Miss Bella (~ 2015-2024)
Feb. 4th, 2024 03:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eve_primeI’ve mentioned my neighbor H. at whose home numerous cats were dumped, over the years, and which he obligingly fed with a big pile of dry food on the kitchen floor every day, and which he didn’t really bother to care for otherwise, except for one or two like Skelly, whom he loved and considered “his” cat. Samantha and Theo were two of a litter of four kittens dumped there in 2014, and nearly all of the cats I care for are descendants of Samantha, whom I got permission to spay after she had brought her final litter to eat at my porch.
Bella’s origins were different. Bella was brought to H’s house as a kitten by his granddaughter, to be “her” cat. Did that mean Bella got spayed? Not at all – like Samantha she began bearing litter after litter of kittens – Samantha had hers in the crawl space beneath the house and Bella had hers up in the attic. Bella defended hers fiercely – if you approached the house when she had kittens about, she came menacingly toward you until you backed off. Kittens. So many kittens, over the years. (Why they didn’t take care of this cat they had knowingly adopted, I don’t know. Why the little girl, who is now about 18, apparently lost all interest in her, I don’t know. Her sense of responsibility is different from my own.)
After H and his wife basically moved to southern Oregon, abandoning the other cats while waiting for his wife to get medical care, Bella started eating at my porch too. That’s how I knew exactly what day her final litter was born (Azalyn – a lynxpoint like her mama, Ambrose, and Tertius). The next time H. was in town, I got his permission to have her spayed, and we did so on January 20, 2022.
After the surgery, the vet called to say that her reproductive system was very fragile and if she’d gotten pregnant again, it probably would have killed her. Her liver also looked quite unwell; he recommended some herbal supplement, but I’d never even dared try to pick her up and certainly had no way to feed her separately from the others. So she wasn’t likely to last much longer.
She did hang on, though. She mostly lived in a basket on my porch, or in my flowerbed (even in the rain), or sometimes in a Chewy box that I’d leave outside for a few days for her, before recycling it. She wouldn’t eat the dry food at all, but was always first to the plate for the wet food, swiping at any other cat who approached her until she could begin eating. She lived much longer than we expected, really.
About two weeks ago, there came a day when she didn’t want to get out of the basket for the wet food. I put part of a can in there with her, but she shifted her body away from it, so I removed it. I thought she was done with food, but the next day she ate a bit again, and she kept going.
Today. I wasn’t entirely up for the day; I was still in my bathrobe when the doorbell rang. It was my neighbors next door; Mark had Bella draped across his extended arms, limp and unconscious. I thought at first she was dead, but her legs moved, and he explained what had happened. He’d been mowing his lawn and discovered that her head was wedged under a gate, in a gap only an inch high. Since she hadn’t shown up for the late night meal the night before, she’d probably been there more than 14 hours, and it had been down to 35 degrees that night. Her body felt cold, and she was moving her legs as if she were trying to run in her sleep, and she was holding her neck at an odd, extended angle. Poor thing.
Given her overall poor health and her mostly feral ways, it seemed the best I could do for her was warm her up and keep her company. The emergency vet wasn’t a good option; I messaged J. and he agreed. So I bundled her up in a blanket and sat on a lawn chair and held her. Gradually she got warmer, and when I constrained her legs she’d stop moving them and relax a bit. After more than an hour of that (during which I couldn’t read books, as I’d intended, because my arm was supporting her), I took her inside to J’s house and watched the next Babylon 5 episode, then I snuggled her onto my lap on the couch for a few hours, and again next to me after I’d gotten up for food.
(Ambrose and Azalyn were both inside and could tell that something was wrong. Ambrose stayed on the far side of the room all this time. Azalyn eventually came to see her and hissed gently and looked apprehensive about the whole project.)
Gradually, Bella seemed calmer and warmer. I didn’t know if she was fading away or simply getting more comfortable. It seemed plausible that she didn’t really have hypothermia and that maybe her body or brain were insisting on sleep to help her recover from the trauma. I thought maybe by morning she’d be back to her usual self.
I was wondering whether it would be better to keep her in a comfy box in J’s house or my own back bathroom, or if J’s garage would stay warm enough tonight, and J and I exchanged messages (he was at a Magic event). She seemed to wake a bit and started using her hind leg to scratch, and I began thinking about fleas. J suggested that she could spend the night in a cat carrier, and I eased my way off the couch to go look for one – but just as I did so, her muscles went stiff, and she was gone. No more breathing. Poor dear. I’m glad I was able to take good care of her for the last seven-plus hours of her life, but I wish it had never come to that in the first place.
Bella’s origins were different. Bella was brought to H’s house as a kitten by his granddaughter, to be “her” cat. Did that mean Bella got spayed? Not at all – like Samantha she began bearing litter after litter of kittens – Samantha had hers in the crawl space beneath the house and Bella had hers up in the attic. Bella defended hers fiercely – if you approached the house when she had kittens about, she came menacingly toward you until you backed off. Kittens. So many kittens, over the years. (Why they didn’t take care of this cat they had knowingly adopted, I don’t know. Why the little girl, who is now about 18, apparently lost all interest in her, I don’t know. Her sense of responsibility is different from my own.)
After H and his wife basically moved to southern Oregon, abandoning the other cats while waiting for his wife to get medical care, Bella started eating at my porch too. That’s how I knew exactly what day her final litter was born (Azalyn – a lynxpoint like her mama, Ambrose, and Tertius). The next time H. was in town, I got his permission to have her spayed, and we did so on January 20, 2022.
After the surgery, the vet called to say that her reproductive system was very fragile and if she’d gotten pregnant again, it probably would have killed her. Her liver also looked quite unwell; he recommended some herbal supplement, but I’d never even dared try to pick her up and certainly had no way to feed her separately from the others. So she wasn’t likely to last much longer.
She did hang on, though. She mostly lived in a basket on my porch, or in my flowerbed (even in the rain), or sometimes in a Chewy box that I’d leave outside for a few days for her, before recycling it. She wouldn’t eat the dry food at all, but was always first to the plate for the wet food, swiping at any other cat who approached her until she could begin eating. She lived much longer than we expected, really.
About two weeks ago, there came a day when she didn’t want to get out of the basket for the wet food. I put part of a can in there with her, but she shifted her body away from it, so I removed it. I thought she was done with food, but the next day she ate a bit again, and she kept going.
Today. I wasn’t entirely up for the day; I was still in my bathrobe when the doorbell rang. It was my neighbors next door; Mark had Bella draped across his extended arms, limp and unconscious. I thought at first she was dead, but her legs moved, and he explained what had happened. He’d been mowing his lawn and discovered that her head was wedged under a gate, in a gap only an inch high. Since she hadn’t shown up for the late night meal the night before, she’d probably been there more than 14 hours, and it had been down to 35 degrees that night. Her body felt cold, and she was moving her legs as if she were trying to run in her sleep, and she was holding her neck at an odd, extended angle. Poor thing.
Given her overall poor health and her mostly feral ways, it seemed the best I could do for her was warm her up and keep her company. The emergency vet wasn’t a good option; I messaged J. and he agreed. So I bundled her up in a blanket and sat on a lawn chair and held her. Gradually she got warmer, and when I constrained her legs she’d stop moving them and relax a bit. After more than an hour of that (during which I couldn’t read books, as I’d intended, because my arm was supporting her), I took her inside to J’s house and watched the next Babylon 5 episode, then I snuggled her onto my lap on the couch for a few hours, and again next to me after I’d gotten up for food.
(Ambrose and Azalyn were both inside and could tell that something was wrong. Ambrose stayed on the far side of the room all this time. Azalyn eventually came to see her and hissed gently and looked apprehensive about the whole project.)
Gradually, Bella seemed calmer and warmer. I didn’t know if she was fading away or simply getting more comfortable. It seemed plausible that she didn’t really have hypothermia and that maybe her body or brain were insisting on sleep to help her recover from the trauma. I thought maybe by morning she’d be back to her usual self.
I was wondering whether it would be better to keep her in a comfy box in J’s house or my own back bathroom, or if J’s garage would stay warm enough tonight, and J and I exchanged messages (he was at a Magic event). She seemed to wake a bit and started using her hind leg to scratch, and I began thinking about fleas. J suggested that she could spend the night in a cat carrier, and I eased my way off the couch to go look for one – but just as I did so, her muscles went stiff, and she was gone. No more breathing. Poor dear. I’m glad I was able to take good care of her for the last seven-plus hours of her life, but I wish it had never come to that in the first place.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-04 03:18 pm (UTC)You did the very best you could for her and at least she was warm and comfortable in her last hours.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-04 04:25 pm (UTC)Soft hugs to you. That is a lot to go through.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 08:52 pm (UTC)