My Wonderful Friend, Namir.

Above in"Darling Clementines" Namir strikes a contemplative pose in the kitchen. Click on the photos to read the captions.

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Namir trots in anticipation down the length of my desk because a car has pulled up in front of my home and studio. He leans far off the edge and looks out the door at our guest, who is now approaching. Oh, the hopeful expression with ears cupped forward and whiskers at attention, practically on his toes and his tail waving, looking straight up into our visitor’s eyes.

To heck with me, I just do business and live here, but he always got the first greeting, “Hi Namir, how’s my boy?” accompanied by pets and more talk.

Namir's "bedroom eyes"Once he is sure he has our visitor under his spell he turns on those famous bedroom eyes, narrowing them just enough so they looked mysteriously slanted and angling up a tourmaline glance, as if sharing a secret, looking totally exotic (he thinks), purring joyfully, certain our visitor belongs to him completely.

Everyone had to greet Namir, no matter their original intention, and no one ever seemed to mind. Those who did not got a swat on the elbow or a tug on the sleeve or other increasingly desperate attempts to make eye contact and return the focus to Namir. Those who sat down got Namir draped over a leg with his chin on their knee, even if he did not match their clothing.

Other cats might have tried to get their time with visitors, too, or visitors might actually try to pet another cat after petting Namir, but while Namir might let them stray he always managed to bring them back, sometimes with charm and sometimes with a shove to Cookie or Peaches to mind their own business.

"It's Just Too Much", Namir sleeping in a heapAnd somehow he knew when a car outside was visiting us or not because he had no response to cars whose contents did not come to our door. But on days when no one came to visit, he would doggedly go to the end of the desk just in case someone might happen by, crouch like a cricket and wait.

I never minded that it seemed I was not enough for him because there were never enough people for him to love. When he wasn’t greeting people at the door he was on my lap giving me the same bedroom eyes, or sleeping in some contorted curled ball on the desk at my elbow, or balanced on the back of my office chair, purring against my upper back. Wherever I went in the house, so did he, following me at his own deliberate pace, that particular “click” of the one front claw that didn’t retract all the way, but I always knew that he would join me, because I couldn’t be trusted to remember important things like dinner and providing a lap.

The amazing strength of animals

Elegant NamirAnd yet while he charmed visitors, poked Cookie, chased his tail, swatted any resident foster kittens and got stoned on catnip whenever possible, no one would know that he suffered several increasingly painful conditions for most of his life, the non-stop idiopathic cystitis and nearly four years with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and resultant congestive heart failure. I look back on all those years and realize the strength it took to put the pain aside and be that constant, enthusiastic, non-stop personality. He was more durable than stone, more constant than sun, more necessary in my life than water as I realize his dedication to living and loving every moment.

What the rest of this is about

Conversation With a Daisy, pencil sketchI write this memory of a remarkable cat because I want others to remember him, still others to know him, and to share some of the more challenging things about living with a cat who has several unpredictable and life-threatening conditions, the time, the finances, the decisions, those last moments, the impact on the rest of my household of cats, and, of course, what a creative inspiration he was for me as a painter and writer and photographer, even as a designer of stylish crochet items.

And woven through Namir’s chronic long-term conditions has been the pattern of my household growing older, developing an end-of-life illness and then each is gone. For about five years I’ve been extremely vigilant, observing appetites, checking respiration rates, taking temperatures, administering sub-Q fluids, giving medications and whatever supportive care was necessary to keep everyone comfortable, often to several cats at one time, as I lost four in one year. Losing Namir is, in a way, the ends of that cycle finally meeting. Loss is only an end if a lesson in the loss goes unlearned, so this cycle has fine tuned my ability to care for all my cats because I have learned many lessons. 

GeometryProfessionally, I have been able to immediately put these lessons into design work which I coincidentally began in April and May. The cremation service I use is also one of my customers for design and photography, and we’ve been redesigning her logo and building up her website to include much more information about her services. Through a chain of connections I was able to illustrate the cover and booklet interior for a pet loss CD, this in turn leading me to work on my long-term idea of sympathy cards for the loss of your animal companion. Reciprocally, working on these projects when I knew I would soon lose Namir gave me great comfort in the last two months.

And I hope to share my experiences for the sake of anything that anyone else might gain from them in lessons or comfort, technical information even, though I’ve kept everything pretty general, and not named any persons or businesses.

Here are the topics—they aren't linked, just scroll down to read them:

The amazing strength of animals
What the rest of this is about
He was an Abyssinian prince who had been painted at birth, sort of
In the beginning, he hated my guts
Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure AND idiopathic cystitis
The idiopathic cystitis
And then the heart conditions
His buddies at the emergency clinic
Other feline conditions in my household
Decisions and finances
Outliving all expectations
Our big backyard
Backyard wildlife habitat
Cookie and Namir
Suddenly, he’s a serial killer
The last two months
Don’t miss a moment
And after all the treatments and medications and days and times, this was it
That last day
The decision
Making arrangements
The drive home
Goodbye to the house and his beloved back yard
Aftercare
He left instructions with the other cats
Sensitive Cookie
The hummingbird
A special project

He was an Abyssinian prince who had been painted at birth, sort of

Namir at the MirrorI called him my “pretty boy” because he was slender and struck dramatic poses, he walked around on his toes like a ballerina, sang arias in a sing-song voice and was silly and a real contortionist looking like a heap of long slender legs when he slept.

All my cats are combinations of a series of accidental encounters, and as an artist and an animal companion I think this makes for a consistently interesting household of faces, features and personalities to study every day. In some, though, heritage becomes pretty clear, especially after some study. I created a commissioned portrait of two Abyssinian brothers, and in studying their photos and discussing their personalities with their people as well as studying the breed in general, I looked at Namir, never far from me, and matched up a list of physical and personality traits with the breed. I told him he was an Abyssinian prince who’d been painted at birth and he was pleased to be recognized for his royal heritage.

Namir ProfileOn reading the CFA breed standard for bi-color Oriental shorthairs, we came a little closer with his asymmetrical white belly, legs, chest and inverted “V” on his face and all the rest a gray tabby though his eyes were more oval and slanted, but he had the long legs with oval paws, muscular torso and rising curved back, the long sweeping tail with the slight angled kink at the end that showed when he was curious, the large upright cupped ears, and he often sat or stood with his right paw lifted and crossed over his left leg.

Of course, other traits came from other places not so lofty, like the profile of the high, rounded forehead coming off the flattened skull and the distinct bump on his nose. His nose, instead of being pink as it would normally be in the midst of all that white on his face, was terra cotta with a little bit of black outline, and he had a peach-colored beauty mark next to his nose that indicated he actually had a tabby area right in the middle of his face, the peach being the warm tan patina in the lighter areas of his striping.

And he had at some point in his life he injured the middle claw of his left paw so that the claw didn’t retract all the way. There were no scars and no sensitivity, but no matter how I trimmed it I could always see the claw protruding just a bit, and I could always hear it click on the floor. But then, he walked on his toes, as mentioned, and he would often make his hind claws click on the floor as well. Annoying noises were another of his “things”.

And a few other "things" for good measure:

In the beginning, he hated my guts

Namir's noseWe weren’t always so lovey-dovey. Namir was hardly a pushover, but once he went over it was permanent.

I took Namir and his little partner in crime, Kelly, to foster in October 1997 from a friend who was leaving for an advanced degree program in California, driving across country in her little Geo Metro to likely live on someone’s couch for a while. She had rescued Namir from a fraternity while she was in college because, as she said, she was “sure they were feeding him mashed potatoes and beer.” He wasn’t very cat-like at the time, no playing, no bathing, but she’d never owned a cat so she didn’t notice because he was really friendly and affectionate, enjoying brushings and being carried around.

When she graduated and began working, her friends convinced her that Namir needed a buddy rather than staying home alone, so she went to the shelters and asked for “the next cat in line for euthanasia.”

Animals don’t have an expiration date in shelters, but open-door shelters have to take in every animal presented to them, and if there is no room, they sometimes have to make decisions about opening up cage space for a new animal by euthanizing an existing animal who has not proved to be adoptable. This doesn’t necessarily mean the animal was ill or violent or that anything is wrong with them at all, just that there is not enough space.

Namir SweetKelly had been rescued as part of an endangered feral colony in an abandoned building, and when she came into the shelter, no matter how they worked with her, she could usually be found with her nose pressed into the back corner of her cage, and trembling. She is a lovely petite tortoiseshell and even then was gentle, but no one ever had the confidence they could win her over, until now. Home she went, to spend her first few months under the bed, but eventually Namir won her over first and let her know that humans could be easily manipulated. She, in turn, taught him all about being a cat, like how to play with a toy and wash one’s face “you ugly dirtball”, and a wrestling match would ensue.

../../../../photography/cats/mycats/images/NamirandReflection.jpgThey arrived at my house with the understanding that this was a foster and they may someday travel to California to be with their mom, but we knew that physically and financially that was nearly impossible for her or me. I kept them in my spare cat room, and for the first few months all I saw of Kelly was eyes under the table, and Namir would look hopeful when I walked in, then he’d crouch and growl at me because I was the one who had taken away his mom, and he was one devoted cat.

At the time I already had seven cats and didn’t want to start a free-for-all of fights and feline acting out. By March I got tired of the door being closed and fruitless efforts to get them to come out on their own, so I just opened it and left it that way, knowing that my other cats would enter to explore. Eventually Namir and Kelly left the room and explored the upstairs then came down the stairs, and what finally won Namir over was visitors to the house as Namir discovered that his spell worked on more than just his former mom.

And at last, some time in May, he quit ignoring me and began following me around and giving me the occasional swat for attention then that happy, squinty look, and we were buddies.

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure AND idiopathic cystitis

NamirHe was about four when my veterinarian told me of his slight heart murmur, just in the first class and not something that would hinder his activities at that level, but one that would likely develop into a life-threatening condition—someday, but not now. A few months later, he had his first bout with idiopathic cystitis, a condition that we eventually traced to something vague happening in his bladder, possibly a herpes virus he’d picked up on the street that flared up with swelling and infection and left scar tissue. Both conditions would steadily worsen and complicate, but while Namir always looked willowy and delicate it would be 11 years before they’d win.

The idiopathic cystitis

Namir began having occasional trouble passing urine and blocked his first time in 1998. My Stanley blocked if you looked at him funny and I had tried one food after another, even tried making my own for them, until I found a commercial food that worked for Stanley and kept the whole house on it—still do in fact. In all the times Namir blocked, or came near to blocking, his urine always passed the test with a perfect score, pH 5.5 and no sign of crystals but occasionally some sediment and white blood cells, which indicated an infection somewhere along the line. We looked for stones or anything else obstructing the tract and found nothing except that his bladder was a little misshapen and seemed to spasm as it was examined.

Namir CloseupHe came close to blocking every few months for the next several years, with lots of sitting in the box waiting to go and ugly bloody urine, but after various treatments in hospital didn’t seem head the situation off before he blocked, my veterinarian and I worked up a treatment plan depending on the symptoms I observed which included vitamin C as an acidifier just in case crystals developed, 200cc of sub-cutaneous fluids to help flush his bladder, kidneys and urinary tract and 21 days of Baytril. He couldn’t take phenoxybenzamine, one of the medications used to relax the urinary tract, because he once just passed out on the floor after four doses, it apparently aggravating the effects of his heart murmur, or any of the class of anti-depressants often used for the same reason. As long as he was producing urine, I treated him at home, but if he once got in the box and produced nothing, off he went. In all those years he only needed to be hospitalized three times, though I treated him for it at home three or four times each year.

And then the heart conditions

Warm Winter Sun, oil pastelWhile the heart murmur continued to increase in severity, he didn’t have his first bout of congestive heart failure until 2005—August 28, the night that Katrina hit New Orleans to be exact. I was in the emergency hospital waiting for news of Namir, who’d gone into breathing distress earlier in the day, and feeling like the world was coming to an end as I watched on the waiting room TV the hurricane bearing down on millions of people on the Gulf Coast and looking as if she might be headed all the way up here next.

After a night in the oxygen tent, X-rays, an EEG and an ultrasound Namir was diagnosed with HCM and CHF. The left atrium had never functioned entirely and was the source of the heart murmur. The walls of the left ventricle were thickening, the valve never closed completely, the blood tended to swirl around, his heart didn’t carry enough blood and fluid built up around his heart and lungs. Eventually his heart would continue to enlarge and the fluid would continue to collect.

Sharing Space (with Cookie)His heart condition was advanced enough that the prognosis for Namir was poor: a month with no treatment, up to six months with treatment, perhaps a year if we were lucky, but his quality of life might not be good. The risk of blood clots increased as the disease progressed as did related cardiac issues such as stroke and heart attack from increased blood pressure, and medications could eventually cause renal failure. The complicating factor of his idiopathic cystitis and the resultant fluid retention made frequent rounds of congestive heart failure a probability.

A series of medications was in order along with constant observation. We started with tapazole, cardizem, lasix and atenolol and he did well, except that he was a zombie most of the time. His veterinarians attributed this to the atenolol and changed that to enalapril and Namir got back to a pretty normal life with shaved legs and neck.

Pussy WillowOddly enough, my mother, in a personal care home, also had CHF and was on the same medications for it. In most ways the condition is the same in all animals who have it, and I was grateful that my mother’s doctor had explained the condition and the medications so I understood my mother’s welfare. When Namir was diagnosed I already understood the details of a critical condition and knew basically what to look for and what to expect, and what each of the medications was intended to do.

Perhaps the increased urine output with the lasix kept the pressure built up in Namir’s bladder or one of the medications had the effect of relaxing his bladder because he never came near blocking again, but he always passed urine slowly and often seemed to develop an infection with a slightly elevated temperature, some internal pain and lack of appetite. I always kept Baytril on hand to treat it, and he usually responded right away with his condition slowly improving.

Namir continued to respond to the cardiac medications, although even with them and with careful observation, he still went into congestive heart failure and needed hospitalization at least twice each year for a little tune-up and to visit with his friends, the veterinarians and technicians at the emergency hospital where I took him.

His buddies at the emergency clinic

Namir with Lucy In all the pain and discomfort of these conditions and treatments, some cats might decide they’d rather take off your face than be touched again, but Namir never lost his composure. In fact, they loved him at the emergency hospital because he was so sweet and even with tubes and IVs and blood draws and X-rays, he begged the technicians for attention and he got it—along with the report on his condition I always got a report on how sweet he was and how much he liked to be petted and kissed. It always gave me comfort when he was there to know that he got that much attention, and that, in turn, he could provide comic relief for animal caregivers in an animal emergency room.

Other feline conditions in my household

At home, my oldest cat, Stanley, somewhere in his early twenties, had gone into kidney failure in February 2004, but with the guidance of our veterinarian in administering fluid therapy at home and B-complex and help from friends in getting me started in this, plus an explanation of the disease and its side-effects, he got back to being Stanley again with doses of sub-Q fluids a few times a month until his death in January 2007.

Lucy to Namir, Let's PlayWhile I was observing Namir, administering the four medications twice daily and getting accustomed to life with CHF, I began losing the older members of my household. Aside from Stanley’s chronic renal failure, they were basically well until a few months before their deaths, Moses from general organ failure at age 19 in February 2006, Cream at age 16 from kidney failure in March 2006, Sophie from cancer at age 17 in November 2006 and, finally, Stanley at age 23 or older from kidney failure and other complications in January 2007. I had fostered a litter of kittens in 2006 and one stayed with me, little Lucy. In April of 2007 she was diagnosed with effusive FIP and I lost her in July of that year.

Decisions and finances

Really SleepingThat was a lot of loss, and Namir had his ups and downs all through these years adding up to an enormous emotional and financial toll on me. Namir alone cost a staggering amount in the years he was ill with various conditions, and I had never thought I might have to face the decision of not getting care for a cat because I couldn’t afford it, but here was that situation of either surrendering him or having him euthanized because I had no more to pay for him. I never had to follow through as through the years, friends were generous, art customers purchased another piece of artwork or commissioned another portrait to help us along, and sometimes I was lucky enough to time the need for critical care with payment for a big project.

Outliving all expectations

At the screen door with the kidsNamir’s life expectancy was up to one year after that first episode of congestive heart failure, but he lived nearly four years after it. I was constantly reminded of this fact as time passed and his care became more complicated as he showed yet more evidence of his condition’s effects on his body. He slowly lost weight and his graceful tail grew thin as a rope, his long angular face a little gaunt, but he never quit being himself.

I knew we were on borrowed time and it was in this that I learned one of the greatest lessons I’ve taken from him and applied elsewhere: how to have a simple awareness of the preciousness of every moment without putting the awareness before the moment. I marked every morning and mealtime, every glance and face rub, all Namir’s unique qualities and activities knowing that at any moment I could lose him, but still simply enjoying him as if nothing was wrong.

Our big backyard

Namir and Cookie in the grassI don’t let my cats roam outdoors, but I do enjoy their company outside and it’s a big thrill for them to be out there. I’ve also felt that, for the older cats or those battling chronic illness, a daily sojourn in the nature can make them forget all their ills for a while as it helps perk up their appetite and keep all their senses acute. From my first loss while in this house, Kublai in 1996, I’ve begun taking those oldest or most ill out in the yard for at least a few minutes most days and just letting them be little wild creatures, sort of.

Basically, they stick near me as I tend my garden and fill bird feeders and photograph flowers, or I follow them around while they roam and observe and check their “pee-mail” and upload responses. Some have not cared for this, but I always seem to have two older ones together who own the garden and the yard. I know it’s prolonged their life and made their daily existence easier; they’ve skipped breakfast but eaten ravenously after coming in from the yard and slept easily all day, or simply seemed weak or irritable after a dose of fluids, but a trip out in the yard seems to strengthen them.

Backyard wildlife habitat

Namir with a Butterfly, good thing he's on a leashI have managed my small yard and vegetable garden organically since I moved here in 1990. I had my yard registered as a backyard wildlife habitat by the National Wildlife Federation in 2003. There’s a lot going on out there any time of the year so, while my cats enjoy the thrill of air and sun and animal noises, I know they won’t encounter any toxic substances or residues as they walk through the tomato plants or eat grass.

In addition to gardening vegetables and flowers, I have native areas with local wildflowers and berries and other flora, which in turn attracts all sorts of interesting birds, insects, butterflies and other fauna, and in every season I’m photographing, sketching, painting and/or writing about this, and the company of one or more of my feline companions makes it a wonderful way to spend a part of almost every day, and is, in fact, one of the ways I prepare my creative mind for a day’s work in my home office.

Cookie and Namir

Cookie and Namir in the early gardenCookie, now 17, has been my garden companion for the past several years, before Stanley and Moses, and in between them and Namir. She considers herself my “lady in waiting” and rarely leaves my side.

Last year, when Namir occasionally began eating less and when constipation became an issue—and a trip to the emergency clinic—I decided it was time for him to visit our big backyard.

I definitely created a monster because after that because he wanted out ALL THE TIME, climbing screen doors and yowing at windows, but it served the same purpose as for the others. He was swatting the younger cats out of the way at mealtime to get his food first, then devouring his share of canned cat food, things went fine in the litterbox and he rested easily.

And for a cat with a serious heart condition he made the most of chasing Hester the bunny, leaping after butterflies, stalking Cookie, even just running across the yard and chasing his tail—and I had forgotten he used to be a daily tail-chaser. I asked his veterinarians if this was okay, if I should let him run around like that, but they agreed that if I saw no respiratory issues and his color looked good, there was no reason he shouldn’t be allowed to make a fool of himself.

Suddenly, he’s a serial killer

Namir the serial killerHowever, he discovered, or rediscovered, the joy of killing small animals this past spring when the voles and chipmunks came out of hibernation. I understand that this is also something cats enjoy doing while outdoors, but Namir would kill all day long if I let him. I did my best to observe him while he was stalking, which is what cats spend the most time doing when they are hunting, then distracting him when a little vole began squeaking enticingly under the leaf litter in the wildflower beds and he went for the act. Most of the time I caught him. A few times he had been observing me planting seeds, then he was standing next to me with a dead vole or field mouse dangling from his mouth. I don’t think he intentionally brought it to me as cats do, rather that he wanted me to do something with it because he wasn’t interested in it any more, after all, it was dead. The crows were happy, so at least the little creature’s death wasn’t wasted.

I actually wrote an article on this, “My Cat Has Become a Serial Killer,” which you can read here.

The last two months

Namir with his last vole.In the process, a good bit of yard work didn’t get done this spring as I spent more time keeping Namir from pushing voles to extinction. It was okay, because I could see an understanding in Namir that time was growing short, and I could feel it, too. In April, he visited the clinic for another tune-up, but he didn’t recover overnight as he always had before; this time it was a two-night stay, and his breathing was still a little labored and he seemed tired when I brought him home.

He recovered in a few days, but we had added yet another diuretic, and I needed to add an anti-acid to his daily regimen because it was just so much medication for one little stomach, and as he edged toward renal failure his appetite was getting smaller though he still liked to try to steal from my plate, and he didn’t have the vitality he had before but tired more easily, even in his beloved outdoors. That didn’t stop the killing, of course, he just rested longer in between.

Don’t miss a moment

Cookie, Namir and me at the picnic tableHe gave me longer, deeper looks in those last weeks, never leaving my side. If ever he wasn’t near I was worried, dropped everything and looked for him. Usually, he was in the litterbox or hanging by the door trying to figure out how to open it, but a few times he was resting in a quieter place in the house than my desk and I could see he was in one way or another uncomfortable.

But we were always together, and sometimes when I was working with him curled up on my desk, even though he was in my way, I just moved my mousepad and papers and petted him with one hand while continuing to work. I treasured every morning at waking because he was still there, either on the bed beside me, or I could hear his one-claw-click coming up the steps. He went through his routines of swatting the kids around and annoying Cookie, pushing to be first in line for the dry food even though he didn’t eat much and swatting Peaches lightly as they waited for their canned food. Outside we went, then back in, working all day. I looked for his face in the door as I came home, him waiting for me on the table as I came in just as he had greeted everyone else who had visited. He hated his pill times and could read my mind when he was in a sound sleep when I had decided it was time for his morning or evening meds and he’d take off and either make me chase him or wait for another time.

Cookie and Namir inspecting my work in the gardenI kept noticing an extra sleepiness in him, not weakness, just that he would drop off to sleep for hours, and some days even seemed too tired to eat at mealtimes, though he would eat later. I called his veterinarian and the clinic about his medications, suspecting the new extra diuretic, and we began working with it as on days when he didn’t get it his energy seemed fairly normal. I made an appointment for him for an ultrasound and checkup two weeks later.

My life was really centered around him for those weeks, and I remember looking at the other cats and thinking that they’d just have to understand, as, of course, they did.

And after all the treatments and medications and days and times, this was it

Namir and Cookie act as photo assistantsI write the next part for the benefit of anyone who may be near a decision and wonder what to expect, or who may have recently endured the loss of a pet and who needs to hear the story of another person’s experience.

I have lost 12 cats now, ranging from a totally unexpected loss to Namir’s long battle with serious chronic illness, but in the end, even if their death is expected, it’s fear that grows with waiting and not knowing when or how, if you will know when the time is here and if they and you are ready, what your reaction will be, if you’ll do the right thing or regret any decision you made before their death, during or after it. In the end, you can always find fault and pain and regret, but you can’t always do what you’ve planned, you can only do your best.

Namir and Cookie help me pick lettuceThe most important thing you can do is to be as knowledgeable as possible about your companion’s condition, no matter now frightening it might be, be aware of your companion’s signals to you, and listen to your heart. By "awareness" I mean delving beyond our immediate perceptions and especially our own emotions to get to the essence of a situation, and being right in the present with it, not bringing things from the past or worrying about the future. That may not be much more clear and it is very simplistic, but it's probably something you do and don't even realize it. As an artist, it kind of comes with the territory for me since that's what I do when I create my artwork, not looking at the details but feeling the entire scene. Knowledge, awareness and intuition are your best means for making this decision, and that’s what you need to do.

That last day

Namir with a flower behind his ear enjoying his garden water dishI remember that morning, opening the basement door so the sun and June air could come in through the screen door while I rode my exercise bicycle. All the cats were there with me, and Namir climbed the screen door wanting to go outside so badly. Usually I would have taken him and Cookie out first thing because I would be home all day, but that last day I would be out for much of it, gathering materials and preparing packages for mailing to writing contests. He and Cookie had been in the yard practically all day Sunday so we went outdoors for only a few minutes in the late afternoon that Tuesday, and I saw no difference in his activities. Around 11:00 p.m., still having work to do for the morning, I decided to lie down for an hour or two and ease an eyestrain headache and work for a few hours later, leaving Namir curled in a tight ball under one of my worklights on my desk. Curled in a tight ball does not indicate breathing distress, but I don't know what may have been happening, or what transpired to put him in breathing distress, but I put my hand on him and when he lifted his head I told him I was going upstairs, then let him see me go so he'd know where I was.

Namir posing on the benchI awoke around 1:00 with no headache, but Namir wasn’t next to me as he typically was. I immediately went on a search for him all the way to the basement, calling him and flashing the flashlight. It turned out he was in my bedroom after all, but tucked up onto the vanity chair. I could see his breathing was very labored, his eyes were a little sunken and glassy, and I knew from his expression and simple intuition that this was not good.

When he got to this point he usually needed medical intervention to turn his condition around, but sometimes I could do this with an extra dose of diuretic, so I gave him one. His appointment was in a week, but certainly they could see him the next day if he was in this condition now. I decided I would get some work done and observe him for the next hour to see if there were any changes. He followed me as I went back to my desk and draped himself across my lap as usual, but he didn’t stay, curling up on the floor instead.

While he was still on the chair upstairs, I had noticed Mewsette come up to him, sniff, and give me a worried look. Now another of the kids did the same. “Don’t you know this is serious?” I had never seen that before. I believed them.

Namir inspects the lettuce seedlings I called the clinic and told them I’d be bringing him in. I drive myself and have always put the cats in carriers, much as I’d rather have them near me it’s much safer, and the carriers have always gone in the back seat where they could see me and when it was safe I could turn around and look at them. This time I decided it was essential that he be in the front seat with me and I briefly wondered at this, but decided the soft-sided carrier would likely press on him so I simply got the smallest carrier.

This time, he walked right into the carrier, no running away, no struggles. It was cool, so I wrapped the carrier in a blanket, and it had a beach towel in the bottom. I strapped the carrier in with the seat belt and was glad I could look down and see him looking up at me through the door.

I carried him in and explained who we were, but Namir is pretty well-known and they had his chart. A technician came out to see us, looked at Namir and decided he should go in the back right away. He looked at me and I gave him a pet and a kiss, but I could see him fading as we were on our way, not even making the usual eye contact, though I could see through the sad, faraway look in his eyes that he knew this was not survivable. Still, I’d see what the veterinarians said and make any decisions based on that.

Namir guards all my best working materialsBased on a preliminary exam, the veterinarian told me his condition was grave, but it didn’t sound too different from the usual. Because I knew his records would transfer from the emergency clinic to the internal medicine clinic (same building) in the morning and either his usual cardiac specialist or the other internal medicine doctor would see him first thing, I decided to go home and try to sleep. The sky was light and birds were singing, and there was nothing I could do but go home.

The decision

The veterinarian’s news in the morning was not unexpected. Just from x-rays his cardiomyopathy had progressed to a point where his heart was barely pumping blood around, there was so much fluid around his heart and in his lungs, his body temperature was down to 93 degrees, he wasn’t responding to the oxygen, and his kidney levels were in the danger zone. His kidneys had finally failed after all the years of diuretics, and the resulting fluid was both poisoning his body and flooding his heart and lungs. Even resolving one of these conditions was not going to make him well enough to survive the other, and both renal failure and congestive heart failure are painful and frightening, feeling as if you are drowning and smothering and being crushed as toxins build up in your bloodstream.

Namir studies something on the flagstonesI could see in his eyes the night before, and I could sense the realization in all my other cats, and the decision was clear. The carrier in the front seat so we could be as near as possible those last few minutes, the last look, the time was finally here.

I had always feared that something would happen to him on one of the days I was away as a festival vendor or when I had an art show and he might suffer for hours until I came home. Considering all the other manners of death he could have suffered at any point in the four years with congestive heart failure—a blood clot in his heart or lungs, a stroke or critical heart condition that would have left him impaired and in pain—this seemed oddly simple and quick. Yesterday he was fine, today he is not, no lingering discomfort, no doubt, it was hard to face, but there was no need to reconsider, and time was of the essence. It was always my responsibility to ensure his care and comfort, and this was no different.

Making arrangements

Namir with LiliesI had to bring him home. I understood his condition was grave enough that he might not survive too long outside the oxygen cage, but he had to come back to say goodbye. I had to make arrangements for his euthanasia and, later, to take him to the cremation service, both before I went to get him so that he would spend the least amount of time out of oxygen. This was one of the longest and most frustrating mornings I have ever experienced, and all I wanted was to be with Namir.

Our regular veterinarian who has the house call practice was away. I next called the cremation service to ask who else I should call and also for comfort; I have used her services for the other five I’ve recently lost and know that she is a comforting person. Through all my losses we have become friends and she has also become my customer for design. For all the times I’ve called to say it was no emergency, just a note about her website or something, this time I just said, “It’s Namir.” It was about all I could say for a few minutes.

I took her recommendations and began calling. I finally managed to find another house call veterinarian who had time between 2:00 and 2:30. I took the appointment and went to get Namir.

The drive home

Namir in dappled sunThe discharge at the clinic is usually a lengthy process, and all I wanted to do was see Namir. I waited and waited, and finally told the receptionist we could catch up on paperwork later, I had an appointment for euthanasia at 2:00 and I wanted to spend some time with Namir before that. She let them know and hurried the paperwork along.

They handed him to me wrapped in a towel and I could see that he was barely there, enough to recognize me but not to respond. I briefly spoke to the veterinarian there about his condition just with my few last questions, and also because I had serious doubts that he could get home, and that I might have him put to sleep there after all. In the end I decided that I would just take my chances and go.

I thought indeed he had slipped off on the way home as we actually got stuck in traffic a couple of times, me cursing myself for not taking longer way with less traffic, and being selfish enough to make him suffer in the car just so I could get him home.

Goodbye to the house and his beloved back yard

Namir on his last Sunday in the yardBut we did make it home. We beat the veterinarian here with enough time to have all the cats see Namir, then to walk him around the house to say goodbye to all the rooms. He was very alert for this, recognizing where he was, taking a little sniff and looking around.

That wouldn’t have been worth the risk of bringing him home in distress, though. I carried him through the kitchen and out onto the deck, deciding the best place to spend the last few minutes we had. I looked at the unsteady old round picnic table he and Cookie and I had spent time on, his observation point into the wild lands at the end of the yard where all the good stuff happened. I laid him down on his side, and although he couldn’t really walk Namir was completely alert, relaxed, rolled and stretched out on his belly on the picnic table in the lion pose I loved so much, facing the brushy area. He looked around and smelled the air, watched the squirrel scold us and Hester the bunny run across the grass, and when his favorite prey, the little voles, started squeaking in the undergrowth he tried to get up, but I put my hand on his back and he didn’t resist. He looked up at me once, and through the fog of his pain and failing body I could see his thanks, and his goodbye.

After about ten minutes he rolled over on to his side, laid his head on his arm and the reprieve was over. I knew he was barely conscious and in great discomfort, and when the veterinarian arrived and I picked him up to take him inside I could tell that his precious spirit was no longer in his body. No need for the preliminary sedative, the veterinarian injected the euthanasia medication right into the catheter the clinic had left in place and Namir was gone in a few seconds.

Aftercare

Namir watches for signs of vole activityI had an appointment with the cremation service in the late afternoon, so I sat with Namir outdoors for a bit, then went back to my desk and sat with him, on the big cotton rug, on my lap. Even though I knew he was dead, it was very calming to be sitting and working at my computer with Namir on my lap, as I had done for the past years. I told a few friends and customers about him and was glad for the opportunity.

A neighbor came over and we went into the kitchen so I could get something to drink. I laid Namir on the counter where he’d been put to sleep and Giuseppe jumped up and settled down next to him, looked at us with his big amber eyes, nuzzled Namir’s hip, and I decided to let him sit there as long as he wanted.

In the next hours, each of the cats came up to me and to Namir and made their peace with his passing. Even little Kelly, who came in with him and who does not adjust well to change in her odd formerly feral way, paced back and forth on the desk looking at him, then me, talking, then sniffing him, then seeming satisfied.

That morning, I couldn’t give Peaches her canned food because I had always fed her and Namir together and I couldn’t face it. She just had to understand. And that evening at dinner is when it always hits home, even though he’d been away, that he would never again swat the kids away and get his food first, grab the can from my hand before I opened it, or try to steal Peaches’ portion.

He left instructions with the other cats

Even before I went to get Namir, that morning when I was at my desk calling and making arrangements, a customer came to the door and Cookie ran to greet him in Namir’s spot, with Giuseppe and Mr. Sunshine on the floor. Cookie had always been the greeting kitty before Namir and they did compete, but now they all seemed a little flustered at this hurried call to duty.

Jelly Bean entertains me while Giuseppe practices Namir's movesImmediately, however, Giuseppe, the largest and most gregarious of “the kids” as I call them, began keeping me company, curling in Namir’s places on my desk and on my lap, (though Giuseppe is nearly twice Namir’s last weight). I could see some communication happen between the two of them in those last few months, and G give the door greeting a tentative try one day. Jelly Bean laid down on my desk, then rolled himself into a contorted ball and watched to see what my reaction would be, which was a good laugh, and the show went on. Mr. Sunshine has been extremely cuddly, talking to me and sleeping on the desk, and even Mewsette, who usually spends all day in the basement waiting for a mouse to come in, spends some quality time with me.

And of course Cookie is still my lady in waiting, and Peaches has reclaimed some lap time, and Kelly runs through, talking.

I had been noticing while I was focusing so deeply on Namir the last two months that the other cats had nearly given up trying to get my attention. I felt bad for Cookie and Peaches, both older and not to be neglected, and for the kids, too, the family of black kittens and their mom (Lucy’s mom and Lucy’s half-siblings) who ended up staying with me. They seemed to enjoy each others’ company more than mine and I wondered if I hadn’t been a little too focused elsewhere.

As soon as Namir’s condition was clear they were all back. It was as if they were giving us our time together, knowing there wasn’t much left. No one ever seemed to resent Namir’s monopoly of my attention, and now we all work together as a household. It’s as if Namir left instructions that I am not to be left alone, ever, and I am not, ever, and this from a bunch of cats who rarely got laptime in the past few months.

Sensitive Cookie

Namir and Cookie survey flora and fauna from the picnic tableCookie was the only one to show any indication of missing Namir, though. Even though he teased her all the time he lived here—Cookie is very important but Namir never seemed to realize that—Cookie seemed to miss him the first time we went out in the yard, which wasn’t until Friday. Cookie, usually as insistent to get outside as Namir always was, didn’t press the issue. Outside, she and Namir had had their routines but she was very subdued, seemed uncomfortable and went back up on the deck. It was the weekend before she spent any time out in the garden with me.

The hummingbird

I'll always walk with youOn the next Wednesday afternoon, one week to the approximate hour after Namir’s death, Cookie and I went out in the yard to remember him. I hadn’t sensed him around at all, not seen him out of the corner of my eye, not forgotten that he had died and went looking for him, all very strange for the cat with the big personality who had so monopolized my time.

For about two years, I had been noodling around with a design for crocheted items with pawprints incorporated. While I was sitting with him after he had died, I decided on the final design (below) and that I would make it in gray and white to honor him. I would need a certain gray yarn, but decided I could shop for it after I had visited the cremation service, just to give myself something else to think about for a while, and make sure I spent some time away from the house that evening. Working with my hands, especially spending time on crochet, is always very soothing for me, and creating this item would be therapeutic because I could sit and think about Namir while my hands kept busy.

I had nearly finished this project and decided to take the last of it outside with me. Cookie jumped up on the picnic table before I even got down the steps from the deck, and Cookie, at 17 and very dignified, isn’t known for her speed. She knew exactly what we were doing.

The bergamotAs we sat there, I heard familiar buzzing and slight chirping sounds, though I couldn’t place them until I turned around and saw a female hummingbird visiting the bergamot, newly blooming right next to the picnic table. I normally have groups of hummingbirds visiting my feeders and all the geraniums and other attractive flowers in my yard, but this year it was July and I hadn’t seen a single one yet.

In most cultural and spiritual traditions, the hummingbird is known to be a messenger. While it is bound to the immense needs of its body to supply enough nourishment to support its high energy activity, it still transcends this burden to find joy in each day as they always spend some time in play. It has adapted to reach far into a flower to find its nourishment, and so we must learn to reach far into ourselves to fulfill our needs. These tiny birds migrate a huge distance, and so tell us that we must persevere, no matter the conditions. Their wings beat in the symbol of infinity.

I was so happy to see the little bird, admiring her olive green against the deep red of the bergamot. And I realized it was Namir sending me a sign, as all my other cats had done in one way or another, to let me know he was free of his limitations, that I needn’t worry about him any more. For once I had no camera with me, but that, too, was symbolic, as all my cats get tired of me taking their pictures instead of petting them, and just this once I should simply enjoy the hummingbird and her message instead of distancing myself by taking photos.

Namir up to his neck in underbrushShe soon left the bergamot to hover around the yard—in all the places Namir had loved so well for observing wildlife. A little later I heard a scuffle in a tree and I saw her being chased by a sparrow in the air above the yard as she had apparently annoyed it.

And soon Cookie and I decided we should go back inside.

I haven’t sensed him again since then, but I know he is fine, and he left us so well organized. The weekend before he died I took a series of intentional photos of him outdoors and began writing what I considered an “anticipatory” piece about his passing. I think we all knew.

A special project

The pawprint collarHere is the crochet piece I mentioned. It’s a little collar or neck scarf that buttons closed with a cat toy in this case, but even a regular button can be used, and it has the big pawprints on either end so it looks like your cat is giving you a hug. It started out as a longer scarf. but the pawprints weren’t lining up in a way that made sense to me. Namir had darker gray fur with the usual silvery tinge, and although his legs were mostly white I decided to keep it to the paws only. I used a generic fake fur or eyelash yarn and worsted-weight yarn crocheted together for the “legs”, and plain white yarn for the paws because the detail gets lost with the fun fur, but I’ve been working on other coat patterns and possibilities for the paws—black and orange crocheted together for the tortoiseshell, orange base yarn and white fake furn yarn for a light orange cat or two shades of orange to simulate the stripes, and there’s even a camouflage yarn that—I hope—will look very much like dark tabby stripes. The combinations have so many possibilities, and I want to create one for each cat who’s shared my home, and then some.

I won’t be selling the items, though I’ll probably use them for donation items for shelters and animal organizations. I hope to sell the pattern, though, and I’ll be asking a friend of mine who knits to see if she can work it out in knitting for those who don’t crochet.

Thank you for reading this

Namir at the Window, acrylic painting, in progressIf you've gotten this far, thank you for reading all the way to the bottom. I always think of an audience whether I'm writing, painting, designing or photographing, and I've thought of many people while I composed this, including some I have never and may never meet. I remember the first time I knew I was going to lose one of my cats, only a few years before the internet became commonly available, but what a comfort it would have been to be able to browse in the middle of the night when I was wide awake, worrying. That could be you, and while the internet reaches all over the world, we may never meet, but I am thinking about you and your loss while I work with my grief in losing Namir.

At left is a painting in progress depicting Namir at one of my windows. I began it, then had to stop, and because space is tight in my studio it managed to get lost behind some materials I stacked in front of it. I just brought it out and got around to working on the final portions that I hadn't cared for when I was working on it the first time. It's one of a few new things I had planned using Namir as the subject.

This painting and all the other artworks on this page can be seen on my "My Cats" page. Most of the photos, though not all, can be seen in my photo gallery under "My Cats".

 

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All photos, art and text Copyright © 2009 Bernadette E. Kazmarski, artist and writer

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