We Interrupt This Vacation...

We interrupt this series of vacation posts to share some sad news.

 

It is with very heavy and sad hearts that Rick and I said goodbye and thank you on Wednesday to Gypsy, the Marmelade cat that you see each time you visit this blog.

As some of you many know, he has been treated for kidney disease for about a year now and in February we nearly lost him. Our reprieve was all too short but we made the most of every minute of every day together.

He took a down turn while we were on vacation, and though he rallied a bit when we returned, he just couldn't get up to speed. I think he decided to let go before we decided to let go of him and was gently easing his way up to the Heavyside Layer (for you T.S. Eliot/Cats fans.)

On Wednesday morning we called his wonderful vet, Anne Rice, to help him make the transition. Anne is a holistic vet and a visiting vet. (Gypsy's first encounter with her is HERE.)

If you are fortunate enough to know Anne, you know that she made that transition easier not only for Gypsy, but for Rick and me, as well. We've often said, "She treats the people as much as the pets" and today was no exception. It was a very peaceful passing, outside in the sun, as we held and pet him, cried, and let him go. Perhaps in his mind, he was on his favorite couch at the lake. Or maybe he knew right where he was -- on the lap of the woman who found him, took him in and loved him.

The past few days have been incredibly hard as we watched Gypsy decline and begin to give up the fight. His last gift to us was last night, when in the middle of the night, he managed to climb into bed with us. We had made him a little set of steps (kitty litter boxes leading to a chair and to the bed) and until a week ago, he'd been able to go up and down easily. But his legs started to give out and the slippery litter boxes and their height was a challenge. He had hardly been able to walk for the last couple of days so this was very hard for him. That he did so was a true gift, a last chance to be with his peeps. That he did that means more than I can say.

Gypsy has given us a lot of gifts over the nearly 15 years he's been with us, including a mouse in the bed at the lake, plenty of giggles and unconditional love, lots of smiles.

 He was the master of quiet and wise understanding -- I called him my best Secret Keeper -- he never told a soul. (Oh, the blackmail money he could have hauled in, had he command of the English language!) I learned wonderful lessons from him, too, about cherishing the moment and appreciating each and every treat tossed my way.

It is clear that Gypsy "owned" me -- I never "owned" him. I had the privilege of being his person, cat-mom and guardian and he had me wrapped around his pretty striped tail and right in the pad of his gentle, soft paws..

We could tell things were changing in so many ways. But even in his last two weeks, with failing hind legs, he would try to sit up for his dinner. Then he pretty much lost interest in food.

In his last months, he was getting his nightly IV "juicing" treatments every night and each night he took it like a champ, never fighting it. It became our special time together. I'd sing him "Juicing" songs, sometimes give him a damp cloth bath, since his grooming skills had slacked off a bit, and pet and loved him. It never seemed like a "must do" but a "want to do." If Gypsy didn't want to do something, he wouldn't, so I think it was OK with him, too.

If you've read The Marmelade Gypsy for any length of time, you may well know that Gypsy happened into our lives when he was six-to-eight weeks old, a stray, probably dumped.

Boy, someone sure didn't know what they were doing when that happened. He was an adorable kitten, and even sweeter and more loving as he grew.

He was the subject of at least 71 posts, including this one of my favorites. And, in this post, I described how he found us and eventually, in addition to his job of being an executive assistant, was also a remarkable pet therapist, who knew a little about healing.

Every day of his life I was glad that he chose me to be his person and Rick soon after that.

In fact, Rick was his best bud. He treated him like a dog and Gypsy loved it. Whenever Rick came over, Gypsy was right there, waiting for treat-toss, his favorite game, or maybe a bit of breakfast from the early riser.

Our pets are more than animals to us, but our family, and Gypsy was my little boy, eternally three, like "Elmo" and always filled with wonder, energy, joy and love.

Our hearts are broken. We know they will heal but there will always be a space that only Gypsy can fill. He'll have to do that now as an angel. And we all need angels.

Rest in peace, Gyppy Rose, Gypadeedoodah, Sweet Boy. You'll live on in The Marmelade Gypsy.