My adorable little fluff ball came into my life in October of 2002. A friend's parents who lived on a farm in Shakopee had a new litter of kittens they were giving away. This was the first time I had ever picked out a cat - all my cats growing up showed up on our doorstep in need of a home. But from a litter of adorable little ones, I knew immediately that the shy calico that was more fluff than body mass was meant for me. I named her Zoe. She came home just a couple weeks later.
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| Nov 3, 2002 - Zoe's first day at home |
She was such a little puff of fur. I was always afraid I'd step on her in the kitchen, so I lifted her up onto the counter to keep an eye on her. She loved seeing the world from a higher vantage point. But I think her favorite place was on top of our shoulders. When she was little she'd fit on just one shoulder, but as she grew, she'd wrap herself around my neck like a warm, purring, scarf.
Another favorite was hiding inside any box she could find. She would somehow wedge herself inside even the smallest of boxes.
How quickly she grew. She went from a little fur ball to a "teenager" and finally into the grown beauty who would fill my heart with so much love.
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| Baby Zoe |
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| Teenage Zoe |
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| My beautiful girl |
When she was 6 months old, she became a big sister to another little fur ball. I brought Eli home to keep Zoe company during the days while I was at work. She was a great big sister.
We had several years of birthday and Christmas celebrations with just Shane, Zoe, Eli and me.
Christmas was especially fun for her. She loved to climb the tree!
She was a very talkative girl. She'd chirp at the birds or bugs that she'd spy on the window. She'd talk to me when I meowed to her. We'd go back and forth: Me: "Meow", her: "Meow" and chat away. She was quite the chatterbox!
Years passed. One wedding, four houses, three kids and another cat later, life got busy. But I could always find her in her favorite room - my bedroom. It was her sanctuary away from the wild kids and bigger more aggressive boy cats. I'd find her snoozing away on my bed (or wedged underneath it).
I remember to this day, sitting at work at the NMDP pre-kids. My cubicle was decorated with photos of my fur-babies. My cube-mate said, "Just wait until you have kids, then your pets won't mean as much to you anymore." But he was wrong. Zoe was SO much more than "just a cat". She was my friend, my companion, a piece of my heart. That love never faded even though life got busy and we spent less time together. Every night, once the kids were in bed, it was our time together. She always slept next to me, hogging the pillow, often with one paw on my head returning her love. You see, I was her person. She had chosen me just as I had chosen her.
In December of 2017, she had started to cough. I chalked it up to a hairball issue and thought it would pass. But it didn't. On January 2nd, I brought her into the vet worried that maybe it was an obstruction that she couldn't cough up. He took x-rays of her chest and that's when my world came crashing down. Her right lung was full of fluid. We headed straight to the ER at the U of M. The doctor said there appeared to be a mass on her lungs and told me it was highly likely cancer. I was crushed. Zoe had been healthy her whole life. Indoor cats can easily live to be 20 years old. She was only 15. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
After draining the fluid, the mass they saw disappeared! So the ER doctor told me it was likely heart disease. He ran an echo. Her heart was fine. He was back to suspecting cancer. During this time, he told me her oxygen levels were "not compatible with life". I choose to take her home.
We saw doctor after doctor and had test after test. No one could determine the cause of her Pleural Effusion (fluid in her lungs). After 2 weeks of multiple tests including a second echo, a CT, and fine needle aspirations of her liver and spleen, all results had been inconclusive. The fluid in her lungs kept coming back even after draining, but no one had any answers. The CT had revealed a suspicious area on her lung which could be a mass or could be fluid. They were unable to get a sample of the lung mass because her blood pressure had dropped so low that she was once again "not compatible with life" but she rebounded. I took her home again.
On January 16th, Zoe had surgery to remove the suspected mass. I was hopeful that once it was out, her breathing would be fine. But it wasn't. In fact, it seemed to be worse. And now fluid was building up in her stomach. During surgery, the surgeon saw several more masses that were adhered to her body and couldn't be removed. This is where things took a very bad turn.
She stayed in the hospital to heal for 2 days. I picked her up on on the 18th. While I waited for the doctor to bring her out, I read the discharge papers..."Diagnosis: Poorly differentiated pulmonary adenosquamous carcinoma; fibrosing pleuritis with carcinomatosis" What did this mean?? How do we treat it? What's the prognosis? This is where the U let me down. A vet student brought Zoe out to me. I asked her about the diagnosis, but she said I'd have to talk to oncology. I had already made an appointment with oncology earlier that week - but the soonest I could get in was 5 1/2 weeks away. No one could answer my questions. After spending time researching the diagnosis online, I knew it was bad, very very bad.
There is only one veterinary oncologist in the entire state, making it near impossible to get into. So I contacted the AERC who has an Internal Medicine doc who also does cancer care. I met with him one week later. We agreed to start Zoe on Palladia, a chemo drug. The drug was expected to arrive the following week.
On January 29th, Zoe's breathing had become more labored. She had been doing fine at home prior to this, as long as she wasn't exerting too much energy. But on this day, her breathing rate had increased. I had planned to take her back in the next morning so they could once again remove the fluid. Her lung cavity had grown fibrosis causing the removal of the fluid to not be as effective because the fibers would clog the needle.
On the morning of the 30th, I was on the phone with the AERC asking when the Internal Medicine doc would be back in the hospital. Zoe had just eaten and walked over to use the litter box. She came out and laid down on the bathroom which she would often do. I watched her while I was talking with the receptionist. And then something happened. She jerked up quickly. Then she did it again. I ran over to her. This was it. It was the end. Her little heart and lungs just couldn't take it anymore. I watched her take her last breath as I cried and shouted her name over and over. I pray she saw me there with her - that she knew I was by her side. I pray she wasn't scared or in pain. She seemed to go fast - something I had prayed for for weeks - that if her breathing couldn't be helped, that God take her quickly without suffering. I believe this prayer was answered. Although not the answer I had hoped.
My beautiful girl took her last breath on Tuesday, January 30th. I can not get the image out of my mind. But am thankful I was there by her side.
I found a pet service who came that afternoon to transport her body to be cremated. The woman made imprints of Zoe's paws and clipped a piece of her beautiful long soft calico fur for me to keep. She placed her body in a basket and covered her with a blanket. She will return her ashes once she is ready to come home.
Yes, she was MUCH more than "just a cat". She was my friend, my companion, my fur-baby. So how do I say goodbye? How do I stop expecting to see her curled up like a caterpillar on my bed snoozing the afternoon away?
Right now the tears continue to flow, but the memories put a smile on my face through the pain. The hurt is real. The loss is real. There is a piece that will always be missing from my heart. She will forever be missed.
Until I see you again my beautiful girl...
We had several years of birthday and Christmas celebrations with just Shane, Zoe, Eli and me.
She was a very talkative girl. She'd chirp at the birds or bugs that she'd spy on the window. She'd talk to me when I meowed to her. We'd go back and forth: Me: "Meow", her: "Meow" and chat away. She was quite the chatterbox!
Years passed. One wedding, four houses, three kids and another cat later, life got busy. But I could always find her in her favorite room - my bedroom. It was her sanctuary away from the wild kids and bigger more aggressive boy cats. I'd find her snoozing away on my bed (or wedged underneath it).
I remember to this day, sitting at work at the NMDP pre-kids. My cubicle was decorated with photos of my fur-babies. My cube-mate said, "Just wait until you have kids, then your pets won't mean as much to you anymore." But he was wrong. Zoe was SO much more than "just a cat". She was my friend, my companion, a piece of my heart. That love never faded even though life got busy and we spent less time together. Every night, once the kids were in bed, it was our time together. She always slept next to me, hogging the pillow, often with one paw on my head returning her love. You see, I was her person. She had chosen me just as I had chosen her.
In December of 2017, she had started to cough. I chalked it up to a hairball issue and thought it would pass. But it didn't. On January 2nd, I brought her into the vet worried that maybe it was an obstruction that she couldn't cough up. He took x-rays of her chest and that's when my world came crashing down. Her right lung was full of fluid. We headed straight to the ER at the U of M. The doctor said there appeared to be a mass on her lungs and told me it was highly likely cancer. I was crushed. Zoe had been healthy her whole life. Indoor cats can easily live to be 20 years old. She was only 15. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
After draining the fluid, the mass they saw disappeared! So the ER doctor told me it was likely heart disease. He ran an echo. Her heart was fine. He was back to suspecting cancer. During this time, he told me her oxygen levels were "not compatible with life". I choose to take her home.
We saw doctor after doctor and had test after test. No one could determine the cause of her Pleural Effusion (fluid in her lungs). After 2 weeks of multiple tests including a second echo, a CT, and fine needle aspirations of her liver and spleen, all results had been inconclusive. The fluid in her lungs kept coming back even after draining, but no one had any answers. The CT had revealed a suspicious area on her lung which could be a mass or could be fluid. They were unable to get a sample of the lung mass because her blood pressure had dropped so low that she was once again "not compatible with life" but she rebounded. I took her home again.
On January 16th, Zoe had surgery to remove the suspected mass. I was hopeful that once it was out, her breathing would be fine. But it wasn't. In fact, it seemed to be worse. And now fluid was building up in her stomach. During surgery, the surgeon saw several more masses that were adhered to her body and couldn't be removed. This is where things took a very bad turn.
She stayed in the hospital to heal for 2 days. I picked her up on on the 18th. While I waited for the doctor to bring her out, I read the discharge papers..."Diagnosis: Poorly differentiated pulmonary adenosquamous carcinoma; fibrosing pleuritis with carcinomatosis" What did this mean?? How do we treat it? What's the prognosis? This is where the U let me down. A vet student brought Zoe out to me. I asked her about the diagnosis, but she said I'd have to talk to oncology. I had already made an appointment with oncology earlier that week - but the soonest I could get in was 5 1/2 weeks away. No one could answer my questions. After spending time researching the diagnosis online, I knew it was bad, very very bad.
There is only one veterinary oncologist in the entire state, making it near impossible to get into. So I contacted the AERC who has an Internal Medicine doc who also does cancer care. I met with him one week later. We agreed to start Zoe on Palladia, a chemo drug. The drug was expected to arrive the following week.
On January 29th, Zoe's breathing had become more labored. She had been doing fine at home prior to this, as long as she wasn't exerting too much energy. But on this day, her breathing rate had increased. I had planned to take her back in the next morning so they could once again remove the fluid. Her lung cavity had grown fibrosis causing the removal of the fluid to not be as effective because the fibers would clog the needle.
On the morning of the 30th, I was on the phone with the AERC asking when the Internal Medicine doc would be back in the hospital. Zoe had just eaten and walked over to use the litter box. She came out and laid down on the bathroom which she would often do. I watched her while I was talking with the receptionist. And then something happened. She jerked up quickly. Then she did it again. I ran over to her. This was it. It was the end. Her little heart and lungs just couldn't take it anymore. I watched her take her last breath as I cried and shouted her name over and over. I pray she saw me there with her - that she knew I was by her side. I pray she wasn't scared or in pain. She seemed to go fast - something I had prayed for for weeks - that if her breathing couldn't be helped, that God take her quickly without suffering. I believe this prayer was answered. Although not the answer I had hoped.
I found a pet service who came that afternoon to transport her body to be cremated. The woman made imprints of Zoe's paws and clipped a piece of her beautiful long soft calico fur for me to keep. She placed her body in a basket and covered her with a blanket. She will return her ashes once she is ready to come home.
"My cat knows the song in my heart
and purrs it to me when my memory fails."
Right now the tears continue to flow, but the memories put a smile on my face through the pain. The hurt is real. The loss is real. There is a piece that will always be missing from my heart. She will forever be missed.
Until I see you again my beautiful girl...
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