It is a sad week here at the Rodriguez residence. Our beloved feline companion of the last 14 years, Cleopatra, was euthanized early in the morning of Thursday, September 19th, 2024. She had been diagnosed with a cancerous tumor pressing on her larynx and esophagus. It had grown to the point that she was gasping for breath and could not swallow. Following consultation with an oncologist, the veterinary doctors injected a fast-acting chemotherapy drug but it was too late. She was in deep distress, struggling to breath, and suffering. It was apparent an even more distressful end was imminent. So, it became clear what needed to be done. At 1:44 a.m. Mountain Time, she slipped away in peace.
We miss her presence around the house but we are slowly growing accustomed to her absence. It is so often absence that makes you realize what you had. Looking back, she had been suffering for some time. Who knows how she felt or any fear she may have suffered? We miss her but we are glad she is no longer suffering.
Cleo was a small American Domestic Shorthair, silver grey in color, with blue eyes and an affectionate personality. She was brought to us by Happy Tails Animal Rescue of Washington County, Virginia. She moved right in without hesitation even sleeping on the end of our bed that very first night. She was very unassuming, waiting patiently to be fed or to be let out onto the deck or patio.
She was also an escape artist. Given the opportunity, she would dash between your legs, out an open door and down the driveway into the yard or nearby park. If you tried to catch her, she would duck under the closest car. But, eventually, she would give up and come out to be carried home where she knew treats awaited.
She was affectionate to a fault, purring and soaking up any and all attention, petting, and cuddling anyone would give her. And almost everyone did, even devout dog-lovers found her nearly irresistible. The staff at her primary care veterinarian’s practice loved her and would carry her around to say hello to everyone. When she stayed at her veterinarian’s boarding facility, she was allowed to walk around greeting the staff as they arrived in the mornings.
The only one to whom she was not so kind was Chessie, the young cat we adopted to be her little sister and companion. Cleo was the Alpha Cat and felt the need to remind Chessie regularly. Nevertheless, Chessie loved Cleo, followed her around, and accepted her hisses and paw swats without much ado–only an occasional loud cry of feigned pain, terror and concession. But, often, when Cleo slept, Chessie would approach stealthily and snuggle next to or around her–until Cleo woke up, quickly moving away.
Like us, I think Chessie notices that Cleo is gone. Unlike us, she has no idea why. I wish I could tell her. The Emergency Veterinarian told me that she would move on quickly and there wasn’t much we could do. One of the veterinary technicians suggested leaving objects with Cleo’s scent around for awhile. I don’t think Chessie gives it much thought but I think it occurs to her every now and then that Cleo is no longer here.
I’ve learned a few things from Cleo’s illness and eventual passing. First and foremost, early recognition, diagnosis, and treatment are essential to curing an illness or mitigating pain and suffering. Secondly, the animal’s quality-of-life is much more important than mine. There were early signs that something was wrong, though we knew neither what it was nor its severity. We should have had her examined by specialists sooner. Animals cannot speak but they communicate in subtle ways that we can notice if we pay attention–and act. This is Cleo’s final gift to Chessie.
We love her, we miss her, and we will honor her memory for the rest of our lives. Bless you, Cleo. Rest in peace. And, thank you for being our baby.
A Finis Terrae 