This is my favorite photo of Ophelia, who was the second cat who came into my life. It perfectly captures her skeptical, can't be bothered, semi-surly attitude.
I hadn't intended to adopt her. I had been enjoying my first cat, Oscar, for about 6 months, and getting to understand the needs of cats and fall pretty much in love with the species. I was at Petsmart, just looking at the animals waiting to be adopted while I was on a shopping trip for pet supplies, and there was a sickly looking little black kitten huddled in the back of a cage at about chest height. The other animals were interacting, or at least attempting to get attention in some way, but the little black kitten with a dull coat did not. She had a leaky eye, with some kind of drainage going down one side of her face. She really looked fairly sickly. I asked about her because I couldn't imagine that anyone else would.
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| Kitten Ophelia |
"Oh," the Petsmart employee told me, "she's fine, but she's not been handled much. Her mother and siblings were eaten by a coyote, but a dog chased the coyote off and this kitten stayed under the porch with the dog - they had a terrible time catching her. She loves dogs but doesn't want much to do with people." The kitten didn't really look at me; she had been through trauma and was now on display, and there was no way someone was going to adopt a shy, sickly looking all black kitten. So of course I did; I could not bear to leave her there, so obviously uncomfortable, alone and in need.
There was one catch - my husband did not want a second cat. I knew that because I had pitched the idea of a second cat and been shot down. So, I couldn't adopt her, really - and I had to come up with a plan, because she was not going to be left there.
Oscar was a black cat and not much bigger - so if I brought this one home, and they weren't in the same room at the same time, then my husband would probably not notice. I could get the kitten socialized to people and adopt her out to someone else. I would just sort of foster her, really, and get her a good home as soon as possible but get her out of the cage now, and on the mend. She just needed a little TLC and she could pass for Oscar for sure. I mean, she had a full tail and he has a little bob tail, but my husband was not terribly observant of those types of details so I thought I could pull it off. I just needed a few weeks - a month tops.
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| Ophelia snuggled into Oscar |
I couldn't very well bring in a cat carrier and fly under the radar, so when I got home, I took her out of the cardboard carrier and tucked her in my purse. I was bringing home a pizza for dinner and my husband was wondering what was taking so long so he came out to the driveway. I was standing next to my car, pizza in hand, when a meow came from my purse. He looked at me and asked if the purse just made a sound. "No, I don't think so." I coughed. More meows. Eventually I had to come clean. I explained the temporary nature of the arrangement. He didn't believe me. I had the best of intentions though, I really did. I had to give her a name – even if it was a temporary arrangement - and she needed one that was slightly formal, with a slight air of detachment, yet feminine. She was delicate and yet also aloof. She seemed like an Ophelia to me; it was the first name I thought fit her and it stuck.
When I took her to the vet to get treatment for the leaky eye, I found out that in addition, she also had ringworm. The vet told me to isolate her and that if I didn’t, we could all get it – the two humans, the dog (Callie) and Oscar (cat). I thought Ophelia had been through enough and I did not want to isolate her for another two weeks; I thought her window of socialization was already closing. I was not putting her back in a box having just gotten her out of one; her emotional and mental health were more important than a little ringworm the rest of us might have to tolerate. I told my husband that we might all get ringworm and if we did, would deal with it, because Ophelia could not be isolated – she needed to start integrating. I had to get special medicine made and give it to her for a few weeks, and she really hated it. She mostly hid behind the washing machine and it was a tremendous effort to get her medicated; she was a reluctant patient. She would need more than a few weeks, clearly, to get comfortable with people. We did not get ringworm.
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| Ophelia and Callie |
She napped with Oscar, and she really loved Callie, our Aussie. Callie was her protector – she felt safe to venture out when Callie was present. She was never the kind of cat that liked to climb high up – she preferred to be close to the ground, ideally under or behind something until she chose to come out. She did not love us, initially - that took a long time. However, she would sit on a cabinet and look at us from across the room, and she would let us pet her at feeding time.
Despite best efforts, she did not warm up to people and it was clear that I was going to have a hard time adopting her out as I had planned. It was taking her months to trust us, and I couldn’t face putting her through a re-home – she was just getting settled in. One evening we had salmon for dinner. Ophelia watched us closely and then ventured bravely onto the table, where she began to eat the salmon skin. She ate and ate and ate and we watched her, laughing, as her tiny kitten tummy became stretched out like a gourd. She was a character. As she slowly came to trust us, she seemed to ask little of the world except for safety, and having finally seen her begin to feel safe, I couldn’t take that from her. She would have to stay, there was just no way around it; I knew for sure that evening. Or maybe I had known for a long time and I admitted it to myself that evening. It was nearly two decades ago so I can’t be sure; I do know that I loved her before she loved me, and that both happened that first six months together.
When we adopted a second dog, Simon, Ophelia viewed him as “hers.” She snuggled with him, she groomed him every day, she licked his face and rubbed her cheeks on his chin. She curled up with him on his bed. When we lost Simon to cancer after eight years, she mourned him for almost six months, curled up on his bed, where she had last been with him, bereft. I could not console her; I could never offer her the same comfort a dog did. I understood that; people could never offer me the same comfort animals did. It made perfect sense to me.
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| Ophelia and Simon |
We took in an elderly black lab, Mollie, and Ophelia and Mollie would lay together looking out the front door and napping in the sun. For a couple of years, they shared afternoon naps like that, until Mollie could no longer get up on her own, and another dog friend passed out of Ophelia’s life. We had numerous foster dogs over the years and Ophelia was fine with all dogs. She was less keen on the foster cats and kittens, giving us a “you’ve GOT to be kidding” look in disgust. She didn’t fight with other cats, nor did she bond with them.
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| Ophelia and old Mollie |
She wanted to make friends with our latest adopted dog, Dylan, who came in December 2017. Ophelia tried all her favorite tricks of rubbing on him and curling along him and grooming his face, but he never took to it. I wish I could have convinced him to be her friend, but he remained uninterested.
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| Dylan didn't want to be her friend |
Ophelia liked to play outside and to nap in the sun. She learned to hunt mice, and was very proud of herself when she caught one. Some afternoons I watched her hunt with the other cats, clearly working together. Usually she worked alone though. She always came in at night when called, she wasn’t one of the straglers who wanted nighttime adventure. Once she decided I could be her human, I could hold her and pick her up and touch her and she could curl up on my lap or – but she wasn’t interested in anyone else. It was a privilege to be her person; I felt honored that I’d earned her trust and that she was happy laying against me. For those who have been through a trauma, of any species, getting to the point of being able to take comfort from the presence of another creature is such a win.
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| The victorious hunter above her kill |
Pet-sitters hated the fact that Ophelia was hard to see; if you were feeding her for a week, you would be lucky to get a fleeting glimpse of her once or twice. When we got back from a trip, she was always the last one to come out and “check in,” slow to believe that we were back home and her life could return to normal. One memorable pet sitter freaked me out by saying he had seen all four cats, when we had five! Ophelia was that good at hiding.
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| Relaxing |
With multiple cats, I wanted to make sure they all had individual attention. Ophelia got into the habit of crawling in bed with me in the morning, on my pillow, and curling up in a ball against one of my ears. She also liked to nap with me, on the rare days I was sick or laying in bed, she liked to curl up next to me in a ball. She was happy to be on the bed while I was reading or on my laptop too, and she often shared the bed without objection with a few other cats and/or dogs. We had our small routines, and although they changed over time, there was always at least a couple “Ophelia” parts of my day.
She was like the classic middle child – she was one of several cats, not the first and not the last – not the strongest personality, but not lost in the shuffle. She didn’t choose to fight many battles; she wasn’t on the top or on the bottom of the pecking order.
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| Ophelia rejecting the Seattle apartment |
When I worked in Seattle, I thought she might like to come to the city with me. I thought she might enjoy having an apartment to herself and having me to herself each night, after having to share all the time. She didn’t enjoy the plane or the train to get there, and she didn’t enjoy the apartment. At night she cuddled a bit and then roamed the entire apartment, calling out – for what I don’t know. I think she missed the dogs and the other cats. We were together for 2 weeks in Seattle but I knew it wouldn’t work – I wasn’t comfortable with her in the apartment alone while I was at work, and I knew I could not leave her alone while I commuted back to Boise, nor could I make her endure planes and trains twice a week with me. She also did not enjoy having to evacuate 16 stories for a fire drill and sit with me in the rain. So it was a very brief, failed experiment to make her my Seattle companion – the one long visit was enough.
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| Professional Christmas Photo |
For a few years, I had her photo taken at Christmas, as part of a fundraiser my cat vet did – because I enjoyed seeing the way her personality came through and how it compared to the other cats in their photos. It is so hard to capture a black cat on film; I had a few professionals take it on along the way. I am very grateful that I did, that I have some photos that capture her beautiful, shiny medium coat, thicker than the other cats, and her green eyes and round face. I have good photos to remember her by, and though I sympathize that she did not like having her photo taken, I don’t regret the few times I asked it of her.
She hated going to the vet so much she usually peed in her cat carrier on the way. I felt bad for her, but she wasn’t allowed to miss annual exams. Mostly, she was healthy – a few minor health issues across 17.5 years. Like most old cats, in the end she had a few regular medications, but she was still getting around fine and enjoying her life…though she found it harder to maintain her coat and had a little arthritis, she did very well. I tried to pick up the slack on grooming when she couldn’t; I bought her expensive chewable meds so she didn’t have to take pills. |
| Non-professional Xmas pix |
A few years ago she stopped going outside except for a few warm days, just a couple times a year. I don’t know if she couldn’t see as well or hear as well, but she just wasn’t comfortable venturing out much anymore. She chose to keep her world a bit smaller than it had been. She still went out now and then, but honestly I can’t recall her last outing – sometime in the summer? Fall? She was always given the option but I don’t remember with clarity when she last went out.
Early in the pandemic, I got her a heated bed because I noticed that she was spending less time in her favorite cat bed and trading it for one of the heated beds, or snoozing on my heating pad when it was still warm. I added a heated bed to her favorite spot, and after she got over her initial skepticism (she was always skeptical of all new things!), she loved it.  |
| Enjoying throwing her life away |
I’m very grateful that I worked from home most of the last 9 months, and was with Ophelia every day. She was fine at her last annual exam about 6 months ago, though it was hard for her to have to be alone, I’m sure, instead of have me with her at the vet. She didn’t always finish every meal and began to lose a little weight, so I offered her more flavors and tried to convince her to eat. A couple of weeks ago, her appetite fell off more significantly. She otherwise seemed fine. I tried an appetite stimulant; it didn’t help. I tried some special high calorie cat food, and she liked it, but would only eat a tiny bit, so I knew it was time to take her in to see what was wrong. I wanted to get her in before the long holiday weekend for the New Year.
I was not expecting the news on New Year’s Eve that she had developed two large tumors in her abdomen, one a tennis ball size and one a golf ball size. Extremely likely to be cancer, and likely to be advanced enough that basically, this was the end. Her regular vet was not on duty, so although I was glad Ophelia could be seen, it was hard to hear the news from a stranger, and over the phone, since I had to drop her off, thanks to Covid. The vet suggested I make plans to let her go within the week – if not immediately. After all the years of making sure she had consistent vet care so we could be prepared in the end and both have a doctor we trusted and knew to deal with the end of life, it did not work out that way. I was grateful that the vet was there, but on top of everything else it was a bit harder to process the news that it would have been from our long time vet. In a pandemic you have to be grateful for what you have though, and I sincerely do appreciate that the vet got her in on short notice and took the time to talk to me, and to give me a few minutes to process the news before deciding what to do.
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| Sharing a plate with Maisey |
I wanted to be with her in the end, as I know that she is comforted by my presence and afraid of strangers. This is pretty hard to arrange with Covid protocols. We ended up having a vet come to the house on New Year’s day; it turned out to be the same vet that came to help Simon, “Ophelia’s dog,” depart bout 8 years ago. The last week of her life, Ophelia had taken to sitting most of the time in a large overstuffed chair upstairs. It was the same chair that I used to sit beside my dad in when I was little, while he read me stories and taught me my colors. I called it “the story reading chair” as a kid, and it has always been a part of my life. I have held all the animals in it, and they seem to take comfort in it as I do. Although she had not spent a lot of time there, suddenly it became her favorite. Last weekend I had brushed her as she lay in that chair, for a long time – long enough that I knew she was not feeling well, as she didn’t’ protest as much as normal.
On the last day of her life, in the last hour, she lay in that chair and I sat on the floor to spend our last time together face to face. Her coat was getting dull and her eyes were getting dim, and I knew it was time, and that I didn’t want her to suffer a painful death from a cancerous tumor rupturing, or just waste away with no quality of life, suffering. I held it together, until she got up and stretched, and then came over and head butted me in the way she liked to do, bumping her head and chin into mine with surprising force, and her small voice. I don’t have any way of knowing if she was really saying goodbye, or just saying “Hi, mom” as she had a million times over the past couple of decades. It broke me this time; I will never forget how her cheek feels like silk, how I can feel her voice in her jawbone, how her whiskers are slightly rough after the softness of her fur, how her eyes are so steady and deliberate as she marks me as “her person.” She had a last bite of food; she laid in my lap a last time as I heard the vet pull up. |
| Thanksgiving (many years ago!) |
We needed to be outside for the euthanasia (Covid protocols), so we used a table in the back yard, which is familiar to her and not a strange vet table. It was cold out, but we put heated bags filled with corn or rice on the table to make it warm for her, under a blanket. There was not much I could do to comfort her except make sure she was warm and I was with her in the last moments. I was able to carry her outside, and rub her chin with an outstretched hand while the vet put her to sleep. The vet arranged it so that we were six feet apart, or very nearly so, and masked, and outside, so we could both be safe. I was so, so grateful I could have my hand on Ophelia’s head and she could smell me there with her until the last second; I had thought I might have to stand a few feet farther back and keep talking so she could hear me and know I was there. I did not entertain the possibility of having her put down in a vet’s office without me – she did not deserve to leave that way, and I think the final act of kindness every animal deserves is to be with family as they go, absent an emergency or circumstances that prevent it. I could not give her much comfort in the end – hopefully being warm and with her person was a small comfort.
Although we lost Nadia in 2018, I was not home at the time – my husband was with her, and I was not. So, I had never seen a cat put to sleep before, only dogs. I was glad that she did not suffer, and that she died peacefully. I am grateful that I knew when it was time and that I could be with her, as hard as it was to say goodbye.  |
| Sharing the bed (she got the pillow) |
I had one cat when Ophelia came, then eventually three came after her, so she was one of five most of her life. For the last few years she was back to one of four, and now with her passing, I am down to three cats. I think that means I have gone into “crazy cat lady” territory and come back again, but then, no doubt some people still consider three “crazy” territory. I did my best to make sure that regardless of how many animals she shared her home with, she had “her” dish, “her” bed, “her” space – I watched her preferences and knew her likes and dislikes. I tried to listen to her when she was upset about something, and figure out what she was trying to tell me – small things, like a cat was blocking her path outside, or she wanted in, or wanted to lie in the patch of sun and not be bothered.
I can’t help but wonder though, if she was really happy – if she had the best life she could have had. She was always slightly grumpy and slightly fearful; maybe I was not the best home she could have had. I truly tried to do right by her, and she was loved. There were times when we were both half asleep, and she had her back curled against my face while I rubbed her tummy, and I know we were both at peace and happy in those moments. I hope her life had enough of those moments. She was so shy, that I know I am the only one that will miss her – I am the only one she was herself around.
I do miss her. My cantankerous little cat, who only did things her own way.
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| That unmistakable look.... |
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