I lost my dear Charlie yesterday.  He was a beautiful silver tabby who
came into my life as a kitten in the spring of 1999 when I was asked to
take a feral call for a humane organization.  I got to the home - a
ranch and found the elderly caretakers had allowed a small feral
community to explode into a horror of malnourished cats and kittens.

misery and headed into town to the emergency vet.

It took two techs, a vet & me all night just to get them cleaned up
enough to evaluate them.  In all my work I'd never seen such a sad
case.  Three died without leaving the vet's office, but the other ten
went into foster - 6 with me and four with another vet who'd
volunteered to help.
Charlie was the leader of my little pack.  It took about a month to get
them healthy and it was a joyful day when all 10 were cleared to go up
for adoption.

Then came the bad news...just before adoption day one little girl
developed a small eye hemmorage.  I swung her by the vet who'd fostered
her and we got the bad news - FIP.  Although our group was "no kill,"
the organization's vet issued an order to euthanize all 10 kittens
immediately.  Clearly we couldn't adopt out kittens who might develop
FIP, but there was no way in God's green earth that I was going to take
10 happy and outwardly healthy kittens in to be euthanized.  Long story
short, I assumed responsibility for all 10 and we let nature take it's
course.  FIP is a bastard of a disease, but I knew that statistically
there was at least a 1 in 10 possibility one kitten would never develop
the disease and could live a great life as an "only cat."

The kids had a ball.  Never have I seen such joyful kittens.  Each
seemed hell bent on cramming a lifetime into each day.  After 4 months,
one by one, they got sick, received supportive veterinary care, and
when it was their time, were gently put to sleep, secure in loving
arms.  It was a very difficult period, but I've never regreted my
decision. Charlie was the last man standing.

He lived in my home office, carefully separated from our other cats,
and was my computer buddy.  I became adept at typing with one hand and
wiggling his favorite birdie toy with the other. When he got bored with
me, he "killed" mice and surfed on the throw rug.  He talked to the TV
set and had a penchant for cat nip. Unneutered because of an enlarged
heart, Charlie was a testoserone-driven handful, but he loved us and we
loved him.  Every day my husband & I scheduled "Charlie time" so he
wouldn't feel left out and he lived a good life.  We'd known, because
of his heart, he might not be with us long, but his glowing good health
had allowed us to relax and put it from our minds.

Yesterday morning Charlie was right as rain, but at 2pm when I went
into the office, I knew something was wrong. Charlie was still warm,
but my big guy was gone.  Our vet, who is nothing short of fabulous,
opened his office after hours and met us there.  He cried with us as he
made an impression of Charlie's paw for me and gently took our boy to
be cremeted.  The only good part of this is that he didn't suffer and
that he was happy and active right to the last.  For that I am very
grateful...and for the seven years I was able to share with him.

Ironically a close friend, a lawyer who helped me tremendously with my
FIP kittens, is losing her fight with brain cancer.  I spoke to her
Friday, probably for the last time, as she is slipping away rapidly.
As I said my last goodbyes to Charlie, I asked him to meet her on the
Rainbow bridge. I hope they will greet me there when it's my time.

This room is very quiet now.  I have a house full of furbabies, but
this was Charlie's room and I'm not quite ready to let the thundering
hoardes into his place yet...so I'm sitting at the keyboard, shedding
tears for my dear Charlie and sharing his story with a group I know
will understand.  

Nancy T