In memory of Snowball (Oct 1998-Dec 8, 2008)

Monday was the worst day of my life. Tuesday was the second worst. Today is starting off pretty hard. Life post-Snowball is lonely. But I want to share his final day. Monday morning he crawled to my side and sat. Then he got up and crawled to his spot at the foot of the bed. I immediately knew something was wrong - this behavior was strange. I got up out of bed and he jumped off too. Then he slinked into the hallway. He started the ugly head bob that indicates he is about to throw up. So I quickly slipped a towel under him. And waited. But he didn't throw up. He laid on the towel. I continued watching him and sitting with him wondering what could be wrong - did he eat something bad and have a tummy ache? Then he did something really strange - he threw his back legs from under him and laid on his side in a weird position. At this point it clicked that something was wrong with his hind legs. I closed the bedroom and bathroom doors so he couldn't hide from me and ran downstairs to get his carrier. When I returned he was still sitting in that same pathetic way, and only protested a little when I forced him into his carrier. (Snowball hated that thing with a passion and usually resisted going into it vehemently.) I raced to the vet and demanded emergency vet care. The vet (who was not his usual vet) checked his pulse in many places. She felt no pulse in either back leg and said his back legs were getting cold. By this time, Snowball was howling in pain and stress from being there. She diagnosed him with saddle thrombus - an extremely serious condition. Saddle thrombus is a blood clot resulting from congestive heart disease that restricts blood from getting to his hind legs. It is a very painful condition and recovery is highly unlikely. The only options were devastating - put him down or rush him to the animal hospital in KC. At the animal hospital, they would try to restore blood flow to his back legs, but he would be paralyzed. Through intense therapy and daily medication, he may recover some function in those legs within 6 weeks - if he lived through surgery, which many cats don't. Then he would spend his remaining days on medication (Snowball, like his mother, is not a good patient), just to suffer from another episode within months. In later research on this condition, I could find no instance of a cat living past 1 year; most die or are put down much sooner than that. Snowball and I stayed in the examination room waiting for Randy to arrive from work. During that time, Snowball's condition got noticeably worse. He had dragged himself back to his carrier while the vet and vet tech were still present, which was so pitiful and sad knowing how much he despised his carrier. I tried to comfort him in his carrier, but he kept trying to find a comfortable position and cried at my touch. Finally Randy arrived and spoke with the vet. We decided to take Snowball to another vet for a second opinion. Wes recommended the vet she had spoken with about her cat's medical condition and who she really liked. Once there, we discovered 'her' vet was Snowball's vet - she had, unbeknowst to me, moved to a new clinic. She gave us the same unfortunate diagnosis and prognosis. She remembered Snowball and was very caring and gentle and she was noticeably upset giving us the bad news. It comforted me to know Snowball's vet was there, and to see how much it pained her telling me to best option was putting him down. By this time, Snowball's legs were cold to my touch and his paws were turning blue. He winced in pain when we touched his back half. I didn't know what else to do, seeing my little angel in so much pain, and being told that the medical options were extremely unsuccessful. Randy and I decided to let him go. We held him and kissed him as the vet gave him the sedative. He kept looking in my eyes and fighting for me. The vet returned several minutes later surprised to see Snowball still awake. He continued to growl at her touch (but not mine and Randy's) and she administered another dose. I moved behind him so he wouldn't see me. It took a long time, and when he finally fell asleep, his eyes were open. We held him til he was gone and kissed him goodbye. We brought him home and Randy built him a coffin and dug him a grave in the back yard where he loved to look out at the birds. We buried him in his blankie and a sock (he loved to play with socks), and placed some rocks around his grave for now.

Snowball has been my baby and light of my life for 10 wonderful years. He tolerated me traveling all over the country and the world, bringing him when I could and waiting (impatiently!) for me when I couldn't. It took us a long time to find him a real home. He moved in with Randy long before I did, and he claimed this house, and let Randy know it, as his own right away. Snowball's full personality really developed after he moved here - a full 6 1/2 years into life. He had seasonal modes here - he switched to his winter mode last month. His habits and favorite spots changed when he switched from summer to winter mode. I had recently thrown a comforter over the papasan in the office, and he had taken to laying on it beside me while I worked. He loved basking in the sunlight and moved with the sunny spots as they moved during the day. He loved when Randy or me 'chi-chi'ed him up the stairs at night to go to bed. He usually ate one last time and then he would jump up on Randy's side and walk across him to my side, almost without fail. Sometimes he would walk up to my face and demand more pets (by firmly pressing his face against my hand) before he retired to his spot at the foot of bed, just beyond my foot. But sometimes he would plop down right beside me, forcing me to sleep more in the middle! Every night while Randy and I were watching TV downstairs, Snowball would be looking out the sliding door in the kitchen. We'd hear the swishing of the vertical blinds and Randy would say 'Did you hear that? What was that?' And then Snowball would come look down through the bars that divide the kitchen and den (split-level home) - I called it kitty jail - cause he would put his face close to the bars and it looked like he was imprisoned. Then he would gingerly step down the stairs, investigate the little entryway to the garage, meander into the den, sniff around one spot, and plop down. He would rub and rub all over this spot, and eventually he would leap up and race up the stairs like a bat out of hell. And Randy would say "what was that?!' while I just laughed. Sometimes during these little episodes he would let out a loud wreouw. Snowball had a full and intricate language, with a different meow for his every whim. And he even had a bark, recently developed for Randy when he got up in the morning and started moving around and turning closet lights on. He was saying 'come on dad - can't you see we're trying to sleep'. It was so super cute. Randy would respond 'Can I help you sir? Excuse me, can I help you?' And Snowball usually replied with another bark. During the past year, Snowball developed a little snore. We usually only heard it on those rare nights when he fell asleep in his night bed (on the floor beside Randy). But every now and then, we'd catch him snoring on the bed too. It was a soft quiet barely audible snore that I adored. Sometimes he would get up with Randy in the morning and run around, but he always was right there snuggled in his spot when I woke up an hour plus later. He typically waited for me to officially get out of bed before he would jump off and we'd start our day. Sometimes I took too long and he would walk up to me and nudge me to get up. But he never left me in bed alone. From there we spent our days together in the house, but not always in the same room. He often enjoyed his mornings in the living room, either in his day bed or sitting in grandpa's chair looking out the big window. Eventually, he would come upstairs and bug me to pet him before settling in for an afternoon nap in the papasan beside me. He'd stay there until I left for the gym. He usually greeted Randy at the top of the stairs when he returned, meowing furtively and acting like he had been alone for so long (so dramatic). But really he just wanted daddy to get him his 'greenies' (our name for any treat). I liked to wait til Randy got home and they'd go get his greenies together. All we had to say was 'greenies, chi-chi, greenies' in a high voice and in a flash, Snowball was there purring and meowing. This was pretty much the only way to rouse him from a dead sleep too, or get him out if he was under the bed. We sometimes liked to tease him and stand in the hallway, instead of going in his room. He would have none of that. He would meow at us from the doorway or walk down to our hiding places (inside the doorways off the hallway) and look up at us, meow, and run back to his doorway. He did this until we relented and gave him his greenies. Snowball was very protective of his room, which was really the guest bathroom, but we always called it his room, cause, well, it was his room. And you couldn't enter it without Snowball. No matter where he was in the house, somehow he just knew if you had entered his room and within seconds he'd come flying through, cock his head and say 'meow' (translation - what's going on guys?). If you shut him out of his room, he's stand right outside of it waiting for you to come out. He didn't come in my bathroom with me while I was in the shower, but usually, when I exited the bathroom I would see my Boo standing right there waiting for me. On those occasions when I took a bath, he would push the door open (yes, he forced his way in) and come in and stand up against the tub to see what mom was doing ('ew, that's wet, I think I'll wait outside'). His favorite games were not toys - oh no, he was not one for those cat toys, and Randy only got a reaction from him to the laser on his last night, but he was one for more involved games. He loved loved loved peek-a-boo and hide-and-seek games, chasing each other around the couch and hiding under Phil the plant, and around corners. And Randy and I always liked to see if we could 'get him'. When he was not apparently paying attention to us and looking away, we tried our best to sneak up on him and poke him. If we made the poke before he caught us ('meow') - we got him. If he meowed at us first, he got us. He usually got us. He also loved to play with the laundry. He always came in the bedroom with me while I was folding and lounged on the neatly folded towels, and batted around socks - I would hold them in front of him and he would jump up and try to get them from me. Randy and I called it 'playing socks'.

On weekends, Randy liked to keep him active and awake. And Snowball loved it. But he was a cat, and as such, still liked to sleep. Randy and I were so amused when we'd see him sitting up looking at us after breakfast, with those droopy eyes, fighting to stay awake, but falling asleep. After all, staying awake 2 whole hrs after a full night's rest is so hard for a little boo. When he woke up from his slumbers, he would look around with his 'blinkity-blinkity' eyes. Randy and I would usually spend a couple hrs in the office and Snowball made sure to always join us. Often I would curl up in the papasan while Randy paid his bills and balanced his accounts, and Snowball would jump up on top of me. We enjoyed our weekend routine. Recently, he discovered another white cat outside the windows at night. He would poke his head through the blinds and see his reflection. Not understanding what he saw, he would move around, switch windows (we have 3 in a row with a ledge running beneath it), and climb the glass, his little ears pointing forward in perplexity. I don't think he ever did figure it out. But don't think he wasn't sharp - he knew all his names. Randy and I had many many nicknames for him, most variations on boo and bear (and boobear). It always amazed me that a cat responded not just to his name, but that he grasped his other names - what a smart boy. The best years of his life were spent here at this house and these past months have been Snowball's dream - he in his house, and me working from home, we were together all the time. Our family had developed so many routines, and I expected to see Snowball enjoying his life for so many more years.

Snowball was a loving, complicated, strong, stubborn, unique, charming, quirky, delightful, loyal cat who depended so completely on his mama bear and whose mama bear depended so completely on him. It gives me some comfort that he had his mommy and daddy with him as he passed, and to know that every day of his life he was healthy and pain-free up to the last day. But his absence leaves an unbearbale void in our lives and our home, and memories and pictures aren't enough to heal a broken heart. Since Randy and I met almost 4 1/2 years ago, Snowball has been part of my memory of this house, because I always brought him with me when we visited and then Randy invited him to move in. I hope somehow he knows how much he is missed. Snowball will forever be mama's little bear.

To learn more about the horrible disease that cut his beautiful life short, click here http://blog.ourdoglog.com/2008/03/fritzs-diagnosis-saddle-thrombus.html