Saying Goodbye To Our Personal Therapy Pet

Thirteen years ago if someone asked me if I was a dog person or a cat person, I would have answered “dog.” Now at the time I had neither in my life. I was single, living in an apartment and only a couples of years before moved from one end of the United States to the other.

But while growing up my family had a couple of dogs, and I always loved playing with the dogs my friends and relatives had, so that was my preference. My closest association with a cat was one my brother (10 years my senior) had, but that was well after he moved out on his own and I didn’t see that feline very frequently.

When I met my wife Holly she had two animals in her life. There was Angstrom, a golden retriever/black lab mix who was often mistaken for being a Flat-Coated Retriever.  And she had Zelda, a white cat with blue eyes and extra toes on her front paws that made her look like she had a catcher’s mitt at the end of each leg. She was all of 8 pounds, earning her the nickname “Bit Cat.”

Zelda and Angstrom

Not surprisingly, Angstrom was quite the extrovert. Like our Greyhound BoomBoom, he went through life with the attitude that us humans were put on earth to love him up and play. He was the kind of dog that if you met him in a bar on Lansdowne Street and said, “Hey, I have an extra ticket to the Sox game this afternoon, would you like to join me,” he’d hand you his leash, lead you to Fenway, and maybe by the 3rd inning ask your name.

Zelda, on the other hand, was a bit more cautious and discriminating when deciding who to trust. Although it was not stated, I knew if my relationship with Holly was ever to advance, I must be accepted by her animals. Angstrom was easy. I had a pulse, so from his perspective I was in.

In those first couple of visits to Holly’s home the Zelda sightings were rare for me. But over time Zelda began warming up to me. I knew then it was safe to invest in an engagement ring.

Zelda and BoomBoom

Over the 10 years that Holly and I have lived together, my bond with Zelda grew. I learned she loved to play and we had some favorite games. I would use a plastic wand that had about a 4-foot long piece of felt tied to it and would sit at the head of your bed and cast that line just over the foot of the bed. Slowly inching the line up, all of a sudden Zelda would come leaping up to try and grab it. Given the blue color of the comforter on the bed, she looked like a fish leaping out of the water to snatch the bait. We called this fly-catting.

And there was just the simple game of chase. I would run from one side of the house to the other, and she would come running over to find me. As soon as I popped out of whatever hiding place I found, she would peel out like a cartoon character, running to the other side expecting me to chase her. Yes, I always obliged.

Then there was the comfort she brought. She was a loving kitty. There was no tonic more powerful after a troubling day at work as to have Zelda crawl up on my chest, nestle in, and let her warmth and the soothing vibration of her purring lower my blood pressure. Angstrom and BoomBoom became registered therapy pets, and if Zelda were not so shy, she would have made a great one too.

Zelda and Logan

A few months ago our vet diagnosed Zelda with cancer. At 16 we made the decision to pursue a palliative course of treatment and just keep her comfortable. She responded well to medication at first, but as expected there was no stopping the decline. In recent weeks she all but stopped eating, and had dropped to 5.5 pounds. When we saw blood in the litter box, we knew it was time.

It’s a decision all pet owners dread. Our vet reassured us in our decision. “Everyone wants to think that when the time comes, they’ll curl up in a ball and die with a smile on their face,” he said. “It just doesn’t work that way.”

He then said, “She’s been a great cat, and you guys took great care of her.” I responded, “She took great care of us.”