Most animal stories end sadly. So I will tell you how this one ends now. We said goodbye to Tippy last night.
She had been ill for so long, and old for so long, that until yesterday, I thought I would be ready. I was not, it was an anguishing decision, and today our family is sad.
We told Blake before lunch today that Tippy's body didn't work anymore, and that Tippy had gone to the moon, where she would not hurt anymore. We suggested he draw a picture of Tippy to remember her. He nodded and said, "Tippy's body hurt. Tippy go to moon." Then he pointed to a favorite Christmas present and said, "Play Slinky."
After lunch, he asked to draw a picture of Tippy. We all drew one.
I can't begin to say that our experience in loving this cat was unique. All pets are cherished. But in living with her -- well, we had a special kind of luck there. Tippy was a special cat.
Thomas and I, teary-eyed, shared some memories of her last night. Here are some of them, and a few other notes:
-- In her more spry days, she would play "extreme string," and might do a back flip in all the excitement.
-- She had a love/hate relationship with the blue chair. She shredded it, but you could usually find her sleeping there. When we moved to Connecticut, the blue chair moved to the Miramar landfill.
-- She saw what we believe was her first snow in Bakersfield, of all places.
-- She would sleep in my hair sometimes, and once pushed her whole snout into my ear when I was sleeping. It was the weirdest thing.
-- Thomas gave her many nicknames: Tippereno, Fluffy, Fluffinsky.
-- In 1999, she got a bladder infection and was issued a death sentence. Dr. Lewis, who would become such a trusted caregiver, discharged her from the hospital and told me to let her die at home. Years later, he called her a "miracle kitty."
-- I took Tippy home with me in 1997 after she was found at Sacramento State, where I was working at the time. We believe she was a "flood cat," one of thousands displaced in the deluges of what was an El Nino winter.
-- My dear friend Brigitte, who was living with me then, does not like cats, so Tippy went to live with my parents. My folks were already caring for Maddie, Dingo and Obby at home, so Tippy stayed at their radio station, KTIP in Porterville, hence her name.
-- Her name worked two ways, as she had only a tip of a tail. This, along with white spots on her rump, made her look like a small deer. And once, when she was in the front yard of our house on Jewell Street in San Diego, we heard a passing woman say to her dog, "Watch out for that rabbit!"
-- Tippy's health has been a roller coaster since that bladder infection, but it was chronic pancreatitis that kept us busy starting in 2003. I can't remember the number of times she was hospitalized, how many late-night ER trips, how many tests, specialists, dollars. But Thomas said last night, "Considering we got nine years out of her since we first thought she was going to die, I would say she was a pretty good investment."
Tippy was also a good teacher. She showed me what a good father Thomas was going to be. Seeing how much he cared for her when she was sick, how he gave up vacations and material things in exchange for a "rainy-day vet bill fund," how he would be on the other end of the extreme string for what seemed like hours. And that we never disagreed on her care made me trust that we would make a good parenting team.
Blake also learned from Tippy. She let him practice being gentle -- still a work in progress -- yet she never once struck out at him or hissed or scared him, even when he deserved it. I hope I never forget the sound of Blake saying, "Wuv you, Tippy." I wonder how Dylan will get the same lessons.
In recent months, Thomas and I had complained about Tippy's behavior, her mess, her appearance. I told my sister about her me-yowling at night, her pacing and racing in the dark, waking us up, keeping us up, making us crazy.
"Oh, she's senile," Kim said. And then I felt more compassion for her, and realized that some day I would need someone to clean up after and take care of me.
But in her death, there is confusion, too. Not counting her last weekend, in the last few weeks, she seemed better. She stopped pulling out her hair. She was eating more, and keeping more down. She slept through the night more often. Now, in hindsight, it's like she was trying to make it easier on us in the end.
Maybe she was saying "thank you" for caring for her all these years. But really, Tippy, we thank you. We love you, Tippy. We'll look for you on the moon.
...
(Thanks to Bill Simmons for the moon idea. See http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/090122)
