or, Cat-Slapped From Almost Beyond The Grave…
When the cat had been missing over 48 hours, I resigned myself the idea that she had gone in search of the Elephant Graveyard. The last month with her was a gift I didn’t expect to have, so grief and I were already on speaking terms.
At 11 p.m. last night, the absolute certainty that the furry wench was still alive and trapped in the dark smacked me in the chest hard enough to knock the wind out of me. At the time, I rationalized it as separation anxiety and grief. In retrospect, I believe it was a Kitty 911 on the Psychic Hotline. I had been cat-slapped from almost beyond the grave.
About two hours later, the neighbor called — FurBeast was trapped in his basement window well. Mike and I scurried over. Sure enough, the furry wench cowered in the pit, about four feet below ground level. When she heard our voices, she summoned forth a tremendous, soulful howl. Only one. We bundled her up and took her home.
It was clear that she would not survive this ordeal, but I gave her sub-Q fluids anyway. I napped the rest of the night in “the cat’s chair” with the furry wench on my lap and Mike on the couch nearby. This morning she was still with us, but only barely. She offered a faint purr and stirred a little at Mike’s touch. When we left her with the vet, it was clear that it was time to let her go.
R.I.P. FurBeast 1989-2006