Last night was not a good night - Sail on Pecan
Posted: November 28, 2007 1:41 pm
Yesterday Jackie and I had to make a decision we will forever struggle with. Yesterday we said goodbye to the Pecan.
The Pecan came into our lives in November of 1996. Gin-Gin (Jackie's cat) had passed away that summer and Jackie and I had gotten engaged in October. On a trip out to visit our cousins we stopped by the Little Shelter, an animal rescue in Huntington, LI. On the way I warned Jackie that we couldn’t just “stop in to look”. We know how we are. Well, we went for a visit and stopped by the kitten room. That’s when our lives changed again.
Like an extended gift, a re-affirmation of our engagement, we met three great little ones who enriched our lives. First was the Princess. She practically tripped me, ran up the ladders and through the cubbies and shelves until she was eye level with me, where she silent meowed, stepped off the shelf so I had to catch her, ran up my arm and purred into my neck. I was spoken for.
Jackie was playing with all the little ones but one stood out. He was distracted by his buddy, Gizmo, running around and playing, he would come over to Jackie and then be drawn back into playing with his buddy. You knew there was a bond, a connection. That’s why everyone there but me was surprised when Jackie thought it better to take Pecan’s brother, Peanut. I know Jackie, how much she cares, loves and nurtures. Peanut was sickly and the thought was maybe he’d have a chance in a loving home with care and attention. At the shelter he wasn’t expected to do well or be a top adoption candidate, just because he was sickly.
We took them home and tried our best. Peanut had the oldest eyes for a kitten, he would sit with us on the couch (often on my shoulder) watching the Princess run around the apartment like he was above it all. He was old beyond his years and seemed to really enjoy the craziness of the kitten in front of him.
After we lost the Peanut, we went back and got the Pecan. It was meant to be and he was waiting for us. We all tried to give his brother the best chance and now it was Pecan’s turn. Everything was right. The Three Musketeers in the biggest studio apartment you’ll ever see, with D’Artagnon (me) coming by as often as possible. The team was together. Pecan and Princess running throughout the place all night sliding around on linoleum and wood floors. Chasing balls bounced off the walls. All four of us crammed in a twin bed watching football on Sundays. Eating scrambled eggs for breakfast and having spaghetti or London broil for dinner.
They were so cute. Pecan was the Big Love, a Big Mush. Always there with a purr a headbutt and love. Kneading into our heads and necks until we almost bled, but it was great. He didn’t want anything more than to give love to whomever he could. I have never met a cat with a better personality. He was just so happy, all the time, just to be with us.
When we moved into our current place, he played the big brother protector and shielded the Princess. They had only known the studio for just over a year and now they had all this change. We kept them in a comforter on the couch in the living room after the move where they snuggled together and Pecan laid in front, towards the outside, protecting the Princess from any harm. When it finally came time to get off the couch, that everything was OK, Princess was the one to do it and Pecan reverted to form, the big mush. The studio was mostly linoleum and wood floors, the apartment was wall to wall carpet. He was scared by the carpet. I have still never seen a cat tap and step so tentatively.
Once he conquered the carpet, we had the ceiling fan monster for a time. He wouldn’t come into the dining room when the fan was on. We finally beat that together.
Then we just settled into the years of love. And struggle. When the Pecan would again do what he always did. Love. He nursed us through so much. He let us take in Scruffy, the stray. Princess always had a problem with her, but the Pecan was OK with it. She needed love. He helped us through bad times. He gave us all the love and companionship we could have asked for when we lost our son Sean. He knew, and was there without us even looking for him. Through both of our operations, he soothed us. Sleeping with us, by our heads, his purring and breathing, helping us heal.
Then everything went wrong this past summer. He lost weight and, after trips to the vet and the Animal Hospital, we found out in August he had lymphoma. We tried. We fought for him like he loved for us. For three months, three great, tough, months, the Three Musketeers fought. Me, Jackie and the Pecan. First with oral chemo pills. Then IV chemotherapy when the oral therapy didn’t yield the results we were hoping for. God we tried. Then, last week, he turned bad again. This time it was pancreatitis. Again, we tried. And then we talked. Pecan was, is, about the Love. About us and home. Maybe he could have had more time if we admitted him for a few days in the hospital. Maybe if we put in a feeding tube. But he was already not really himself.
Pecan was always the Big Guy, a strong powerful cat who carried himself like he was on the Serengeti, even if his personality was anything but lion-like. Now he was thin, even bony in spots. And, even though he loved to sleep, he took after his dad that way, he pretty much only slept now. If he were to have his last days, they’d be where he loved, with those he loved, not in a hospital with tubes and strangers.
We had a really good Sunday morning. Pecan woke us up like it was last year. He jumped up on the bed. Purring loud. Head butting Jackie and I and kneading and grooving into her hair like he was never sick. A feline Barry White. But then, later that day, he was sick again. Not eating. Sleeping in the dark, looking for closets and dark places under beds.
Pecan isn’t about dark places and quiet. Pecan is about bright shining love and loud purrs and yells. He said goodbye Sunday morning. It took us two days to be able to do the same.
Our house will never feel the same. It’s missing a big part of the glue which made it our home. The King of the Bed, the King of the Chair. We have been spoiled, yes. 18 years for Mandy and 23 for Gin-Gin. 11 years for Pecan was not enough. Not even close. He should not have had to make up the average, pay for their long life. I like to tell myself he just burned out. He shined too bright and gave all that he had. I keep telling myself that.
Last night we put the Pecan to sleep. I miss my big guy.
The Pecan came into our lives in November of 1996. Gin-Gin (Jackie's cat) had passed away that summer and Jackie and I had gotten engaged in October. On a trip out to visit our cousins we stopped by the Little Shelter, an animal rescue in Huntington, LI. On the way I warned Jackie that we couldn’t just “stop in to look”. We know how we are. Well, we went for a visit and stopped by the kitten room. That’s when our lives changed again.
Like an extended gift, a re-affirmation of our engagement, we met three great little ones who enriched our lives. First was the Princess. She practically tripped me, ran up the ladders and through the cubbies and shelves until she was eye level with me, where she silent meowed, stepped off the shelf so I had to catch her, ran up my arm and purred into my neck. I was spoken for.
Jackie was playing with all the little ones but one stood out. He was distracted by his buddy, Gizmo, running around and playing, he would come over to Jackie and then be drawn back into playing with his buddy. You knew there was a bond, a connection. That’s why everyone there but me was surprised when Jackie thought it better to take Pecan’s brother, Peanut. I know Jackie, how much she cares, loves and nurtures. Peanut was sickly and the thought was maybe he’d have a chance in a loving home with care and attention. At the shelter he wasn’t expected to do well or be a top adoption candidate, just because he was sickly.
We took them home and tried our best. Peanut had the oldest eyes for a kitten, he would sit with us on the couch (often on my shoulder) watching the Princess run around the apartment like he was above it all. He was old beyond his years and seemed to really enjoy the craziness of the kitten in front of him.
After we lost the Peanut, we went back and got the Pecan. It was meant to be and he was waiting for us. We all tried to give his brother the best chance and now it was Pecan’s turn. Everything was right. The Three Musketeers in the biggest studio apartment you’ll ever see, with D’Artagnon (me) coming by as often as possible. The team was together. Pecan and Princess running throughout the place all night sliding around on linoleum and wood floors. Chasing balls bounced off the walls. All four of us crammed in a twin bed watching football on Sundays. Eating scrambled eggs for breakfast and having spaghetti or London broil for dinner.
They were so cute. Pecan was the Big Love, a Big Mush. Always there with a purr a headbutt and love. Kneading into our heads and necks until we almost bled, but it was great. He didn’t want anything more than to give love to whomever he could. I have never met a cat with a better personality. He was just so happy, all the time, just to be with us.
When we moved into our current place, he played the big brother protector and shielded the Princess. They had only known the studio for just over a year and now they had all this change. We kept them in a comforter on the couch in the living room after the move where they snuggled together and Pecan laid in front, towards the outside, protecting the Princess from any harm. When it finally came time to get off the couch, that everything was OK, Princess was the one to do it and Pecan reverted to form, the big mush. The studio was mostly linoleum and wood floors, the apartment was wall to wall carpet. He was scared by the carpet. I have still never seen a cat tap and step so tentatively.
Once he conquered the carpet, we had the ceiling fan monster for a time. He wouldn’t come into the dining room when the fan was on. We finally beat that together.
Then we just settled into the years of love. And struggle. When the Pecan would again do what he always did. Love. He nursed us through so much. He let us take in Scruffy, the stray. Princess always had a problem with her, but the Pecan was OK with it. She needed love. He helped us through bad times. He gave us all the love and companionship we could have asked for when we lost our son Sean. He knew, and was there without us even looking for him. Through both of our operations, he soothed us. Sleeping with us, by our heads, his purring and breathing, helping us heal.
Then everything went wrong this past summer. He lost weight and, after trips to the vet and the Animal Hospital, we found out in August he had lymphoma. We tried. We fought for him like he loved for us. For three months, three great, tough, months, the Three Musketeers fought. Me, Jackie and the Pecan. First with oral chemo pills. Then IV chemotherapy when the oral therapy didn’t yield the results we were hoping for. God we tried. Then, last week, he turned bad again. This time it was pancreatitis. Again, we tried. And then we talked. Pecan was, is, about the Love. About us and home. Maybe he could have had more time if we admitted him for a few days in the hospital. Maybe if we put in a feeding tube. But he was already not really himself.
Pecan was always the Big Guy, a strong powerful cat who carried himself like he was on the Serengeti, even if his personality was anything but lion-like. Now he was thin, even bony in spots. And, even though he loved to sleep, he took after his dad that way, he pretty much only slept now. If he were to have his last days, they’d be where he loved, with those he loved, not in a hospital with tubes and strangers.
We had a really good Sunday morning. Pecan woke us up like it was last year. He jumped up on the bed. Purring loud. Head butting Jackie and I and kneading and grooving into her hair like he was never sick. A feline Barry White. But then, later that day, he was sick again. Not eating. Sleeping in the dark, looking for closets and dark places under beds.
Pecan isn’t about dark places and quiet. Pecan is about bright shining love and loud purrs and yells. He said goodbye Sunday morning. It took us two days to be able to do the same.
Our house will never feel the same. It’s missing a big part of the glue which made it our home. The King of the Bed, the King of the Chair. We have been spoiled, yes. 18 years for Mandy and 23 for Gin-Gin. 11 years for Pecan was not enough. Not even close. He should not have had to make up the average, pay for their long life. I like to tell myself he just burned out. He shined too bright and gave all that he had. I keep telling myself that.
Last night we put the Pecan to sleep. I miss my big guy.
Sail on Pecan.
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