A Hole in our Home, and in our Hearts

Four summers ago, a scraggly, sick, more-than-half-starved black cat half-walked, half-crawled into the back yard.

Friday, she left our home for the last time.

We made the difficult decision Friday to put Lenny to sleep. I did not expect to have to make this decision so soon, or so suddenly.

This is what you sign up for when you take a pet. Their lives, their well-being, are all up to you. It is the responsibility you get for the reward of companionship and love.

And, oh, were we rewarded by Lenny.

In July of 2006, we saw a scrawny black cat walking around our yard and the yard next door. A while later, John looked out the back window and saw her lying in the grass. He approached her, and, when she did not jump up and bolt, knew she wasn't well. He got her into the screened-in porch to get her out of the sun and gave her some water. She was almost too weak to stand up and drink.

Avon Lake police let us know about Love-A-Stray, a local rescue organization. We called them, and John went over and got a carrier, some cat food, flea spray, a litter box and some litter to get us through the night. They also hooked us up with one of their vets, who, upon examining Lenny, said she was a very sick cat, in a tone of voice that plainly said, "Don't get too attached." It turned out she was a geriatric cat, probably somewhere between 12 and 14 at that time. She was hyperthyroid, severely underweight and malnourished.

We were able to get her back to health. Love-A-Stray asked us to foster her, but I knew that if the cat stayed, she was staying for good. With her age and health, we thought she'd be with us maybe a year or so. But whatever time she was with us, she was going to be loved and cared for.

We got lucky. We had four good years with her. 

Lenny was never playful. Toys weren't her thing. She liked organic catnip toys my sister got her, laying blissfully stoned behind the rocking chair in the living room after long sessions of licking the toys.

She was given the name Lenny because she reminded us of John's favorite character on "Law & Order," Lennie Briscoe. Like Jerry Orbach's character, Lenny was always poking her nose in things and generally had something to say.

Lenny liked to eat, but, thanks to her hyperthyroidism, kept her dainty figure. Stinky fishy wet food? NOM. Crunchy treats? NOM. Whatever Mom and Dad are eating? NOM.

One of her favorite activities was drinking from the bathroom sinks. Water in a bowl would do fine in a pinch, but running water ... oh, yeah, baby! She'd drink herself sick if I let her. In the morning, if I wasn't moving fast enough to wake up and turn on the sink for her, she was on the bed, licking my nose. If that didn't work, she'd move up to a love nip.

She liked being on our laps, but didn't like being held. A warm lap, scritches under her chin, a kiss or ten between her ears, and she was a happy girl.

She most emphatically did not like dogs. When my cousin Ray dropped by once with his little white dog Snowball, Lenny's response was profane. But my biggest fear never materialized. When John and I got married, and he brought Buckwheat here, Lenny and Buckwheat looked at each other, sniffed, went "Meh. Whatevah." and went on their ways. That's the way it remained.

What always brought a smile to my face was to see her with John. Before Lenny, he had proclaimed he was a reptile guy and had no use for cats. But he is the one who eventually took over the daily pilling after she saw through the Pill Pocket scam. His experience with Buckwheat made him the lead Lenny-bather, which led to the hilarious Wet Lenny photos and videos. He also would indulge their mutual love of fish, sharing his smoked salmon and sushi with Lenny.

Thursday, she appeared a bit off. Her hind legs were not working properly. Knowing that could be a sign of kidney problems, I made an appointment with the vet for the next day. When Lenny looked worse when John got home from work Thursday, he immediately took her to the vet. On Friday, he was at my side, tears in his eyes, holding me while I sobbed, as we reached the heartbreaking conclusion that Lenny was too old, too sick and too weak to come back from what appeared to be a "cerebral incident" combined with the beginnings of renal failure.

This decision had always scared me. I'd never had to make it. And there's no going back from it. I doubted myself, I challenged every point, I asked myself what would happen if we just snatched her up and brought her home. But when the vet said that Lenny could be stabilized, but would likely not improve much if at all, the moment everyone I knew who had walked this path had told me about had come. We just knew.

The thought of Lenny spending what time she had left -- six months, a year? -- anything like what she'd been the previous 24 hours ... we couldn't bear it. Watching her walk into walls, walk in circles, walk into her water and wet food bowls, unable to acknowledge us if we were right next to her calling her name, it was shattering.

Just as Dr. Petti took Lenny out of the examining room to be given the initial sedation before the final injection, Lenny gave us a sign. She had been passive and spacey all through the examination. But then she hissed at Dr. Petti, just as she did at every visit when she'd had enough weighing and eye-checking and blood-drawing. It was a reminder of who Lenny had been, and would never fully be again. It was time to let her go.

The people at Avon Lake Animal Clinic, Lenny's medical home most of these four years, were amazing and kind. After bringing her back in from the sedation, they gave us all the time we needed to say our goodbyes.I was able to thank her for the last four years, sing her a last lullaby, kiss her head over and over, and tell her how much I love her and how much I'm going to miss her. The end was quick and gentle. And the staff made a plaster impression of Lenny's paw prints for us as a memento of her.

I was blessed yesterday as friends sent e-mails and posted online messages of love and support. My mom called on her lunch break, and I had to break the sad news to her. I'm glad she and Dad and my sister got to see Lenny one last time this past weekend when they came to visit.

Now we begin life without Lenny. I took one step yesterday, removing her litter box and cleaning up that area, and washing and putting away the water and food bowls. I'll be gathering the remaining wet food and litter to be donated to Love-A-Stray to help other cats like Lenny.

There are painful reminders of her absence. I noted to myself last night that our bedroom door could be open or shut now, because Lenny wasn't going to be coming in at night to jump on the bed. I can keep the door to the garage open now when I unload the groceries without fear that she'll get out. And my mornings after John leaves will be very quiet without Lenny demanding I get up and turn on the sink.

Yep, we're going to miss that girl.

Comments

[Lisa]

So very sorry for your loss. It's never easy. You gave Lenny a wonderful four years, you should be very proud of that.

[Janet]

Oh Melissa, I'm so sorry...Lenny and her many escapades will be missed. Pets may come and go in our lives, but they are never forgotten. Hope Buckwheat is doing OK.