If you’ve been reading this humble little blog (both of you), you’ll know about my puppycat, Hope. Check-up after check-up, our little ball of soft fur and love was pronounced to have the health of a dog half her age. She filled our lives and our home when there were no little ones, or big ones for that matter, to keep us occupied. The boys had grown and had lives of their own. Babies were just beginning to fill the next generation. We got her as a puppy, just shy of eight weeks, and the first thing she did was try to die on us. Gastroenteritis in a little one so young and so tiny can be fatal. So, the first week with Hope was filled with animal hospital care. She got better, of course. Otherwise, what would be the point of this posting.
Weekends were special for her because we were both home. She had to greet us in the morning with snuggles and tail wags and belly rubs. First one, then the other. She grew especially attached to Gini and quickly became her little white shadow. And she loved loved loved to go for rides. We would sometimes take a drive just so she could go. She always rode in her soft crate, was never confortable having free reign in the car. When she was youger she would jump right in and get in her crate.
Her last annual appointment was typical. At the age of 12 she had the health of a 7 year old. Then January came, and we noticed she was having trouble eating and some other things. We had her tested for Cushings disease, and were thankful when the results came back negative. The doctor had mentioned some dental issues so once we got the test results back we scheduled her for a tooth extraction. She was eating on one side of her mouth. We dropped her off as always and went home to wait for the call to come get her. That call came sooner than expected. After they put her under and opened her mouth to begin, the doc noticed some tumors on her tongue. Not good. She biopsied some and sent it out for testing. We picked up our puppycat and proceeded to worry. The tests came back positive for carcinoma..... inoperable.... she had about three months. We were not ready; not even close. We proceeded to care for Hope, making her food from scratch, wiping the drool from her face and mouth, watching her move slower and slower. She could no longer get her tongue out of her mouth, so doggy kisses were over. She began to get sick from the mucosal buildup, about once a day in the last few weeks. Still, she had more happy moments than bad.... until she didn’t.
For the past month or so, she all but demanded to ride when Gini took me to work. She just put her head down and headed out the door with us. No more jumping in the van, though. She waited patiently for me to pick her up and put her in the crate, then she’d settle down and enjoy her ride.
This past Saturday, June 29th, She woke up not interested in food. She got up with me and laid close by, looking at me with a haunted look. Her breathing was labored. I was going to go to the van to get something, and she padded with me to head out the door. So we went out and walked around the yard. Gini joined us, and we watched as our beloved puppycat rolled around on the grass scratching her back. But she couldn’t for long. She had to get up and try to get sick to get the junk out of her mouth and lungs. She was in pain. Enough that when I went into the house to get something, Gini was moved to tears watching her. Hope was weak. She was in so much pain. And she just didn’t have any interest in moving around. The haunted look was deeper. There had a new tumor on the side of her neck. A hard lump. The cancer had spread. It was too much. She did not walk to the van this time. I had to carry her. When I put her in the crate, she whined from discomfort, but lay down and was quiet for the ride to the vet. I hate this part. The part you know is coming. I’m going to skip the details.
They brought her out to us in a very nice little box coffin with her name on it. I carried our little puppycat, our Hope, now 13 and never to get older, out to the van. I put her in her crate, and we drove home. Her last ride.
An angel sits watch over her next to the step out front. We’re still experiencing firsts without her, and coming home has lost some of it’s joy. No happy little bundle coming to greet us with a wagging butt and a scamper between us. No morning kisses. No expectant look for treats before I head to work. No Hope.
I think the hardest part is going to bed. She's not waiting for me on the back of the couch to pick her sleepy puppy self up and carry her to the bed. She's not curling up next to me, or between my legs. She's not digging an imaginary hole to sleep in. I don't hear her breathing or feel her little heartbeat against my back. My throat is tight, my eyes are filled, and my heart is breaking again.
I miss my puppycat.
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
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