Fast-forward to 2014. I had hardly been in contact with the shelter. I had resigned myself after the incident with the kittens I would never be a volunteer at the shelter again. The shelter director had worked part-time at the vet clinic we brought our furbabies to, so we would chat here and there about shelter “going-ons”. Mostly updates on the cats that were near and dear to me.
Hmmm, it must have been around June of that year that Taz was due for his annual checkup. I had delayed it a month. Bringing Taz into the vet’s office was anxiety provoking for both me and for him. The second I had him in the carrier at home, he would start panicking. He would wail. Oh, how that hurt my ears!
I do like to think of myself as a responsible pet owner, so I had to suck it up and make an appointment. I don’t know at that time which was more difficult — me going to the dentist, or me bringing Taz to the vets. So, off we went for his daily checkup…
When we got in the exam room, my vet (that is now retired — boo hiss) said he didn’t seem to be doing well. I reminded her how much he despises going to the vets. She decided to take him out “back” into the clinical area. To my surprise, she came back into the exam room, and said that Taz had fluid around his heart. He hadn’t shown a single sign of being ill. She treated him with Lasix, did the exam, but made me wait awhile before I could bring him home. She wanted to see if he would calm down a bit before the trek back.
We got home and I let Taz out of the carrier in the kitchen like I usually do. He bolted down into the finished basement — not typical behavior. I went down after him, and he was on the couch. It sounded like he was gasping for air. Oh, the noises he was making. I was by myself, and I was FRANTIC. I was screaming, trying to see if I could comfort him (yeah right), and ran upstairs, grabbed my phone and called the vets. They said bring him back in. I ran back downstairs, and he was barely breathing. No more noises. I brought him upstairs, and he had passed away in my arms before I could even get him in the carrier. I was crushed.
I knew Taz would have wanted us to adopt another kitty as the “Inn” had a vacancy. I looked on my shelter’s Petfinder page, and saw this sweet looking ginger male named Biscuit. He had some health issues, and we were totally okay with that. I contacted the shelter director, and she said Biscuit was already adopted by the vet tech that was treating him. Disappointment sank in…
A little while later, the shelter director called me and said there were a couple of orange male kittens in a foster home if we were interested. I said sure. Taz’s sudden passing unfolded a series of events that I could have never foreshadowed. The foster mom called me, explained a bit about the kittens, and asked about us. It was a fairly long conversation, and at the end of the call, we made an appointment to see them in her home. Her name is Joyce. I remember thinking that if there were two kittens, well, we wouldn’t want one to be alone, and it would be nice if the kittens stayed together. I had texted the shelter director and asked what if we want both of them? No response. We already had four cats, so adding two more would have made six. I wasn’t sure of the shelter’s “maximum” cat number per household. Little did I know, that is EXACTLY what she wanted us to do. And that is exactly what we did. My spouse liked “Carter”, and I liked “Jefferson”. “Kennedy” had already been adopted out (oh…wait for it folks…Kennedy’s story didn’t end there). My own personal path had just shifted, and I didn’t see it coming.
I’d love to keep writing, but duty calls. Oh! Haha. Not that duty! “Hope” at the shelter needs to be brought to an office-site veterinarian’s office. Hope was a barn kitty that was seen there before she came to the shelter. She’s not feeling great. Lots of diarrhea. We are trying to figure out the source of it, and so far, with no luck. Another “behind the scenes” aspect of animal rescue most people don’t realize. It truly takes a village.