Bo Bo. She was a gift from my then boyfriend, Scott (a tortured, Catholic, closeted homosexual). She was a replacement for Scooter, my first cat, an orange tabby, who I killed by running over him with my car.
It was raining that day and Scooter was an outdoor cat. He had taken refuge from the drizzle by hiding underneath my car. I honked the horn as I was accustomed to doing to make sure there were no cats in my car who could be killed by a fan belt when starting the car. Levy scurried out but continued to look back at the car. I backed out and there was a big THUMP. And Scooter ran out and under the fence to the back yard. I checked to make sure he was okay. By the time I got to him, he was dead, curled up under a tree. To say my heart was broken does not exactly capture the moment.
Enter meowing: Bo Bo. Really, Beaujolais (I thought it would be very sophisticated to name my cat after a French wine – I’ve since discovered that only alcoholics name their pets after alcoholic beverages). She is a gray, tortishell dilute Persian, born April 14, 1985.
She mended that broken heart and was always kept inside. She has had almost 9 lives. After we moved apartments in Gainesville during law school, she somehow managed to escape and was gone for days. I found her underneath a decorative lawn bridge in front of the old apartment.
Then, in 1995, she managed to escape again and was gone for days and I found her in the basement of a vacant house. In 2000, she caught a virus from Webster, a new cat that we rescued from homelessness. The specialist (Dr. Goode – no less) diagnosed her with lymphoma and suggested an operation and a feeding tube for $1,100. When I explained to Dr. Goode that Bo Bo had resumed eating and may not really need a feeding tube, she accused me of being too cheap to do what was in the best interest of my cat.
I knew that even if Bo Bo had lymphoma, I didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life with a feeding tube on chemo, etc… I learned from the tragic death of my Chow, Thunder, that just because you can do something does not mean that you should. Bo Bo lived to see another day and many more. She did not have lymphoma nor did she need a feeding tube.
In 2002, after a wicked fight with my mother when she was staying at my house help me recover from my myomectomy, Bo Bo was missing the next morning as my mother was getting ready to leave. We refused to take her to the airport until Bo Bo was located. I was sure that she must have killed the cat out of spite (and drunken rage since she consumed 2 bottles of wine that night while we were asleep). We did everything but search her luggage for a dead cat.
Bo Bo was finally found by an animal shelter rescue worker after my husband launched a massive search and posted signs at every animal shelter in the St. Louis area. I don’t know how that 17 year old, 5 lb. cat survived 10 days out on her own, but she did.
Then in October 2002, Bo Bo was vomiting. She was diagnosed with kidney disease and we started giving her fluids sub q every other day. After a year, I couldn’t believe that she was still going. I was encouraged in June 2004 when at her yearly checkup, her blood work was unchanged.
Monday this week was another story. I took her in for her routine shave (b/c she is like her mom and hates doing her hair). Then I was told to come back to talk to the vet. She had dropped from 4 lbs. 14 ounces in June to 4 lbs. 2 ounces now. She’d lost 12 ounces in 2 months; almost 20% of her body weight. 12 ounces that she could nary afford to lose.
I’d noticed that she was getting weaker. That she couldn’t get around as well. She’s 19 years old. Her blood test revealed that she does not have much kidney function left. The vet said she has maybe a month or 2 b/4 she succumbs.
She is so thin she looks like a holocaust survivor, before they were rescued. My heartbreaks every time I look at her. Her legs splay on the tile floor because she does not have enough muscle mass to keep them together. She frequently pees in her sleep b/c she is getting incontinent. So why don’t I put her down? B/c I can’t. B/c she just walked in here and sharpened her “claws” on the scratching post. B/c she purrs when cradle her. B/c I can’t stand losing her.
But I am losing her. And I know, I will mourn her death everyday until she dies.
Is that enough G-d? Is that enough already?
