Forever Goodbyes To Daisy

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller Dec 2016

Forever Goodbyes To Daisy

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Certainly, something I would choose to avoid in life are forever goodbyes. This year seems to be riddled in grief. Uncle Art in March, Grandma in May, and now our little Daisy. I'm beyond heartbroken to lose my furry kindred spirit.

Daisy came to us in April 2002. We lived in Moscow with our first cat, Pumper. T's sister, who studied at WSU's Veterinary Program, informed us of a five month old kitten with a busted leg who needed a home with TLC. The staff didn't exactly know what happened to Daisy, but it was suspected she was hit by a car. A good samaritan brought her to WSU. With her front leg shattered, and no owner to pay for medical costs, the school was originally going to put her down. A staff members swayed the powers-that-be, and use the prospective surgeries as a teaching experience for students. Daisy ended up with several reconstructive surgeries, and had a skeletal fixator attached to her leg. This means there were four pins sticking out of her leg bone and were held in place by the skeletal fixator which ran parallel to her leg, but perpendicular to the pins. The fixator was a plastic tube with cement inside; hence how it stuck to the pins.

A limping, yet adorable, black and white kitten greeted us as T and I entered the room. I picked her up and she snuggled in my arms for forty-five minutes. She had a thunderous purr and periodically, she would turn to look at me and nuzzle my chin. Good grief! How could I say no?! Daisy had already chosen me. There was a few days wait for WSU to run a few more tests to ensure Daisy was fit to go home with us. We had to sign papers promising to bring her back at the appropriated dates for check ups and, ultimately, pin removal.

I was excited to bring her home, although I can't say the same for Pumper, our other cat. Learning to tolerate one another took patience. Eventually they came to terms when they realized neither was going anywhere.

Daisy like to hide. Or try to hide, I should say. She would walk behind the TV stand but her fixator would scrape against the wall and give away her position. Until that thing was removed, her attempts at being stealthy were thwarted.

We moved from the apartment to a house the following year, and adopted our dog, Boonie. Daisy and Boonie became instant buddies. When Boonie would lay down on the floor, Daisy would strut over, announced by her loud purr, and nuzzle his muzzle. Being a good dog, Boonie took her snuggles without shame.

Daisy never fared well in vehicles. When T and I moved back to Spokane, Daisy puked on the car ride up. I stopped at a gas station in Rockford WA to grab napkins and clean up the mess.

A funny quirk about Daisy was that she only liked to sit on our laps when we wore denim. If I wore fleece lounge pants, per se, she would sit next to me on the couch with a grouchy look. "You are wearing fuzzy pants instead of jeans. My day is ruined." At least, judging by her glare, that's what I imagined she was thinking.

Sporting her denim craze. Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

Daisy enjoyed a variety of "human" things. She pawed at our plates for a chuck of our chicken, turkey, or fish. With her pitiful green eyes, it was hard not to let a piece "accidentally" drop in front of her. At Christmas she liked resting on the plush tree skirt. She also relished bird watching. Those quail were her favorite; as they are mine.

As our final pet, she live through Pumper's passing, then Boonie, and even the betta, Blueberry Jewel. I think a piece of her heart was left empty after losing each one; just like ours were. Although being the queen of the household was nonetheless enjoyable, she missed their company.

It's never easy to watch our pets begin to do downhill. Daisy's suffered from kidney failure for a couple years. I started feeding her specialized kidney diet food, then added medication, followed by fluid administration every few days. Despite her weight loss, which is a common feline kidney complications, she was doing pretty well. I thought she had at least a couple months left. Over the weekend, she struggled to walk, hold her head up, or find her litter box. I could feel the end was nearing.

Like a freight train barreling down the rails, its echo bouncing off the terrain, it's sometimes impossible to tell how close the locomotive is until its whistles blows right in front of you. That's what watching animals get older is like. You know death is coming, but exactly when is an agonizing torturous guessing game. When pets are too weak to continue on their track, the owner must make the difficult decision to say the ultimate goodbye.

Bawling my eyes out, I held her in my arms and told her I loved her. And all too soon, she was gone.

I'd like to believe Daisy is up there, where ever pets go, chasing Pumper and nuzzling Boonie. Meanwhile, admittedly, I shed tears everyday over her. There's no longer a fuzzball sleeping on my chest at night. Or a snuggle bug on my lap protesting my fabric choice. No loud purr in my ear or whiskers tickling my nose. One less mouth to feed isn't unburdening; it's an empty feeling.

Someday, I'm sure, I'll be with her again. For now the heartache is raw and deep. All of us are sure gonna miss little Daisy.