Zoe was born in a shelter in February of 1995, and when we arrived at the shelter in September of that year, we fell in love. By "we" I mean, Heidi and I fell in love with Zoe, and Zoe fell in love with us.
I remember Zoe was in one of three rooms, all of which were filled with cats. I'd say a dozen or so in each room. Heidi and I went into each room trying to pick out a cat. Man, was that hard. We love cats, and there are lots to choose from.
Eventually, I was tired and I sat down in one of the rooms, not sure what to do to pick a cat.
And then Zoe chose me.
Before I knew what was happening, she had started to sit on my lap. And she stayed there. It was as if she was saying, "mine!" She had claimed me. I was her human, and she would go home with me.
When a childless couple like Heidi and me have cats, usually a special bond forms with one cat for each person. Zoe and I bonded instantly.
When we first brought her home, she had enormous paws compared to the rest of her body. She really did look funny. But she also looked so very, very cute. You may think that all cats look cute, and you'd be right, but Zoe is the cutest cat that I've ever seen.
She grew into her paws of course. She learned the wonders of Christmas ornaments hanging low from the tree, the cool space behind the drawers in the dresser, and, of course, the choice real estate of empty boxes.
While we lived in an exurb, she would go outside and have fun. She would love to play with bugs. One time she was playing with a bug, and her older sister walked nonchalantly and without breaking stride scooped up the bug in her mouth, right in front of Zoe. I can't recall for sure, but I think Zoe then found another bug to play with.
Zoe always wanted to cuddle and snuggle. She was afraid of strangers, but once she got to know someone, she would always come over and ask to be snuggled.
And by ask, she would meow and then jump up onto the person's lap. At night, she would routinely sleep in our bed, snuggling one or the other of us. More often than not, I would wake up in the middle of the night, and Zoe would be sleeping with Heidi's arm around her.
Zoe is extremely talkative. When I come home, she says "meow" and I say "hi." Then she says "meow" and I say "hi" again. This goes on through several interations. Any time she sees us again, she says "meow" as if she's saying "hi". Any thing she wants to communicate to us, she'll communicate with a meow or two. Or three. Or four...
Zoe is, quite simply, the cat with the most love that I've ever known. Her vet said in a note, "Zoe is a sweet little girl." And that's Zoe. She's a sweet, little girl.
And she's my little girl. I've been caring for her and looking after her as if she was my own daughter. She really does mean a lot to me, and she's brought a lot of joy and love into my heart.
Zoe was born with a heart murmur. Heidi calls her, "poor little heart murmur girl." We've been monitoring this heart murmur for her whole life.
Her doctors told us Monday morning, suddenly, without warning, that her heart condition is finally going to end her life. They estimate two months, but at this point they really don't know. Her death could be imminent. I think when they say two months, they mean a really good scenario. With my last cat, when they said that, she died a week later.
I've loved this girl so much, my own heart broke when I heard the news. I'm not ashamed to say I've broken down in tears several times. I don't think anyone other than Heidi fully appreciates what this little girl means to me.
We were due to leave on our big trip tomorrow morning. I was looking forward to this as a trip of a lifetime. I mean I was really looking forward to it. Last week I was simply giddy thinking about this trip. Driving around the country with Heidi, going to Burning Man, seeing friends I haven't seen in a while, traveling with my Mother and my sister, traveling with Heidi's parents (until they had to cancel). And my employer had given me five and a half weeks for it. I've only taken more than a week and a half off three times, twice two weeks, and once three weeks. For me, it can't get any better than this trip. If I could do this for my entire life, I'd be extremely happy.
And then my little girl, the one I love so much, needed me more than she ever has before. I'm in tears just thinking about leaving her to fight this alone. The doctors have suggested "medical boarding," and while every other cat I've had would have loved it, Zoe would be distressed to no end. She even gets distressed when we're away. She hides and it takes an hour to coax her out of hiding when we're gone for more than a day.
We're going to see how she is later next week and then start our trip a week late, if Heidi and I can feel comfortable enough to leave her alone (meaning that her doctors think she's healthy enough to be unlikely to go into heart failure while we're gone). Perhaps I can feel comfortable with her with Heidi at home, and I go on the trip with just my sister and my mother. However, without Heidi this won't be near as much fun. I certainly can't go to Burning Man without her.
I'm simply devastated. Zoe is NOT just another cat. Anyone who knows her will tell you that. She needs her mother and her daddy, a LOT more than any other cat I've ever known. She has a big heart, literally and figuratively, and she's a sweet little girl.
And she won't be around much longer.
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