Rod's
Strand of the World Wide Web
In
memory of Elizabeth
Elizabeth, 1981(?)-1995
Elizabeth
chose our family--the one in 1982, with Steve and Laurie still
teenagers at home. She came to us one day in the summer of 1982, a
raggedy, hungry, fully grown, all-black stray pussycat. We did not feed
her, because we
were not going to keep her. We don't know how she survived, but she
stayed
anyway, visiting us daily in our back yard, meowing, sometimes jumping
up onto a lap.
As summer became autumn and the nights turned cool, I was concerned about her getting too cold at nighttime. I made a place for her to sleep on the outside wooden deck, using a cardboard box with a opening for her to go in and out, and I heated up a brick, wrapped it in a cloth and put it inside. I showed her nighttime box to her and continued to set it up for her each night, but I don't know whether or not she ever used it.
Eventually, the family realized that she was not going to leave, and we decided to adopt her as our pussycat -- but only after taking her to the vet for a flea dipping and thorough checkup. She had been someone's pet, because we learned that she had been neutered and de-clawed. Alex chose the name for our new pet: Elizabeth. Over the years, we often called her by her nicknames, Liz and Lizzie, but during the later years, we always called her by her given name.
Elizabeth was the sweetest, most gentle pussycat we've ever known. She would not bite or scratch, no matter how she was treated. Not that she was treated badly, because we all loved her dearly. But sometimes a granddaughter would pull her tail and chase her around the house; Elizabeth would quietly accept the pulling, and go to another room when chased.
Like most cats, she was curious and thoroughly independent. Elizabeth would not usually stand to be petted or to be placed in one's lap for long, but she loved being with us, and she would follow us around from room to room as we did chores. She would position herself near us, on a sofa or chair. Occasionally she would deliberately jump into a person's lap, and stay there for a lengthy period, and purr loudly; when that happened, the person so honored felt very fortunate. She would watch videos with us, sitting next to us on the sofa. At night, she would often sleep on our bed, lying next to--and restricting the movement of--one of us (not the one who needed moving space around him when he slept).
Elizabeth was a pleasure to have around -- a wonderful feline companion, especially for me during the more than two years that I lived as a single person. Elizabeth remained healthy until the last few months, and despite some serious problems and some major surgery in 1995, she held up remarkably well until the very last few days of her life. Even then, she did not complain. When she died in the summer of 1995 at an unknown age (but at least 14), I was holding her in my arms, trying to comfort her, telling her, "It's all right, baby."
I don't know why Elizabeth chose us as the people to live with and to take care of her, but I'm grateful that she did, and that she persisted that summer and fall until we accepted her. She brought wonder and joy into our lives for 13 years, and all of us are better for having lived with her and loved her.
Email to family on Aug 21, 1995:
Elizabeth is very sick. You may remember that the lump in her chest that was removed in March was malignant, and we were told that there was no treatment.
I took her to the vet today, and he took xrays. The xrays show a great deal of fluid in her chest cavity, so much that the heart was not visible and her lungs are pushed up against her spine, which is causing her some difficulty in breathing, and her liver--which is grossly enlarged--is pushed back, much farther than is normal. The vet says that the probability is very high that cancer has spread to her liver and chest cavity, and there is really nothing that can be done.
She is very lethargic and seems to have virtually stopped eating and drinking. As much as we can tell, she is not in pain. So long as she appears to be living without pain, we plan to let her rest as comfortably as she can and die a natural death -- which could be in days or, at the most, several weeks.
I am upset and very sad at seeing her like this, and knowing that her life is about over. Elizabeth is the sweetest pussycat I've ever known, and as you know, she chose our family and insisted that she become a part of the family despite not being encouraged. She must have known that we would love her and take good care of her, which we've done for 13 years now.
She's lived a full and, I think, happy life. For many years she was a faithful, loving companion, and I will always be grateful that she was part of my life.
Love to all,
Dad
Email to family on Aug 23, 1995:
We took Elizabeth to the vet's office tonight and had her put to sleep. She had deteriorated fast. She wasn't eating and drinking, couldn't walk more than a few steps before stopping and lying down, and was opening her little mouth each time she breathed to try to get some air in. Her chest cavity was filled even more with fluid. We decided it was kinder to end what must be suffering and no quality of life at all, and we knew that she could never get better.
It's already lonely here without her. She was a good, sweet, very special pussycat.
Dad
Updated: January 10, 2008
Copyright © 2008 Rod Zumbro. All rights reserved.
Comments or suggestions about this Web site: Rod Zumbro
As summer became autumn and the nights turned cool, I was concerned about her getting too cold at nighttime. I made a place for her to sleep on the outside wooden deck, using a cardboard box with a opening for her to go in and out, and I heated up a brick, wrapped it in a cloth and put it inside. I showed her nighttime box to her and continued to set it up for her each night, but I don't know whether or not she ever used it.
Eventually, the family realized that she was not going to leave, and we decided to adopt her as our pussycat -- but only after taking her to the vet for a flea dipping and thorough checkup. She had been someone's pet, because we learned that she had been neutered and de-clawed. Alex chose the name for our new pet: Elizabeth. Over the years, we often called her by her nicknames, Liz and Lizzie, but during the later years, we always called her by her given name.
Elizabeth was the sweetest, most gentle pussycat we've ever known. She would not bite or scratch, no matter how she was treated. Not that she was treated badly, because we all loved her dearly. But sometimes a granddaughter would pull her tail and chase her around the house; Elizabeth would quietly accept the pulling, and go to another room when chased.
Like most cats, she was curious and thoroughly independent. Elizabeth would not usually stand to be petted or to be placed in one's lap for long, but she loved being with us, and she would follow us around from room to room as we did chores. She would position herself near us, on a sofa or chair. Occasionally she would deliberately jump into a person's lap, and stay there for a lengthy period, and purr loudly; when that happened, the person so honored felt very fortunate. She would watch videos with us, sitting next to us on the sofa. At night, she would often sleep on our bed, lying next to--and restricting the movement of--one of us (not the one who needed moving space around him when he slept).
Elizabeth was a pleasure to have around -- a wonderful feline companion, especially for me during the more than two years that I lived as a single person. Elizabeth remained healthy until the last few months, and despite some serious problems and some major surgery in 1995, she held up remarkably well until the very last few days of her life. Even then, she did not complain. When she died in the summer of 1995 at an unknown age (but at least 14), I was holding her in my arms, trying to comfort her, telling her, "It's all right, baby."
I don't know why Elizabeth chose us as the people to live with and to take care of her, but I'm grateful that she did, and that she persisted that summer and fall until we accepted her. She brought wonder and joy into our lives for 13 years, and all of us are better for having lived with her and loved her.
Email to family on Aug 21, 1995:
Elizabeth is very sick. You may remember that the lump in her chest that was removed in March was malignant, and we were told that there was no treatment.
I took her to the vet today, and he took xrays. The xrays show a great deal of fluid in her chest cavity, so much that the heart was not visible and her lungs are pushed up against her spine, which is causing her some difficulty in breathing, and her liver--which is grossly enlarged--is pushed back, much farther than is normal. The vet says that the probability is very high that cancer has spread to her liver and chest cavity, and there is really nothing that can be done.
She is very lethargic and seems to have virtually stopped eating and drinking. As much as we can tell, she is not in pain. So long as she appears to be living without pain, we plan to let her rest as comfortably as she can and die a natural death -- which could be in days or, at the most, several weeks.
I am upset and very sad at seeing her like this, and knowing that her life is about over. Elizabeth is the sweetest pussycat I've ever known, and as you know, she chose our family and insisted that she become a part of the family despite not being encouraged. She must have known that we would love her and take good care of her, which we've done for 13 years now.
She's lived a full and, I think, happy life. For many years she was a faithful, loving companion, and I will always be grateful that she was part of my life.
Love to all,
Dad
Email to family on Aug 23, 1995:
We took Elizabeth to the vet's office tonight and had her put to sleep. She had deteriorated fast. She wasn't eating and drinking, couldn't walk more than a few steps before stopping and lying down, and was opening her little mouth each time she breathed to try to get some air in. Her chest cavity was filled even more with fluid. We decided it was kinder to end what must be suffering and no quality of life at all, and we knew that she could never get better.
It's already lonely here without her. She was a good, sweet, very special pussycat.
Dad
Updated: January 10, 2008
Copyright © 2008 Rod Zumbro. All rights reserved.
Comments or suggestions about this Web site: Rod Zumbro