Originally Written June 2, 2015 at 11:11PM
Around 3:30 this afternoon, my foster cat of the past six months, Bollo, died with my hand over his heart, feeling it stop beating, as I looked into his vacant eyes. He had FIP, which is fatal and progressive, and today it became unbearable, so I decided to bring him to the Vet. This followed weeks of nearly continuous posting of pictures of him on Facebook, as he became sicker, and as I showered love and affection upon him. Some might wonder why I made a public spectacle of his last days, and of his last minutes this afternoon. There are several reasons for this. The first few are easy, and I will get them out of the way:
1) I am an emotional basket case and have been for years now, and I was specifically seeking the affirmation and affection of my friends, so I could get through this!
2) People say that Facebook gives us a fake, sanitized happy, jolly view of one's life, and I wanted to change that. (Clearly this piece was shared on Facebook long before I adapted it for Wix)
3) In some quarters, people still believe that a man crying is a sign of weakness and something for which a man should be ashamed. I am NOT ashamed.
The larger reason has to do with rescue work, and the nature of this tribe of Animal Rescuers, among which I am happy to be. When I learned Bollo would die, I knew that I was about to walk in the footsteps of many other animal rescuers, and pet owners. Bollo was supposed to be my foster, until he could find a forever home where he would live out a long, healthy life. As happened almost two years to the day with another white foster cat, my beloved Winter, I turned out to be the forever home, and forever was only 6 months. I was not home when Winter died, and I regret not being able to comfort him as he died. I swore I would do everything I could to make sure that would not happen to another foster. I lost a kitten in my hands last summer, and buried her tiny little body in the park near my then-apartment. This was different. Bollo was going on 2 years old. He had made it through risky kittenhood, and was not an obese 11 year old, as my dear Winter was, so when he stopped eating and losing weight, it was shocking and sad. The diagnosis of FIP was, sadly, pretty easy to make.
A few minutes after this pic, I loaded Bollo in his carrier to bring to the Vet. He was in distress, and it was his time. (Below)
OK, so why did I publicize this all? Well, animal rescue is hard work, and the people who do it, face these losses all the time. I have lost fewer than most of my friends, the people to whom I turned for love and support, along with all my other friends. As I mentioned earlier, I am an emotional basketcase, who turned to Animal Rescue in an attempt to heal my broken heart, but have found more heartache in rescue, though, most often, I find glorious triumphs and amazing saves. I once said I could never "do" kittens, nor do "hospice," as so many of my fellow members of the rescuer tribe do, and yet in the last month, I have done both, despite my weakness and doubt, but with help from friends, because none can do this alone.There is a huge difference between the heartbreak I suffered that set me on this path, and the heartbreak I feel today. Today, my heart is broken, because I gave myself to provide comfort to another creature, to shower him with love, and, hopefully, ease his passing out of this life.
It is natural for us to run away from pain, to try to avoid things that might cause us pain. I have run away from a great deal of that in my life, and still do. The fear of these losses is what keeps so many from adopting pets or getting involved in rescue, because they don't want to get hurt, or expose themselves to hurt.
They need not run away.
Going back to reason one from earlier, when one gets involved in rescue, one becomes part of a tribe, a tribe that takes pictures of kitten poop in litter boxes, and ghastly wounds from embedded collars that we then heal. This tribe surrounded me in love this week, so much love, that I was able to do more for Bollo than I would have ever thought possible. The power of their love for me, and my non-rescue friends, enabled me to persevere despite my pain, despite my deep heartache. Because of them, Bollo was surrounded in a warm love for an extra week. He got to lay in my lap as he entered a drowsy haze, and he got to feel my hand on his heart (though he was sedated and probably didn't feel it) as it stopped beating. He got to exit a life that had turned painful and untenable. I got to know a wonderful, special cat for six months, and feel his love and his quirkiness, the way he would drink from the tap, sleep in the sink, or jump in the shower with me, just because, not even running away as the streams of water rained down on him.
As you look at my photos of Bollo's life with me (remember, this was written for Facebook friends who saw all the pics), and his final week, it is natural to feel sadness and hurt, because I projected my sadness and hurt into these images and words. However, when you look at those same pictures and count the "Likes" and read the comments, you will also see the astonishing power of this poor sick cat to bring dozens, if not hundreds, of people together to express sadness and love for me and for him.
That is a beautiful miracle.
Many of you, who looked at my pictures, do not know each other, do not live near each other, and yet, you are connected to each other through me and Bollo. In a disconnected and sad world, this is a thing of exquisite beauty, something to cling to. There is a connection between us humans. As Temple Grandin famously said, "Animals make us human." Tomorrow, we will go back to our separate lives, and ideas, and passions, and arguments, and yet, every time you look at Bollo and my crying face, you will remember that you shared something with strangers today, mourning over a cat that most of you never met.
This is a hopeful and beautiful thing.
Lastly, though it is scary to think of Animal Rescue as a "passion," because of the potential to suffer the way that I have suffered, yet, understand that, if you join our tribe, we will lift you up and hold you in hard times, and celebrate the many victories we will share. The more of us involved, the greater the number of victories, and the better world we can create together. This is why I invited you into my mourning and sadness, into Bollo's sick room, and his final stop. It is a promise of connection through animals, and of a better world. That is worth all the tears I have been shedding, and Bollo, who lived his life in silence because of his deafness, has been heard. (As I look back on this note from the vantage point of 12/12/2022, I cannot help but think at how much more tragically divided our world has become, and I wish that there were more things that could bring so many together, the way this sweet, deaf cat did in 2015)