mistake to have picked her. It wasn’t a mistake. And she survived, almost easily.

People joked that she had something wrong with her because she was so trusting. And I cried my heart out when we had to give her kittens away. She only had one litter of three and then we had her desexed.

She is not herself. She hasn’t been for a very long time. There are flashes of it here and there. But mostly, she is gone. I was 15 when I met Morgan and I was desperately alone. And I desperately don’t want her being alone at the end. So I will sit with her and hope that is enough.

I’ve cried ugly, snotty tears in the shower away from the eyes of my toddler. But she sees the tears that escape outside of the solace of the shower and she knows I’m upset and doesn’t understand why. I have felt my full pregnant belly shake with the force of my grief. Up until now it has only been shaken by toddler hands chanting ‘jiggle belly’. And I worry that the weight of my grief is too heavy on my unborn baby.

I have tried three times to explain to Riley where Morgan is going and what death means. But without using the idea of heaven or sleeping without waking up I don’t think I’ve done a very good job. I don’t think she’ll really understand until it’s too late to say goodbye.

I thought I was coming down with the flu the last few days, but it would seem that I’m just heartsick.

At the appointment at 9am, I will pay $112 to end Morgan’s life and when I get home the only thing I will have to remember her by is the photos I have taken and the memories I have. Her spirit will be gone and I don’t want her body.

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Morgan

Posted on March 2, 2011 20 Comments


My cat is 17 years old. I’ve had her since I was just 15. Recently things have been difficult. She has arthritis which she is on medication for and has taken to incessant and loud yowling all hours of the night. It’s worse than it sounds. On a bad night, no one gets any decent sleep. I can’t imagine dealing with that level of noise with a newborn. For some time I’ve sensed that it wasn’t the arthritis, or the cyst that I have drained periodically, that it was in fact some kind of cat dementia. There are times when she seems lost, even in our small house. And there are many more times when she seems distressed and nothing will comfort her – she’ll just continue to yowl as she moves from room to room.

In the last few days I’ve had to admit that we’re running out of options. If we can’t find a way for her to be happy and for us to get some sleep, well putting her down is the only real choice left. ‘Putting her down’ seems so completely detached from what it really is though. I’d be choosing to kill her, for her or for us I don’t know.

So it was with a lump in my throat that I took her to the vet this morning. Hoping we could start some anti-anxiety medication of some kind. Riley’s always excited about the prospect of taking her in the car because they get to sit next to one another in the car. When we got there, Morgan was meowing up a storm. ‘She’s upset’ my pint-sized narrator informed me. I let her know that sometimes it’s hard with pets when they don’t know what’s happening. ‘Because she can’t talk’ Riley replied and I said yes, she can’t talk. Although in reality, all of the yowling and meowing is talking, I just have no idea what she’s saying.

We did a full health screen about four months ago to make sure that her system could handle the arthritis medication and the vet was shocked by how good her physical health was. Physically (other than a few missing teeth) she’s in perfect condition. Which makes the ultimate decision complicated. Because physically there is nothing wrong with her. Mentally and emotionally, I don’t know. Cats just aren’t supposed to live for 17 years I suppose.

The vet has ordered another full health screen to check for thyroid disease. We both hope it is thyroid disease because it’s easily treatable. Cat dementia and depression are far harder to treat with far less success. Treatment takes longer to work and seems to be hit and miss at best. I’m really hoping it’s thyroid disease. That would make things easier.

Because the idea of choosing Morgan’s death is hard no matter which way you look at it. In High School, alot of the time she was my only real friend. She’s been my companion for as long as I can remember. When she had kittens the only place she considered them safe was underneath my bed and all three of them were beyond beautiful. Her and Riley have a special relationship. They both become distressed when the other cries (or in Morgan’s case meows). They are so enthusiastic in their pursuit of play with one another that at times I have to separate them. Riley cried her heart out when we boarded Morgan for two weeks to go on holiday. I can’t imagine explaining to Riley when Morgan doesn’t come home. Or that the first time I have to really explain death to her it’s a beloved pet and friend. Mostly, I regret that Riley won’t remember her.

So I’m hoping it’s thyroid disease. Delaying the inevitable is a good thing. If only for a little while.

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Nature vs Nurture

Posted on February 26, 2010 14 Comments


Personality. It’s a strange beast. Every day, a little bit more of Riley’s personality emerges. But it can be hard to tell what is actual personality and what is her being a toddler. It is hard to tell what she was born with and what she has learnt.

She’s extremely gregarious. But not around toddlers. Only around adults. Either way, gregarious is not something she learnt from me, or from Mr Goog. Now her reserve, quiet and tendency to play alone around other toddlers, that’s something that looks familiar. And then, every now and then, her enthusiasm will creep through with other children and she’ll chase somebody with reckless abandon. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my influence that holds her back, and if it wasn’t for the way I was, would she be like that all the time? I wonder if we, as parents, naturally foster those qualities that are similar to our own, and silence or devalue the ones that aren’t.

At the moment, Morgan (the cat) is a real object of determined, one-pointed and persistent affection. Even though she’s still too little to pick Morgan up, she tries. She becomes unbelievably excited when I pick Morgan up. She likes it when I crouch down, holding Morgan next to her chest, so it is as though she is cuddling her. I am lucky that Morgan is an extremely placid cat. Riley also held on to Morgan’s tail the other day with a vice-like grip while Morgan was attempting to escape. Morgan didn’t even make a sound. Apparenlty the affection is mutual.

I know that shyness is hereditary and not really a behavioural trait at all. But reserve? That’s definitely learnt. And more of a burden than anything else.

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The Cat and the Toddler

Posted on February 4, 2010 1 Comment


Here they are this morning, enjoying their special friendship. Which means that Riley can kick her (a little bit) and Morgan doesn’t mind. Riley is at the stage where she is very intent on hugging Morgan. She pursues her with the kind of intensity that makes me feel sorry for future objects of her affection.

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