Zoe

This is Zoe:



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 was extremely talkative. When I came home, she said "meow" and I said "hi." Then she said "meow" and I said "hi" again. This went on through several iterations. Any time she saw us again, she said "meow" as if she was saying "hi". Any thing she wanted to communicate to us, she'd communicate with a meow or two. Or three. Or four...

Zoe was, quite simply, the cat with the most love that I've ever known. Her primary vet said in a note, "Zoe is a sweet little girl." Everyone in the vet hospital said, "oh, I love that cat." And that was Zoe. She was a sweet little girl.

And she was 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 a year ago, suddenly, without warning, that her heart condition was finally going to end her life. They estimated two months, but her death could have been 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.

But we found this wonderful cardiologist who said he could extend her life through medication. He thought perhaps a year.

Well, that year has come and gone. We've had such a wonderful time with Zoe, appreciating so much more every meow, every snuggle, all the times we got tons of cat hair on our black t-shirts, and every time she'd look into our eyes as if to say "I love you Daddy." I'm so glad to have had that extra year and appreciate every moment with her.

A week ago, Zoe stopped eating. She was hiding in the deepest recesses in the house. Her heart was fine. And so were her kidneys, which were at big risk with the medication she was taking. We were frantically trying to find out what was wrong, while force-feeding her, which she hated. But when she'd had a seizure, along with a stuffy nose, we were fairly sure she had a mass in her head. But her heart condition meant she very likely wouldn't survive any attempt to even find it.

Wednesday night she was too weak to jump onto the bed, but I could tell she wanted to snuggle us, which she hadn't wanted to do in a week. We spent about a hour with her in our bed. It was an incredibly precious moment for me and Heidi.

After her second seizure the next morning, after dragging her out from under the bed, she looked into my eyes, and Heidi's eyes, and told us she wanted to go.

And as we were putting her down in the vet hospital yesterday morning, as the anesthetic was being pumped into her, Zoe, while in my arms, looked up into my eyes, and Heidi and I looked back into hers, and we silently told each other goodbye.

I've loved this girl so much, my heart is broken. 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 meant to me. In fact, even I didn't realize it until now.

I'm simply devastated past any ability to put into words. Zoe was NOT just another cat. Anyone who knew her will tell you that. She needed her mother and her daddy, a LOT more than any other cat I've ever known. She had a big heart, literally and figuratively, and she was a sweet little girl.

Rest in peace, Zoe. Everyone loved you. And I don't feel like I will ever get over losing my little girl.