I still expect to see her. When I walk into the house after a long day at work, I still expect her sweet greeting.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of grief as delineated by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, author of On Death and Dying.
I always intended to read that book.
Melchior was adopted from the animal shelter. She was a kitten, barely old enough to be spayed - which was necessary before I was allowed to adopt her. She was a Christmas present for my eleven year-old daughter. Since she was a Christmas cat, my daughter named her after one of the three wise men. The other two wise men are Balthazar and Caspar. My daughter currently has another of the wise cats. His name is Balthazar.
When my daughter moved away seven years later, her landlord did not allow her to have pets. So Melchior stayed with me. I think my daughter also wanted to lessen the impact of empty nest syndrome for me by allowing me and Melchior to stay together.
Melchior and I were big buddies. We understood each other. We knew how to comfort each other and provide each other with the exact kind of love that we needed. We relied on each other for sustenance. Melchior provided love and support during my divorce, during my career as a single mom, during my initial adventure with ITP, during my adventure with cancer. She moved with me to my current location at 504 South Elam Avenue and adjusted to a bunch of guys who wanted to rough house her. She adjusted to the original house cat, Bella Bayer, best kitty friend of my boyfriend, Daniel Bayer. And Bella adjusted to her.
~
When I lay down on my bed, I still expect her to jump up beside me, making her happy little "mer-ow."~
When Bella and Melchior had not yet adjusted to one another and they reacted to each other with a hiss and a growl, Danny would say, "One day they will become friends." I would make fun of him. He looked forward to the day when Bella and Melchior would hang out in the same room peaceably. He looked forward to the day when Bella and Melchior would sleep on the same bed together. He looked forward to the day when he'd be able to hold both of them simultaneously. I told him he lives in a fantasy world, but that is one of the reasons I love him.Bella and Melchior gradually became accustomed to each others' presence. One day after work, I climbed the stairs to my room and was startled to see Bella and Melchior both asleep on my bed. Danny had projected correctly into the future. They had become friends.
Bella used to sleep on the table in our library. Melchior slept on the floor underneath her.
Bella recently stopped eating. She lost a lot of weight. Danny decided to take her to the vet to see what was going on. He called me after receiving the diagnosis. "I've got bad news," he said. Bella had colon cancer. A large tumor was blocking her colon. There was nothing to do but put her to sleep. She would starve to death otherwise.
Danny was devastated. This was his buddy of many years. Just as Melchior had accompanied me on many rough voyages, Bella had been Danny's companion in seas of sorrow - and joy. Danny cried openly and without reservation over the impending death of his beloved. I told him that I wanted to be with him when Bella died. So we arranged to take her back to the vet's office two days after her diagnosis.
In the interim, we contacted former housemates and friends who knew and loved Bella. We told them the news and invited them to come say good-bye. Over the next day and a half, folks stopped in to pet Bella, to comfort Danny, to tell stories about Bella, and to bid her farewell. It was a sweet time of preparation that Bella and Danny were lucky to have.
The dreaded morning came. Danny and I both had upset stomachs from anxiety and fear. I putzed around in my noncommittal fashion, hoping the moment would pass without the need to actually go through with the inevitable. Danny bravely took charge, said, "It's time to go," put Bella into her kitty carrier and we loaded ourselves into the car. Bella cried all the way there. I could think of no comforting words.
We arrived at the vet's office and were led to a small sitting room at the back of the building. The lighting was soft. There were comfy sofa-type furnishings. The doctor came in and described what would happen. She would take Bella to the back briefly to run an IV. Then she'd return her to us and let us visit with her for a little while. When we were ready, the vet would euthanize Bella.
I could not help but think of prisoners on death row and the statement, "Dead man walking." I imagined the fear and dread that is conjured upon hearing those words. I marvel that anyone would even create such a statement to describe the process of the condemned prisoner shuffling along the corridor to his death chamber.
My stomach grew sick with anxiety.
The vet brought Bella back to us and laid her in Danny's lap. She then left the three of us alone for a bit. This part is blank in my mind. I remember Danny sobbing and Bella becoming anxious. I told Danny that we had to be calm for her so that she could be at peace in her last moments. He nodded, but there was no controlling the current of despair pulling him down. We pet Bella and cooed words of love in her ear. When the vet appeared, asking if we were ready, Danny nodded.
An injection of saline. And then the fatal dose of anesthesia. Bella went limp. And Danny wailed. I held him as he held Bella. The vet left us to cuddle Bella's lifeless body and release a large portion of our grief.
I can't wrap my brain around death. Here was a body tangibly devoid of life. But how did it get from point A to point B? And where exactly was point B? It does not feel final, this death thing. Yet it's results are quite permanent. Bella was gone from our everyday lives.
Over the next couple of days, we struggled to plug into our lives. I held Melchior and told her that she was now the sole cat of the 504. I held her and told her how much I loved her. I relished her presence with all my might. I lingered in her soft fur and kissed her silky neck.
Melchior slept with her body pressed up against mine for the next two nights. I ran my hand across the top of her head, down her neck and along her back over and over again until I fell asleep. When I awoke, she was still there, stretching in the morning light.
I awoke early Saturday morning in order to go to the farmer's market before heading to work. Melchior was beside me still. She arose when I did and went downstairs. I did not see her when I left the house. I did not see her when I dropped off my market purchases on my way to work.
I did not see Melchior.
Around 10:20, I had my first 10 minute break at Planet Care. I noticed a voicemail on my cell phone. Danny had called. His only words were, "Call me when you get this message." I called him right away and the first words out of his mouth were, "I've got bad news." I refused to accept what I imagined was next. But the words came out of his mouth anyway, "I had to take Melchior to the emergency vet." He told me that she had staggered around, fallen over, her legs stiffened and slightly curled. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. Her mouth was hanging open. After recovering from this seizure-type activity, Melchior ran upstairs, hid under my bed and cried out.
I left work immediately and dashed over to meet Danny at the vet's. We waited in the lobby for nearly three hours. Speculating. At one point I said to Danny, "What if Melchior's heart is broken because Bella left?" Danny agreed that this was a possibility.
Danny had to leave to prepare for a wedding in which he was a groomsman. I remained. Waiting.
Eventually I met with the doctor. She described all the various tests they had run on Melchior and all the possible things that could have caused the bizarre physical manifestations. All tests were inconclusive. She was dehydrated, constipated, her kidney and heart levels were elevated, and this was all that could be determined. The vet told me Melchior could have a kidney disease. Or she could have a heart disease. Or she could have had a stroke. However, the elevated kidney levels and heart levels suggested disease in these organs . She was currently in an oxygen tent to help her breathe. The vet's recommendation was to keep Melchior overnight, ween her from the oxygen, give her fluids and see how she handled them. If she had a kidney disease, the fluids would be tolerated. If she had a heart disease, they would not.
In my fear and apprehension, in my desire to have my cat hang around with me on the planet for a good while longer, I decided to do as the vet recommended. I left her there. And I went to a wedding.
On Sunday morning, I was incredibly anxious for news. I waited until noon to call the vet. The person who answered the phone said she would have the doctor call me. The doctor called to say that they had nothing to report. Melchior still hadn't pooped. They were going to give her an enema and see how she did. They would call after that.
At 6 p.m. I called the vet for an update. The doctor told me that they had gotten Melchior to poop. She was out of the oxygen tent and resting on a heating pad to keep her temperature up. But they still did not know what was wrong with her. So I told the vet that I would be coming to pick Melchior up and bring her home. The vet said that was fine. She'd prepare all the paperwork.
Twenty minutes later the vet called to tell me that Melchior had taken a turn for the worse. She was having trouble breathing. They'd taken another x-ray which revealed that fluid was building up in her lungs. This indicated that she indeed had a heart disease.
The fluid which the vet had been pumping into Melchior was now building up in her lungs.
The vet described what needed to happen next. I told her that I could not even process any more information. I needed to see my cat. I hadn't seen her since early Saturday morning. There was no way for me to make any kind of decision about her care without seeing her. The vet told me to come on over and I could see her. I grabbed Danny and headed out.
~
I recently read a book called The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. In it, she describes the process of grieving the loss of her husband and the creation of a sort of "magical thinking." For example, she could not get rid of all of his clothes because he would need something to wear when he came back home. She got rid of all of his shoes except one single pair. He would need those when he returned.I still haven't emptied Melchior's water dish.
~
Danny and I were greeted at the door of the emergency vet's and led to a room where various animals were caged. Melchior was in a box that looked like an over-sized microwave. Oxygen. She needed oxygen. I peered in at her, uncertain whether to open the door. Her sides were heaving with the effort to breathe. Her mouth hung open as if to allow more air in. Her lovely large alien eyes were narrowed and tired. Without thinking about any possible harm I could cause her, I opened the door so I could pet her. She did not immediately respond to my touch. But after a moment she recognized who I was, lifted herself up and walked over to me. I grabbed her and held her close to me.She knew me. She was glad to see me. I could not bear this moment.
The vet had given her a diuretic to try and take some of the fluid out of her lungs. Maybe this was the reason Melchior urinated on me. But I took it as an indication that she was displeased and wanted to get the hell out of there. I returned her to the oxygen box long enough to meet with the vet and express, on her behalf, Melchior's desire to leave.
The vet showed us an x-ray of Melchior taken on Saturday shortly after Danny brought her over. Then she showed us an x-ray of Melchior taken moments ago. She indicated the degree to which her lungs had filled with fluid. She said this and that about an echocardiogram, about the need to transfer her to a facility that could perform this procedure. That would have to wait until the next morning - Monday. So she recommended keeping her overnight again. Moving her from vet #1 to car to house to car to vet #2 would be too stressful. She could go into respiratory arrest.
I did not know what to do. Melchior had clearly indicated that it was time to go home. This was the only data I needed. The scientific garble was not consistent with Melchior's message to me. And so, I became indecisive. I looked to Danny for an answer. And I called my son. My team of consultants agreed it would be best to leave her. And so I did. But as I was leaving, I insisted that I be called if it appeared she was going to die.
Danny and I grabbed some food from an Italian restaurant and took it home with us. A cold rain had begun to fall. My insides were cold. The tasty hot food revived me and my spirit began to lift.
An hour later, the vet called. Melchior had gone into respiratory arrest. I told her I could be there in fifteen minutes.
Danny and I were again met at the door and ushered back to the same room. This time, Melchior was stretched out on a small stainless steel table. She had been intubated: her mouth was tied open with a a piece of gauze to accommodate a large tube which extended down into her throat and fed her oxygen. She could not respond to my presence - she was too heavily sedated. Several wires were attached to various points of her underbelly with jumper cable-type spring clamps to measure her vitals.
I called my son. He told me he would be there in 20 minutes. I called my daughter - who is currently in Vermont. I described the scene to her. She cried. She told me that whatever I decided, she would support. A couple of minutes after we hung up, she called me and asked me to hold the phone up to Melchior's ear. She wanted to say good-bye.
I held the phone up to Melchior's ear. I pet her as my daughter, Ambien, cooed words of love and praise. When she'd finished talking to Melchior, she told me everything that she'd said. Ambien told Melchior that she had worked hard her whole life. She had done a good job raising two kids. She had done a good job taking care of me when I was sick. Ambien told Melchior that she loved her very much. But if she was tired, if her body was worn out, if she needed to go home, it was alright.
Jairus arrived during my conversation with Ambien and put his ample arms around me, tears streaming down his face. Danny, Jairus and I looked at each other and agreed the time was now. We needed to put Melchior out of this misery - a misery that I feel I, in part, imposed upon her. We all pet her and told her we loved her.
I leaned over to kiss her neck and whisper my love names to her, "baby girl, sweet girl, my beautiful girl. It's ok. It's ok baby girl. Everything's going to be ok. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Melchior."
I'm so sorry.
When she was dead, the vet cut loose the gauze binding Melchior's mouth open. She pulled the tube out of her throat. Danny, Jairus and I sobbed openly and freely. I kissed her body again and again. The vet asked if we would like to take her into a private room and hold her. I don't know who said yes. A grief-stricken mind does not function properly, cannot process information and analyze a response.
We went into a room and sat down on a couch, Danny to my left, Jairus to my right. I held Melchior in my lap and wept. I handed her to Jairus. And then to Danny. And then I held her again. I stroked her soft fur, memorizing the texture, the color variations, the smell. Once I felt I'd absorbed it all, there was a sudden sense of peace. I noticed Melchior was at peace. And this provided some solace.
The vet took Melchior's body. Under better circumstances (daylight, no rain, some degree of physical and emotional energy) I would have taken her to Kernersville to bury in the woods behind my parents' house. This is where she enjoyed roaming during the time that I lived with my parents. This is where she hunted for small rodents and frogs. Yes. One time she pranced proudly through the back yard with a rather large frog in her mouth. Melchior was a fierce huntress.
Under better circumstances, I would have returned her body to that soil. But I chose to have her cremated. I suppose we can only do so much and no more at any given moment in time.
Jairus hugged me one last time in the lobby of the vet's office and left. Danny and I remained to pay the vet bill. $1200. Danny had to put the bulk of it on his credit card. The surreal sterility of this moment juxtaposed with the preceding one, and then with the moment I walked out into the damp and breezy night air, it overwhelmed me. I felt momentarily dizzy. Like I would fall over. I stood still, looked up at the sky and breathed. I gathered my strength, which always resides in the present moment. No past regrets, no future worries, just standing still and present in the moment.
I have lived my life without Melchior for one week now. I feel I am caught between two worlds, as if part of me broke off and followed her to the great beyond. But the rest of me trods gracelessly and clumsily upon the earth. I grapple to find meaning and hope.
I still smell her litterbox. When I walk into my room after having been at work all day, I cringe as I think, "I need to scoop Melchy's litterbox."
First thing in the morning, I still expect her to be by my side as my alarm goes off, stretching sleepily in protest, attempting to cajole me to stay in bed a little longer.
As I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator door, I expect her to run in, asking for food.
Melchior loved eggs. No matter what her location in the house, she could always hear me crack an egg and she would come running. When I sat down to eat them, she would sit within reach of my plate and bat at my fork as I raised it to my mouth. If she was quick enough, she succeeded in knocking some eggs off my utensil. That was her kill. She earned it. She immediately devoured it.
Melchior liked being an outdoor cat. But when we moved to the 504, she became an indoor cat. I let her out on the balcony - or the catio as Danny liked to call it. It was a pleasure to bask in the morning sun and watch Melchior watch birds and squirrels go about their business. Her tail twitched in a particular manner, as if she was preparing to lunge.
Melchior was a tough cat. She had been bitten by a spider early in her life and nearly died. She was hit by a car and was unable to walk for a little while. She lost one of her fangs. I'm not sure how. Maybe old age claimed it. Having only one fang created a Billy Idol sneer.
I loved Melchior. It is hard being without her.
Yesterday, the sky was a brilliant hue. A spirited breeze encircled me as I walked out into the parking lot at Planet Care to round up carts. I looked into the deep blue. I felt the warmth of the sun on my back and the quickened movement of air. And suddenly, I felt as if Melchior was there - somewhere. In the sky, the wind, the sun. In the black feathers of a crow passing overhead. Everywhere. And she was having fun.
I could feel it.
In my imagination, Melchior and Bella have reunited. Melchior playfully runs after Bella and Bella acts like she doesn't like it. But really she does. Melchior's old friend, Max, is there. They play hide and seek together. Just like they used to. When Max comes peering around a corner looking for Melchior, she springs out at him and he leaps in surprise. There are lots of insects to chase, lots of rodents to kill. There is always a sunny spot for her to sleep in. And she remembers that I love her.
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