If it's good enough for Rocky...

After four days of tending to a weak cat who wasn't eating I was at the end of my rope.  The vet didn't return my calls and I didn't have any more dough to fund another office visit,  so I just went with my gut.  I took her off the antibiotic, which I'd read can cause stomach upset and vomiting in cats.  Violet was on the antibiotic to prevent an infection, not to cure one, so I felt the lesser of two evils was to help her get her strength back with food.  Problem was, she didn't want anything.  And I mean nothing.  Not wet food.  Not dry food.  Not scrambled eggs or tuna or milk or ice cream or anything. I'd been putting the Nutri Cal supplement in her mouth, but she hated it and it was stressful for her. I posted on facebook that I was going to attempt to feed her with a syringe.  I knew this wouldn't be easy, as she barely tolerated being pilled.

Several people replied to my post.  One woman suggested raw chicken liver and another said raw egg.  Since I'm not one for the regular stocking of chicken liver, I opted for the dozen eggs in my fridge.  I took the yolk, mixed it with my finger and brought it up to Violet's mouth, smearing a bit on her face.  One lick and she was like, "Heck, yeah!  What's that?"  I fed her the whole yolk and after that she ate some of her crunchy treats.  It was like a Christmas miracle!  Last night, she jumped up on my bed and snuggled up to my side as I read a book.  She didn't retreat under the bed.  She let Erik hold her when I gave her her pill.  And best of all, she didn't vomit it all back up in the middle of the night. This morning she followed me into the bathroom as she always does, which gave me the best feeling in the world.  I honestly don't know how much longer she has to live because of these heart worms but I am so grateful that it isn't going to happen sooner because she didn't eat and went into liver failure.  I am so appreciative of everyone's words of support both on this blog and on facebook.  Sometimes I bitch and moan about social media, but right now I want to give everyone a virtual hug.  What a difference a little egg makes!

Which brings me to the book I was able to finish last night.  And yes, it's a death book.  It's called "Life After Death" and it's by Damien Echols.  You may know Mr. Echols from the news or from the documentary, "Paradise Lost."  You can watch the trailer above. Or from the term, "West Memphis Three."  Mr. Echols and two other men were convicted of killing three young boys in Arkansas in the 90's.  Turns out, they didn't do it and several celebrities and one dedicated woman who eventually married Echols helped to free them.  It was a pretty good book and it made me think of Sonya Reed who is forgotten in prison.  She doesn't have Johnny Depp or Natalie Maines or Eddie Vedder bringing attention to her case.  While it's true that Khristian Oliver and his father have been in the news (NPR and the Texas Monthly) this month, Sonya's story doesn't sell magazines.  Why?  Because there is nothing about her story that is sensational.  She was just a pregnant woman sitting outside in a truck and she got 99 years because a burglary committed by her boyfriend at the time turned into a murder. All Sonya Reed has as an advocate is me and I'm not exactly important or newsworthy.  I wish I cold get someone with a name to bring attention to her case.  She is a loving, intelligent person and it is such a shame that her life is wasted in prison.

I'm going to leave you with a few paragraphs from Echols' epilogue.
"A person can starve to death in prison, and not through lack of food.  What I'm talking about is the withering and death of the human spirit from lack of decency or love for fellow human beings.  The talking heads on television project the image of prisoners as animals, and it's true.  It's true because the spirit that once made them human has been starved to death, and they become a black hole in human form.
Prison is designed to separate, isolate, and alienate your from everyone and everything.  You're not allowed to so much as touch your spouse, your parents, your children.  They system does everything within its power to sever any physical or emotional links you have to anyone in the outside world.  They want your children to grow up without ever knowing you..."

I don't want to let that happen with Sonya.  Call me a bleeding heart liberal or a crazy cat lady, I don't care.  I believe in the power of love.  Sometimes that's all we have to sustain us through our darkest times.
Thanks for reading and have a great weekend!

No One Gets Out of Here Alive. Is that the Lesson?

In 2009, when I first began writing my MFA thesis about people who work with death in their professions, I also wrote about my own experience with death, which at the time was limited to my cats.  My last mentor thought it was kind of ridiculous to equate a pet’s death to that of a human, but I know a few pet owners who would beg to differ.  At one time, I had four cats living with me—Spooky, Binky, Larry and Penny.  Penny was the youngest cat (11) and she was the first to die.  I came home from work and found her foaming at the mouth and struggling to breathe.  I freaked out and my husband took her to the vet.  After an xray, it was discovered that she had several tumors in her lungs.  We made the horrendously difficult decision to end her life that night.

Four years later, my 15 year-old cat Larry began to urinate outside the box which was the first sign that something was wrong.  He was going through liver failure.  We also made the decision to end his life.  While I didn’t go to the vet for Penny, I took Larry in.  He loved nothing more than to be brushed, so as he cowered on my lap I brushed him to calm him down.  The vet couldn’t find a vein, so she said it would be best if I left the room as she would have to administer the shot into his heart. 

A few months later, Binky, Larry’s sister succumbed to the hyperthyroidism that we had treated her for for years.  Out of all my cats, she was my favorite.  She was a rotund Calico who was snuggly and social and would face off with any dog that dared enter the house.  When we took her to the vet, I stayed for the first injection, but I couldn’t be with her for the final one.  It was just too painful.

After Binky, the only cat that remained was Spooky, my oldest.  At 20 years old, he stopped eating and hid behind the TV.  I knew he was ready to go and it broke my heart.  I’d had that cat for half of my life and when he died, I vowed to never own another cat.  It was too difficult to lose them. 

When I went to pick up Spooky’s ashes, I met Judy and fell in love.  Despite the fear of another loss, I took a chance on love.  And I’m so glad I did.  Judy is a lovable cat who is chipper and snuggly and loves to destroy my furniture.  And I don’t mind because I love her. Her presence makes me calm and happy. 

I didn’t want another cat.  And then I met Sonya Reed.  She had written me to thank me for being with Khristian on his last day on earth and making him laugh.  A friendship developed.  We wrote.  I went to visit her.  In the year that followed she told me of her cat at the prison.  She named her Violet.  She snuck food to her and tamed her.  She loved this cat like a child.  The Sun published a piece about Violet and Sonya.

But then the prison decided they were going to trap the feral cats at the prison and kill them.  Sonya pleaded with the Assistant Warden to let her trap Violet and let someone adopt her.  And even though I didn’t want a second cat, especially a feral one that might hurt Judy, I agreed to do it.  I didn’t do it out of a love for a cat, but out of love for my friend.  I wanted to take care of the one thing she loved and make sure that she was safe from harm.

So, I arranged to have Violet tested for Feline Leukemia and HIV and she tested negative.  I got her spayed and vaccinated.  I brought her home on October 23, 2011 and amazingly she thrived in her new environment.  She is now an important and loved member of my family.

This past weekend, I awoke at 4:30am to the sound of her labored breathing under my bed.  I knew this wasn’t a good sign.  I found an emergency vet and brought her in immediately.  They took chest x-rays and found some inflammation.  They didn’t know if she had asthma or pneumonia or really what was wrong.  They gave her steroids and an antibiotic and kept her for 12 hours.  She didn’t eat.  I knew she was stressed out in that foreign place, so I took her home where she could rest and feel comfortable.

Yesterday, October 23 exactly one year from the day I brought her home, I took her to her regular vet.  She still wasn’t eating and had vomited. They did blood work, including a heartworm test and last night, the vet called to confirm that she had heartworms, which are fatal to cats.  Violet spent the first two years of her life living in a culvert outside the death row facility in Gatesville.  Heart worms are contracted by a mosquito.  There is no treatment for cats.  I am devastated.

I wrote Sonya a letter last night through JPay to break the bad news. I wish I didn’t have to do it that way.  I wish I could have called her and spoke to her in person, but she’s in prison.  In addition to dealing with the news of Violet, her daughter with Khristian just had her fourteenth birthday and in two weeks, it will be the three year anniversary of Khristian’s death.  I don’t ask much of people, but if you want to score major kharmic brownie points, would you please send Sonya Reed a letter?  If only to say that you’re praying for Violet.  She needs her spirit lifted and right now I can’t be the only one to do it.

Her address is:

Sonya Reed #878111

Mt. View Unit

2305 Ransom Road

Gatesville, TX 75628

You can write her the old fashioned way or buy a stamp through jpay and send an email. It would mean the world to me if people reached out to her with compassion.  You don’t have to be her best buddy, just say something simple.

I am trying to make sense of this turn of events.  Violet was the happy ending to my book.  I couldn’t save Khristian Oliver or LarryMatthew Puckett, but I could save a tiny cat from death row.  And look at what happens. Despite my best intentions, death will take her anyway. I just wish and hope and pray that this little cat can beat the odds and recover.

If you are so inclined, will you please pray for her?

Thank you.

Pamela   

Monday Mournings: The Death of a Spouse

Today, I am pleased to have a friend from school on the blog. Originally from New York, Corin Hirsch is a food and drinks writer who now resides in the lovely state of Vermont.

DW: Who was the person that died? CH: My husband, Nicholas Sayer.

DW: How old were you at the time? CH: 30

DW: How old was Nicholas? CH: 28
DW: Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen? CH: It was sudden. Nick was a tree surgeon, and was working in a pine tree when he slipped and hit some wires with his shoulder and was electrocuted. He likely (hopefully) died instantly.

DW: Did you and the person talk about death? CH: Strangely enough, we were watching a film a few nights earlier when Nick became reflective about a brush with death when he was a teenager. He imagined out loud what people would say at his funeral, and we also joked about what each of us would do if the other died -- hover around and vet potential partners, etc. He insisted that if he didn't approve of the person I was dating, he would unleash supernatural forces to drive them away.

DW: Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before this person died? CH: Yes, my mother died suddenly when I was 10 and she was 35. I had also lost two of my grandparents by that point.

DW: Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving? CH: My family and friends were immensely supportive, even as they grieved in their own ways. My father was a rock, and friends of ours flew in from the UK (he was English). A few stuck around until his memorial service a few days later. Without all of these incredible people, I'm not sure if I would have made it through without resorting to Class A drugs. (I'm kidding, but only by half).
I was in shock for a long while, though, which didn't wear off until nearly a year later. Then, depression set in. Naturally, people move on with their lives and sometimes their patience can wear thin with a person who's blue. I tried not to impose much on others beyond the point of reasonable expectation, so grief became more private and in some ways, more insidious.

DW: Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with this person? CH: The night before Nick died, I didn't go to bed when he did because I wanted to stay up late and work on a poem for my brother and his fiancee, who were getting married a few days later. (I was supposed to read the poem at the wedding). I regret that....but on the last morning I saw him, I uncharacteristically offered to ride with him to work, at the ungodly hour of 6:30 in the morning. I remember looking at his hands in the car and thinking how much I loved those, and him. When he was walking into work, I lingered and stared at him, and he turned at the door and gave me a puzzled smile before heading inside.

DW: Was he buried or cremated? CH: A friend of Nick's went with me to the funeral home to pick up the ashes, and I rode home with them in my lap. They were still warm. Some of his ashes are buried at a cemetery in Surrey, where his family can visit; his stone overlooks the South Downs, his favorite place to wander in the woods and spy on animals. It's an almost mystical place, on the grounds of a centuries-old Christian church.

DW: Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share? CH: Depending on circumstance, shock can last a long time, and completely bend your sense of time and location. And though the sting of the loss never completely goes away, life does go on — that's a cliche, of course, but you realize how quickly the world swallows up our memory. The people who knew Nick will never forget him, but in a generation or two, who will remember him, or me, or you? It's very humbling, and when you grieve someone's death, you can see that process happening in real time.

DW: Were any songs played at the memorial that were important to Nicholas? CH: Wilco & Bill Bragg, Remember The Mountain Bed. I had listened to that song all autumn while running in the woods, and its lyrics were (and still are) resonant. Nick's brother learned it and played it at his UK memorial.

That, and Tom Waits 'Take It With Me' Nick listened to it a few times before he passed and once I caught him tearing up to the lyrics. It makes you wonder, did he know somehow?
This goes out to Nicholas.