Goodbye to Bear

February 2, 2011 by Black Belt Mama · 8 Comments
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About a year ago, we were told that our cat, Bear, had cancer. They gave us all the options and none of them were any good. Radical surgery when your cat already has heart issues, isn't an option; and so we made the decision that we would try to treat him and keep his quality of life good by using some herbal medicine instead. The tumor on his back actually shrunk. We were so hopeful it was going away for good. Bear, the runt of his litter, but the only remaining brother still alive, had certainly had his nine lives. Born with more problems than most owners would tolerate, we nursed that cat through his life because he deserved nothing less. He was one of the sweetest animals on the planet. The vet told us last year that she gave him about 12 months to live.

On Sunday, Bear was put to sleep.

When this litter of kittens was born on Mr. BBM's family's deck, we were there within hours. We got to pet them and hold them on their very first day. We were in college at the time and the semester had just ended, so we spent as much time as possible at Mr. BBMs' family's home. There were four kittens and we knew that we wanted two of them. Bear was the first one chosen, because no one else wanted him. He was definitely the runt but he had a fighting spirit. I guess I've always been attracted to fighting spirits. We used to have to detatach him from the deck because his claws were so long and he would get stuck. Despite his black coat and killer claws, he was a sweetheart from the start.

I remember holding him like a baby, cradled in my arms while he would sleep and purr. He was in every way, really my very first baby.

When we were in college and newly married, pre-kids and pre-allergies, Bear would jump up into our bed, lift the covers with his little head, walk underneath the covers and then turn around and put his little head between ours. He would sleep like that all night. Colby, our other cat, who died on Christmas night in 2009 would usually curl around Mr. BBM's head.

They went through a lot with us: being snuck into apartments where we weren't supposed to have them, in laundry baskets; moving more times than we can even count now; and through a big adjustment from being our only babies to living in a house with two little girls who wanted to love them up endlessly. Bear used to curl himself around my very pregnant belly, place his paws on my stomach and purr loudly. He continued to keep up the same behavior after Big I was born. Instead of my belly, he cuddled with her. They always adjusted beautifully.

About two weeks ago, we noticed that Bear was eating unusually. He was taking the "bob for apples" approach to eating. He was thrusting his head into his food, and then shaking it off, leaving food everywhere. The floor around his bowl was a mess. Then he started to smell badly. Mr. BBM thought it was because he was pretty much bathing in his food. So, Mr. BBM gave him a bath every couple of days. And Bear would sit on Mr. BBM's lap when the bath was finished, purring, and patiently wait until he was finished blow-drying him.

This past week, I noticed that it seemed to be more than just food. It seemed like he was drooling. We began discussing with the girls, the fact that our time with Bear might be short. Yesterday morning, I went down to see him and noticed a lot of drool. I wiped his chin off and there was blood. I went to clean up his food and water and there was blood in his water dish too. We knew it was time.

The girls and I said goodbye to him and loved him up. We took some last pictures with him and Mr. BBM took him to the vet for the very last time. Sunday was an awful day.

Monday felt even worse. He's not there in the morning to zig zag walk in front of me and flop down so I'll pet him. He's not doing that crazy meow to wake the girls up that sounded like "MaGonk-ka." He wasn't there to follow me into Big I's room, wait for me to lay her clothes out for her, and then flop down on top of them and roll around while she giggled. For the first time in almost 15 years, this household is cat-less. My allergies may improve, but you couldn't tell because my face hurts and my eyes are swollen and I feel miserable.

I told the girls that Bear and Colby are probably sitting on my Grammom's lap. These girls, Mr. BBM and I have had too much loss lately. Colby on December 25, 2009. My Grammom on April 26, 2010. And now Bear, January 30, 2011. I've spent the week looking like I've been punched in the face, but I feel like I've been punched in the gut.

After looking up drooling and blood, it became apparent to Mr. BBM and me that Bear may have had more than just one type of cancer. During his last two weeks, he was exhibiting signs of mouth cancer. The "bobbing for apples" approach to his food is a symptom. Cats pick up their food and let it drop out of their mouths because it is painful. I feel horrible that he is no longer here; but I feel even worse thinking after the fact, that maybe we waited too long to send him off with his brother. Up until his last minutes, he was still behaving wonderfully, purring and wanting to snuggle with us, even though you could tell he was a little uncomfortable when held close.

Today, I read the "Rainbow Bridge" poem until I couldn't see anymore from the continual tears. I hope that he's there now, happy, pain free, and that he's having a fabulous reunion with his brother.

We miss you SO much Bear. Rest in peace.