E is for Eulogy

 

Mr. Harvey Jones, Jr., my fluffy boy

2002? - 3/5/2010

It is with a heavy heart and red, puffy eyes that I blog today.  I sadly inform you that we had to put our kitty to sleep this morning.  I came down to make breakfast, and he wasn't there waiting for me.  I found Harvey stuck in his litterbox because he no longer had use of his back legs.  John rushed him to the emergency vet and I soon followed.  The vet told us that Harvey apparently had a heart murmur, and his age had caused his heart to fail.  This threw a blood clot into his veins that lodged in an artery and shut off blood to his back legs.  The prognosis wasn't good and they said it was painful for him as well.  With strenuous fluids & medicine, he had about a 5-10% chance of recovering the use of his legs.  If the treatment didn't kill him, and if he recovered, he would need lots of physical therapy and home care for the rest of his life.  It was a lot of "ifs" and a lot of pain for him, so we made the hard decision.  We buried him in a sunny spot so his old bones would be warm.

(L) The Men-folk are bonding.  (R) "What? You mean you didn't get this extra bed for me?"

All I can say is that we will miss him terribly.  He was *MY* cat, not my family's, and I love him.  I only got 18months with him, but he will always be the one for me.  Two summers ago, just as I moved out here to the mountains, John's family found one of their outdoor cats badly beaten up and infected.  They took him to the vet, saw the worst case of earmites ever, and found out he had FIV (feline AIDS).  The vet was reluctant to treat a "stray," but John's parents insisted that he get well again.  If you remember, 2008 was the release of The Dark Knight, and John's family laughingly said that the cat looked like "Old Two-Face" Harvey Dent because his face was split open on one side.  Somehow the name stuck.  Harvey was recuperating in the garage when I moved in.  I instantly saw a kitty that need loving and introduced him to the wonders of head-rubbin's and a brush.  I spent a lot of time in that garage that summer.  When he no longer smelled like a toilet (he was pretty infected and gross), I moved him into our apartment and refused to release him back into the yard.  John would open the door for him and try to shoo him back outside, but my feminine charms were too strong for Harvey.  He would sit and look out into the yard, sometimes he'd go visit with the other kitties, but he always came back (I might have called him back a few times).

 

(L) Grey Momma, Handsome Kitty, Mangy Kitty, and Harvey.  He's so pretty compared to the outdoor kitties.  (R) Harvey officially deciding he likes it inside!

Harvey quickly adapted to life in the apartment, developed a love a strings, and added a little something to our lives with his squeaky purr and bald spot (the fur never grew back fully on his face from his original injury). We laughed that we had to keep him because he was so defective, no one else would want him.  But the truth is, I would have him no other way.  Every little thing about him was special and made him mine, from his missing teeth, to his toe fluff, to his curly tail.

Oddly enough, for a knitter I had little trouble convincing him that he had "his strings" and I had mine.  I made him several "yarn monsters" that he was allowed to chase around the house, and he was content with them.  He also knew that when I was playing with my strings, he was not allowed in my lap (but he sure could squeeze into the small area next to me on the couch, see below).  I have yet to meet a cat that can differentiate between his strings and mine and won't make a mess of your knitting.

And let's not forget the itchy skin episode where he was put in a t-shirt for several months.  What cat do you know would tolerate being in a shirt?!?  I told you I had the best cat ever.  I think he knew how lucky he was living inside with me, a self-proclaimed Crazy Cat Lady.  He just wanted to be with you and to share some loving.  That was enough to make him happy.  Even John slowly came over to Team Harvey, though he was not initially up for having a cat in the house.  He was my mellow, cuddle-boy, and he could worm his way into your lap and your heart fairly easily. 

(L) "Fine, don't move over on the couch.  See if I care.  I'll sit up here.  No, really, I'm fine.  I like it up here."  (R) "Ooooooh, I love belly rubs! More please!"

 If you are reading this, turn around right now and hug those that you love.  Harvey was fine (if underweight) these past few days, and we had no idea that our time with him was so short.  Not to sound trite, but life moves quickly and we don't really know how fortunate we are to have somebody that loves us, whether they leave the seat up, shed on your clothes, or dig in your flower garden.  Be nice to the people and the fuzzies you love; you don't know how long you have with them.

R.I.P, Mr. Jones.  I will always love you.