Yesterday was a sad day. We lost one of our own, a very
special pear-shaped boy named Spanky. He was four years old.
Spanky’s story began in Bowling Green, Ohio. My human found
him and three of his siblings under a bush in the heart of winter, wrapped in a towel and nearly dead.
Bundling them into her coat, she went home and put them under a hairdryer to
try and warm them up. Spanky and his Maine Coon brother, Kiszka, survived. My
human fed them every two hours for weeks while I adjusted to them, peeking into
their box and coveting their heat pad. When she weaned them, I helped teach
them how to use the litterbox and what manners were. Spanky and his brother flourished,
going through college with us and charming everyone they met. He loved going out
on his leash to university group functions, and would greet everyone with head
bumps and loud meows.
Spanky greeted every new foster and member of the family with an open heart. He loved to play with the new kittens, and cause mischief among the older fosters. He would help my human and I litter-train the new kittens, and cuddled with them at night when they cried.
Spanky was always ready for a car ride, co-piloting from my human's lap or keeping an eye out the back for the cars behind. He loved tuna juice from the can and goat's milk, and would proclaim his willingness to partake in either very vocally. He and his brother remained inseparable, following each other and sleeping together, commiserating in the Halloween and Xmas sweaters my human foisted on them. My human could proudly proclaim that Spanky never went a day in his life not knowing how important he was.
An unexpected move to San Diego from Cleveland a year ago put a difficult
situation before my human and I. She chose to leave the boys behind with her
mother, taking Selphie and I with her. I adjusted to the smaller family more
quickly than she did, though I enjoyed the pictures of Spanky she sometimes
received just as much. My human would hide her guilt at leaving them behind from me, but being a cat I understand quite a bit more than she does.
Spanky had a urinary blockage a month ago, alongside an
antibiotic-resistant strain of bacteria infecting his urinary tract. He was
eventually taken to an emergency vet, given care, and sent home a few days
later with strong antibiotics. When my human visited him only three days ago,
she was appalled to find him thin, sickly, and in pain. He was soon after
diagnosed with another blockage, and labeled as in deathly condition.
My human spent all last night talking to me about it. I cuddled with
her and let her know I was there with purrs and a paw on the arm. She explained everything to me in tears.
My human’s mother hadn’t been able to afford the vet bills.
Neither had my human. She tried to divert moving and retirement funds, but
found it was only enough to cover the one night’s emergency vet visit. She
couldn’t afford to pay for the surgery to remove the urinary blockage. She
tried to apply for Care Credits and was denied that, as well. She spoke to the
vet but was unable to arrange a payment plan, since it was not something the
clinic offered.
Spanky was in dire condition, but could be saved and lead a
happy, healthy life. He would need special food, and there was always a chance
of another blockage, but no reason physically to euthanize him except to end
the present suffering and spare him the painful recovery of an invasive
surgery. None of these were good reasons for my human. Stuck in a horrible
situation, she couldn’t prevent the worst. Her mother put her on speaker phone
and let her talk to Spanky for a few minutes before calling in the vet. She
told him how much she loved him until the end, hoping her voice would comfort
him and remind him of how special and loved he was.
My human will never get past the guilt of knowing she couldn’t
afford to care for her baby; she went back on a promise she made while dancing
with him in her arms in her living room, singing to him. She promised to always
love him and take care of him. Money, not her resolve, kept her from her
promise.
She has this to say to fellow crazy cat-lovers: love your
babies, take lots of pictures and never miss a chance to remind them how much
you care for them. Build a fund for
them, get them health insurance, because illness can hit quickly and repeatedly. All the love in the world
can’t pay a vet bill, and the guilt is both permanent and bone-deep.
Spanky was well-loved, cherished the moment he was found and
was never given the opportunity to forget it. He came into our home with lullabies,
and left softly with the same. He will never be forgotten, and he will never be
considered ‘just a cat’. He was my brother and my human's baby, and a member of the family as thoroughly as any human. Spanky gave us comfort and joy, laughter and a reason
to persevere, and eased our way through many of life’s tragedies.
Rest in peace, Spanky. We love you, always and forever.
