Goodbye Garfield

When our youngest son moved off to New York to do some volunteer work, we inherited his cat, Garfield.  He was a NEEDY cat.  Worse than a dog, but he was a lot of company.  He always wanted to curl up in your lap, between your feet or get right in your face.  He loved sitting on my husband's desk, draped across his arm or his laptop, so he couldn't work.  When we first got him, he was a little banshee.  He climbed the walls of the bathroom and you couldn't get near him.  But my son, Chris, kept working with him and taming him until he became our 'other' dog.  He was friends/enemies with my dog, Cheyenne.  He loved to slap her whenever she walked by him, of course, causing a ruckus.  Still, I think he really missed her when she died last winter.  He's always lost weight in the summer and always had a big pot belly.  But a couple of weeks ago, he just seemed different.  Then, last week when we got back from our motorcycle trip, he had really lost weight and just YOWLED at us all the time.  Finally, yesterday, we decided we needed to take him to the vet to see what was wrong.  He wasn't eating much, hardly drinking and didn't want any attention!  That was not normal for him.  Just a week or two ago, when we had gone walking, he couldn't stand being alone, so he followed us all up and down the road walking with us and meowing at us to slow down and let him catch up.  The vet informed us he had FIP,  Feline Infectious Peritonitus, which is untreatable and fatal.  There's not any pain with it, they just don't feel good, and their abdomen fills up with fluid, (hence the bigger than normal pot belly) and they don't feel like eating, drinking or moving.  We decided to bring him home for a little longer, as the vet didn't know how long he would last.  But we had to leave for a while last night and when we got home, it was apparent he wasn't going to last.  He hadn't moved, had thrown up on himself and didn't meow at us when we walked up on the porch or want to come in.  So we brought him inside for the night and hoped for the best.  This morning it was apparent he was ready to go.  He wouldn't get up, look at us, want attention, eat or drink.  So we mustered up our courage, wrapped him in a towel and I held him all the way into town, since he hated the cage.  It only took a few minutes to let him go.  We brought him back home and buried him out by his buddy/enemy Cheyenne under her little Redbud tree I've planted for her to give her shade.  They're right on the edge of the pasture and drive that they liked to go run and play in.  I'll miss them both.


Garfield in the grass