I stopped writing this blog a while ago because M discovered it and I wasn't comfortable with the girls reading what I was writing. However, just because this blog started off as a way to me to journal my adventures with The Curly Girly Trio doesn't mean it has to stay that way. They are old enough now to read my thoughts and know that Moms have things they need to get out too.
A Patchwork Heart (AKA Losing Luna)
10 months ago we adopted two 4 month old tortoise shell kitties who were sisters. We named them Ginny and Luna and they quickly found their way into our hearts. We loved watching them play together, tease our dog, and sit on us. They were wonderful additions to our family and brought us so much love and laughter. Luna was always super little and we just assumed she was the runt of the litter. She never let her size stop her and she was the one who was bravest with our big brute of a dog. A few weeks ago I noticed that she hadn't been eating and was losing weight. She still ate her tuna flavored treats so I assumed she no longer liked the chicken flavored food and bought her a bunch of different brands of tuna flavored food. She loved it! Ginny loved it too, even though Ginny needed no help in the weight department. For about 2 weeks she ate the new food and it always made my heart swell when I saw her eating. I had visions of her gaining weight and figured this time next year we'd be reminiscing back to when she was so tiny. Last week B and I noticed Luna looked like she was losing weight again. She was painfully thin. On Tuesday night B told me it looked like Luna had stopped eating again. I called the vet Wednesday morning and got Luna an appointment for Thursday morning. Wednesday night, B put out a bowl of the tuna flavored cat treats Luna loved so much and Luna sniffed at them, but didn't eat them. B and I looked at each other and I said, "I hope she's ok." Luna spent the night under my bed and every once in a while she'd emit a very pitiful cry. Every time I heard it I'd simultaneously feel sad and scared that she was crying, but happy because the cry meant she was still alive. Thursday morning, Luna could barely walk, and while she drank some water, she still refused food. I took her to the vet and hoped and prayed it would be something fixable. I dropped her off (the vet is still doing drop offs only because COVID). I was driving home and the Vet Tech called and said, "The vet would like to talk to you and your husband together." My stomach lurched and I replied, "I'm still on my way home, can you please have her call The Doctor on his cell phone?" I drove home as quickly but safely as I could and raced upstairs as soon as I turned off the car. Just as I entered The Doctor's office he was hanging up the phone,
"That was the vet, right? What did she say?" I asked, shakily.
"It's not good news," he replied gravely.
He explained to me that Luna was jaundiced and in liver failure and kidney failure.
"How?" I asked. "Why?"
He said the vet wasn't sure of the cause, it could be leukemia or another cancer, it could be something congenital, she just wasn't sure.
"We have to put her down?" I asked softly.
"We do," he said softly.
"Can it wait until L is finished with drama camp today?" I asked.
"I asked that," he replied. "The vet said she doesn't think Luna will make it that long. We need to get over there right now."
"Oh my G-D," I cried.
After I got out all of my tears in that moment, we called B and M into the office and told them. M burst into tears. B got teary eyed.
We left the house and The Doctor and B went to the vet while M and I drove to the drama camp to pick up L. Thankfully the drama camp is in the plaza right across the street from the vet's office so we didn't have to go too far. I called the director of the camp on the way over and she said she'd get L when we got there.
We walked in and saw L was in her costume, getting ready to go on stage. She saw us, immediately put her hands to her mouth and turned away. The director called her over and I broke the news to her. She burst into tears. She left the camp in her costume and jazz shoes and we went over to the vet.
The vet told us Luna's exact diagnosis was FIP. Feline Infectious Peritonitis. The lining of the stomach gets inflamed. It can be caused by a mutation of a coronavirus that initially presents itself as a respiratory infection. When we first got Luna she did sneeze sometimes, but it didn't last too long and since Ginny never sneezed we didn't think anything of it. Looking back now, that was probably the culprit. FIP is fatal and even if we had caught it a few months ago, she still would have had to be put down.
I'll spare you the details of saying goodbye. There were lots of tears and kisses, and tears and pets, and tears and more kisses. Luna was not Luna and we knew it was time to let her go. After she crossed the rainbow bridge L said, "I really don't want to go back to camp."
"I know you don't, but you have too. The show must go on," I said hoarsely.
"I know, but I won't be able to have energy on stage," she cried. "How can I go back out there knowing Luna is gone?"
I stood in front of her, put my hands on her shoulders and said, "Because in this room you are L, but on that stage you are The White Rabbit. You can be L at lunch and after camp, but when you walk back into the theater you become your character. That's what actors do."
She nodded her head, dried her eyes, and blew her nose.
"Ok," she said. "I'm ready to go back.
I pulled The Doctor aside and said, "I'm going to take M with me. Can you please make sure B is ok? She isn't really crying and I'm concerned she's hiding her feelings."*
M and I took L back to camp where the camp director met her at the door and helped her cope with her feelings. The last thing I said to L before she went in was, "I know you're sad, but I need you to stay because I'm driving the carpool home this afternoon." I'm not alway the most nurturing.
On our way home I said to M, "I have a Luna shaped hole in my heart."
"Yeah," said M. "So do I."
"You know, the hole won't always be this deep," I said. "It won't ever get filled up, but it will fill up with a slightly different color and texture, so we'll always know it's there, but it won't always hurt."
"Like patchwork," M said. "It's like every hole that's ever formed in your heart gets filled with a different kind of material, so while the holes are filled, they're still kind of there."
"A patchwork heart," I said. "I like that idea."
I started thinking about all the patchwork holes in my heart. We have never had a cat live past 7. Luna is the youngest we have ever lost, but we seem to get kitties who develop cancer at a youngish age. I can't figure it out, but I'd like to think it's the Universe's way of telling us we are meant to care for sick kitties because of the love we have for them. I remember each and every one of them and like losing a human family member, the pain never truly goes away. It definitely lessens as the hole is patched up, but you know it's still there.
It's so sad to think about a heart that has so many patchwork pieces in it, but you know what? I wouldn't trade those patchwork pieces for anything. Each piece is a piece of my heart that loved a sweet kitty deeply.
M.C. (who was actually 12 when he died. He was The Doctor's parents' cat that we fostered while they were deployed in Italy). Spunky. Oliver. Sophie. And now Luna. Sweet little Luna who was the least catty cat we have ever had. Luna with her beautiful checkerboard mouth and black nose, except for the smallest sliver of pink. Luna who let us kiss her directly on her nose and mouth and never backed away. Luna who let us pick her up and carry her anywhere. My sweet Looney-Tuney. We didn't have you long, but we loved you fiercely and you will always be remembered as one of the greatest cats of all time.
I keep feeling so silly for being this upset but Luna made such a special mark on our lives and even though we still have Ginny and Linus (the dog) the house feels a little less full, a little less happy, a lot less Luna.
*When I got home, The Doctor told me he spoke to B and B told him she knew Luna was dying on Wednesday night. She spent about an hour with her saying her goodbyes and crying because she was worried Luna wouldn't be alive on Thursday morning. B is very intuitive so I'm not surprised by this at all.
