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Pippin's Mom Kel
45 years old
Born Sep-25-1975
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Joined: 5-March 12
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Last Seen: 13th November 2014 - 10:06 PM
Local Time: Dec 5 2020, 05:47 PM
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Pippin's Mom Kel

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14 Mar 2014
I can't believe I haven't posted a picture of him here yet, but here's our new boy, Loki. He came home 4 weeks ago yesterday. He has a heart murmur, so we've been back and forth to the cardiologist a couple times, but he's doing wonderfully, overall. He has fit right in with our little family - he's been out with all the other cats since the second day he was here.

He's about 2, and incredibly playful. We just love him to pieces.
28 Jan 2014
There's so much I could say, but words fall so terribly short. Yesterday, now, January 27, was the two year anniversary of the day my Pippin left for a better place. I still miss him every single day. It is not always with the same searing sharpness of pain as it once was, but a dull ache at a piece of me that is missing. Losing Strider earlier this much has heightened that loss, turned a dull ache to a piercing pain once again. I hate that neither of them are here, but I am glad that Pippin was there to welcome his little brother home and to guide him when he must have been scared and alone.

Pippin, I miss you so. I miss feeling you sleeping on my hip. I miss your purr and your mew. I miss the feeling of your fur and the smell of you - I can barely remember what you smelled like, now. I remember burying my face in the fur of Strider's cheeks, after he died, trying to get one last little bit of his smell embedded in my memory. I cannot even remember that. How could I forget such important things? I miss looking into your beautiful golden eyes, Pippin, and knowing that I was loved for everything I am and everything I am not, without reservation or judgment. I miss your love and I miss your light. Sweet boy, you deserved so much more than seven years with us. I would have done anything for you. I would have given myself in your place, had I the choice.

Please take care of your brother Strider, as you always have. I still cannot quite believe that he is already there with you, Pippin. Take care of him for your Daddy and me - he was your Daddy's little boy, as you were mine. Please make sure he knows how much we love him. He died before we could tell him.

I know that someday I'll see you again, in this world or the next. Until that day, be well, baby boy. Your Mommy loves you.
3 Jan 2014
Unexpectedly, our cat Strider died last night. He had just gotten a clean bill of health from our vet yesterday afternoon. He came home, played, ate, did normal Strider things... my husband and I went to find him before bed and found him dead in the litterbox.

We are devastated. We can't wrap our minds around how our healthy 6 year old black cat is dead. And I can't cope with the fact that he died in his litterbox, without us right there. We were HOME. How did we not hear him??????

The other cats are going to grieve terribly. Lancelot and Earl Grey were very close to him. They got to sniff his body before we took him to the vet, at least.

I don't... I have no words. I'm lost.
20 Jan 2013
My dearest Pippin,

A year ago today, I thought that everything was going to be ok. We'd just found out that you didn't have renal lymphoma, and you, your dad and I had a wonderful weekend. You ate well. You played. Sure, your blood sugars weren't under control, but we knew we'd get there. The next night, everything changed.

I unexpectedly got the night off from work. We'd gone to Petco, to get a clipper for your fur. You'd needed a bit of convincing to play, but you played well, once you started. We needed to be able to find a spot to give your insulin away from your fluids. When we came back, I checked the litterbox. It was the first time in three months that you didn't have diarrhea. But then I noticed you'd also vomited. We gave you Cerenia. It didn't help.

The night wore on, and I got more scared. Your nausea didn't get better, even after the Cerenia. Then you went and hid in your litterbox. You never did that. Finally, at 2, we rushed you to the emergency vet where you'd spent so much time. Dr. Dave was there.

Dr. Dave looked you over. You looked better - not nauseated. We were going to take you home, when I said, "Hey, Dave. Can we just check a chemistry to be safe?" He brought you out to us, while we waited to see what the results were, not expecting anything abnormal.

When Dr. Dave came out, I could tell from the look on his face that we were going to lose you. Your creatinine was sky-high. I knew it would be your last trip to the vet. Your dad and I sobbed over you. We hugged and kissed you, and left you with them for the rest of the night. We hoped maybe IV fluids would help, again, as they had before. It was 4 AM when we got home. I remember the drive home. It was unusually warm for January, and it was foggy. There wasn't a lot of snow on the ground. Your dad and I watched TV, because we couldn't fall asleep. Finally, we drifted off. Around 8 or 9 we got a call from Natalee, your internal medicine vet there. She didn't really know why your creatinine had changed so rapidly. She thought we could continue the current treatment, or take you to Tufts. Your dad and I chose to bring you to Tufts.

We rushed to the emergency vet, a 45 minute drive. We picked you up, and Natalee and her nurse Liz were there, almost in tears as well. The had put a urinary catheter in you, because they were concerned you weren't making any urine. When Natalee told me you'd made 18 mLs, I hugged her. I thought maybe there was hope, if you were still peeing. We opened the door in the top of your carrier, and I remember you standing up and folding your paws over my shoulder while I held you. We then took you in our car to Tufts. It was your last car ride. Pippin, I remember how sick you looked. You'd been sick before, but you'd never looked this bad. I was so scared that you weren't going to even make it there. We got to Tufts, and met Jasmine, the student, and Dr. Labato, Dr. Bucknoff & Dr. Markovich. We talked about a plan; they suggested dialysis. I didn't know, at that point, if we should just let you go, or if we were just torturing you. But you held your head high. You didn't look like you were done fighting. So we tried it.

Baby boy, I don't if we should have let you go then and there. You started to respond to dialysis, so maybe it was the right thing to do. Natalee and Dr. Labato thought you had a chance. You went to Tufts Tuesday. Tuesday night you went on dialysis. Dr. Labato, the attending, stayed until 2 AM because they were fighting to save your life, that night. You had stabilized by the next day, and it started to look like you might be making urine. You needed blood transfusions. I'm so deeply grateful to the other kitties who gave blood so that you had a chance to live. Words can't even begin to express the depth of my gratitude. Wednesday night, you ate out of my hand. I had gone to work, and I drove to Tufts at midnight after my shift finished - and they were so good about letting us spend time with you. You kissed my cheek. I thought you might be getting better. We were all cautiously hopeful - the vets, the dialysis techs, your dad and I.

Thursday, you didn't look so good. I called out sick from work and stayed with you all day. You were less responsive. We thought maybe it was the sedatives, so we gave you a reversal agent. Boy, were you unhappy with us - but you were in there. We sedated you again, and let you rest. Your numbers were improving still, and you were making urine.

Friday, you stopped making urine. I knew then, that dialysis wasn't working. We started looking into a kidney transplant at UPenn. Your dad and I were going to drive you there ourselves, if they thought you were a candidate. Pippin, I would have quit my job to do that for you. ANYTHING. We came to be with you. I told work I wasn't going to be in that weekend. They were furious. I was hysterical, and I couldn't think of anything other than being with my dying child. We got there, and talked about options. We talked to Natalee on the phone. We decided to take you off dialysis, and give you 24 hours to see what happened. You made the decision for us, though...

I looked at the monitor, and I noticed that your heart was in a very bad rhythm. It's the curse and blessing of being an ICU nurse. I pointed it out to the vets. They checked your labs. Your potassium was awful. They called the critical care specialist in. Your heart slowed down, and I was the one looking at the monitor. I told them. They did three chest compressions on you, and asked us how far they wanted to go. Your dad said, "Do everything." I remember the critical care staff rushing in. Your heart rate came back up, they gave you medications and did an ultrasound of your heart - which was not horrible. I remember seeing the equipment to intubate you, if it came to it. I remember thinking I didn't want to put you through that.

But your heart rate recovered, and everyone filed out. We sat with you and held you while they gave you fluid. After half an hour, the tech - I think it was Diane - took your blood pressure. I knew it was low. It was 40. That's when we decided it was time to let you go. We took you off dialysis and held you. I think we held you for an hour. My boss called me and yelled at me for calling out, and said we needed to have a talk on Monday. I told him that I was holding you, and you were dying. I don't remember much else, other than you - and being so angry with him for intruding upon my last time with you. And then you. Always you, Pippin.

You were calm. Peaceful. Asleep. Breathing. I had hoped you'd just stop breathing on your own. I didn't want to make the decision. You held on, and I couldn't get your dad to tell you it was okay to go. So we had to let you go. We held you. We told you how much we loved you. We told you how special you were. And the vets and techs did the same thing. I called your grandmother, and held the phone up to your ear. I heard her say goodbye, tell you that she loved you, and said she'd see you again sometime. And then we let you go. My poor boy - you were gone. And you'd fought so hard.

This is a really hard week for me, Pippin, because I miss you so. I still miss your life. Your exuberance. Your love. I miss the way you looked at me. I miss the feeling of your fur. I miss you sleeping on my hip. It still hurts so much not to have you here.

I think I understand, though. I think you had to go so that we could adopt and care for Lancelot. He needed us more than you did. And I like to think right now, you're helping some other family as we're helping Lance. I like to think that some day, you'll be back. Someday, Pippin, we'll see each other again. Someday, I'm going to meet a kitty, look into his eyes, and know him. And this ache in my heart - the pain of being separated from you, from a soul that's so tightly bound to mine - it will ease. You'll be home again.

Until then, baby boy, I will miss you. I will love you. And I will wait.

5 Nov 2012
My poor little Lancelot is in the hospital tonight. We're not sure what's going on with him. I'm so tired, overwrought and worried that I just can't even bring myself to go into details. Please, please, please say a prayer for my little guy.

I'm not ready to lose him. I can't believe we're doing this again, less than a year after we lost Pippin. My poor, poor little boy.
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