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pameladeanOur beautiful, goofy, adventuring Saffron cat is gone.
Here she is right after arriving in April of 2013.
Below the cut are more photos; then there's another cut before I describe her last day. Please feel free to skip that part if you don't feel up to it. She was very much herself and everything went pretty well, but it's still awfully sad.
She came with a ratty leopard-print scrap of fleece that she loved; we ended up putting it on the top level of the cat tree, her chosen place. She complained when I took it away to wash it.
She loved boxes. Here she is in a small one:
And in what we called her Dragon Hoard, a collection of cat toys I made to get them out of the way for vacuuming; this had to become a permanent fixture:
And in a random box that she claimed rather anxiously:
Here she is with Cassie; they liked one another and we were so pleased:
Here she is in a common posture; she didn't like my lap but was happy to lie across my collarbone.
*The title is from Djuna Barnes's Ladies Almanack. Cameron called Saffron that after Saf had been unusually obstreperous. Here is the whole passage.
"'She is, has been, and ever will be,' said Miss Nip, 'a darling Detriment to Sleep and Sequence, and will, no doubt, come home as riddled as a Medlar, resembling, in no small degree, the first Round of a Butcher's Picnic, or the Premier Half of a Trunk Murder, for that Girl,' she said pleasantly, 'has in her a trifle of Terrier Blood, and must be forever worrying at every Petticoat as ever dangled over a Hip in this our time!'"
Cameron's gloss: "Nip says it is about Tuck. Nip and Tuck are Janet Flanner and her partner Solita Solano, but I don't know which is supposed to be which (Flanner herself expressed uncertainty on this point)."
Below the cut is a description of her last day. Please skip if you don't feel up to it. There are also a few more photos of her exploring the room the University provided us.
CW for pet illness, death
On the evening of December 14, Cam went to warm up the car, and I put a big towel on the radiator in the bathroom. When I'd packed my knapsack with things that might be useful for a wait in the veterinary ER, I called the university to let them know we wanted to bring Saffron in. I had rehearsed repeatedly and I got through the information -- that her oral cancer had progressed to the point that even with the Very Good Drugs that Oncology had prescribed on October 9 at her first and only appointment, she couldn't eat or drink very well, and that I was seeing some blood when she drooled, which because of the tumor in her mouth was most of the time; that she couldn't close her mouth all the way or nearly, and that it was the wrong shape. But when I tried to acknowledge that it might be time to say goodbye, I couldn't utter a word except "Sorry." The person on the other end of the phone said, "That's all right. We'll evaluate Saffron's vitals and we'll do an end-of-life consultation with you."
Saffron had disappeared after snuggling with me for a while. Cam and I had been conferring and using her name, and I think she knew something was up. She hadn't appeared when Cam brought out the carrier, though she loved the carrier passionately and would dash into it right away as a rule. I put some food on a plate and called her, though, and she came out. While she was trying to eat, I got the towel and went to put it into the carrier. Cam had left the door shut, and the moment I opened the door, Saf abandoned her food and shot into the carrier like a rocket. I put the warm towel in and pushed it as smooth as I could. She settled into it, stretching a little and working her paws, so that part was all right.
Cam called to say the car was warmed up and did I want her to come and take the carrier, and I said I thought I could manage, going downstairs being easier than going up. I'd also forgotten that Saffron had lost weight. I probably could easily have carried her upstairs again too, but I was pretty sure nobody would need to do that. "Hey Saf," I said, as I picked up the carrier. "Do you want to go adventuring?" She often answered me, but this time she just blinked benignly.
I took her through the snowy back yard and around the garage to the driveway. She was sniffing the fresh air avidly; I could hear her very well because the condition of her mouth made her breath sound strange. I put her in the car, panting not with exertion but with stress, and got in myself. She uttered about the usual number of complaints on the way. There was very little traffic and we made good time.
At the U everyone spoke to us in hushed voices, but the young woman at the desk asking the routine questions about our address and so on said at the end, "And is Saffron still a domestic shorthair?" We actually laughed; I said, "Yes, she hasn't decided to become a long-haired cat yet," and Cam said, "That's exactly the kind of thing she would do if she could." Which it definitely is.
Another young person came to collect us shortly, saying they had a private space for us. It was a large room with sofas and padded chairs and a basket of blankets, plus a wall of windows on the outside, with a glass door to the outside as well; and a choice of too-dim or too-bright lighting. We left it dimmer for the moment and let Saf out of the carrier. We'd agreed that if we were given a room to sit with her in, as is usual at the U, she would be exploratory, and that would make everything harder. It turned out to be very comforting.
Here are some photos of her exploring, the last one after they put in the catheter. She was moving too fast for Cam to feel satisfied with the photos, but you can see her body language very well.
She explored every molecule of that room, marking things with her drooly mouth and making occasional interrogative chirrups and trills. She marked my boot and Cam's jeans as well. She loved jumping up on the ledge that ran below the windows, and sniffed extensively at the doorsill. There was a single leaf on the floor there, and she picked it up in her mouth, considered it, and dropped it again. She visited us in time, walking over our laps and purring and headbutting us, but she had too much work to do to settle. She strode about with her tail in the air and her long neck extended, sniffing and cataloguing. There was a ficus tree in the far corner away from the windows, possibly artificial; and a tiny plant near the windows, with a thick woody base and long trailing thin leaves. Saffron loved chewing on plants; the last time that Cam brought me a bouquet of flowers we ended up having to keep it in the front stairway, where at least I could admire it any time I went downstairs. And Saf figured out where it was and would dash down to the landing and start nomming up any fallen leaves. So she had a serious go at this tiny tree-like entity, but she couldn't do it much damage in her current state.
(Cameron reminds me that she eventually figured out that if you introduced Saffron to the bouquet of flowers and let her sniff it extensively and approve of it, she would not attack the bouquet thereafter. I had forgotten this. But it is a very Saffronian touch indeed.)
A young, very soft-spoken vet came in with a student and introduced herself as Dr. Rizi. She asked us to tell her about Saffron. I was unable to speak, but Cam managed to say the same things I'd said on the phone. Dr. Rizi talked to us for a little while; the main thing I remember is that she said cats are in the wild both prey and predator, so while a hurt dog will let you know that it's in pain, a hurt cat will hide the fact. So despite the great painkillers and her insouciant behavior, Saffron probably was in some kind of pain. And the fact that she couldn't eat or drink well was the clincher. (Dr. Rizi did not put it that way, she was much more graceful.) So euthanasia was definitely something it could be time for.
They took her away and put a catheter in her leg. When they brought her back she was extremely upset. First she couldn't get out of the carrier, and then she couldn't get her leg to work right. We got her up onto the couch. She was yelling more than I've ever heard her yell, which is saying something. I was thinking, This is horrible, we can't do this to her, she hates it. She grabbed a fold of the sleeve of my hoodie in her teeth and chomped the hell out of it. She hissed at her leg. She growled. She scrambled and writhed. I was about to ask Cam to push the button they'd shown us for summoning staff at once, when suddenly Saffron got the knack of the catheter. She then rushed about re-investigating and re-marking the room and occasionally us. They'd told us to push the button when we were ready for them to come back. It took a while. They had put an elastic bandage over the catheter, a bright orange with jaunty black tiger stripes, a cartoon version of our orange tabby girl.
They also told us that we could sit with Saffron after the euthanasia, and depart through the door to the outside without having to go through the lobby.
Eventually she got tired and went into her carrier and lay down. Cam got the button and after a few moments we pressed it. Dr. Rizi came in with two syringes and explained what they were. She put Saf in a soft blanket and she lay on Cam's lap, purring. We petted her head.
The drugs they use work very fast as a rule. But in this case, it appeared that Saffron's explorings had dislodged the needle from the vein, and she just got a sub-cutaneous dose of the anesthetic. They had to take her away and put in another line. "Rasputin cat," said Cam as they left with her.
She was returned wrapped in a towel and very sleepy from the sub-cue anesthesia, her little pointed stripy face just the same as I would see it on my pillow in the night or morning whenever I woke up. Dr. Rizi said she was very good and friendly, and petted her forehead with one finger. I said that she always wanted to cooperate, but sometimes it was too much. "I think with this one, some comfort, a soft bed, love and pets were the thing," she said.
Saf was still purring very faintly. We stroked her forehead carefully.
This time it worked.
We are still just wrecked and grieved, and occasionally panic, thinking, in Cam's case, that she is very late giving Saffron her medications, and in mine that I haven't seen her in too long and she must eat something.
Indeed, we have not seen her in too long.
Pamela
Here she is right after arriving in April of 2013.
Below the cut are more photos; then there's another cut before I describe her last day. Please feel free to skip that part if you don't feel up to it. She was very much herself and everything went pretty well, but it's still awfully sad.
She came with a ratty leopard-print scrap of fleece that she loved; we ended up putting it on the top level of the cat tree, her chosen place. She complained when I took it away to wash it.
She loved boxes. Here she is in a small one:
And in what we called her Dragon Hoard, a collection of cat toys I made to get them out of the way for vacuuming; this had to become a permanent fixture:
And in a random box that she claimed rather anxiously:
Here she is with Cassie; they liked one another and we were so pleased:
Here she is in a common posture; she didn't like my lap but was happy to lie across my collarbone.
*The title is from Djuna Barnes's Ladies Almanack. Cameron called Saffron that after Saf had been unusually obstreperous. Here is the whole passage.
"'She is, has been, and ever will be,' said Miss Nip, 'a darling Detriment to Sleep and Sequence, and will, no doubt, come home as riddled as a Medlar, resembling, in no small degree, the first Round of a Butcher's Picnic, or the Premier Half of a Trunk Murder, for that Girl,' she said pleasantly, 'has in her a trifle of Terrier Blood, and must be forever worrying at every Petticoat as ever dangled over a Hip in this our time!'"
Cameron's gloss: "Nip says it is about Tuck. Nip and Tuck are Janet Flanner and her partner Solita Solano, but I don't know which is supposed to be which (Flanner herself expressed uncertainty on this point)."
Below the cut is a description of her last day. Please skip if you don't feel up to it. There are also a few more photos of her exploring the room the University provided us.
CW for pet illness, death
On the evening of December 14, Cam went to warm up the car, and I put a big towel on the radiator in the bathroom. When I'd packed my knapsack with things that might be useful for a wait in the veterinary ER, I called the university to let them know we wanted to bring Saffron in. I had rehearsed repeatedly and I got through the information -- that her oral cancer had progressed to the point that even with the Very Good Drugs that Oncology had prescribed on October 9 at her first and only appointment, she couldn't eat or drink very well, and that I was seeing some blood when she drooled, which because of the tumor in her mouth was most of the time; that she couldn't close her mouth all the way or nearly, and that it was the wrong shape. But when I tried to acknowledge that it might be time to say goodbye, I couldn't utter a word except "Sorry." The person on the other end of the phone said, "That's all right. We'll evaluate Saffron's vitals and we'll do an end-of-life consultation with you."
Saffron had disappeared after snuggling with me for a while. Cam and I had been conferring and using her name, and I think she knew something was up. She hadn't appeared when Cam brought out the carrier, though she loved the carrier passionately and would dash into it right away as a rule. I put some food on a plate and called her, though, and she came out. While she was trying to eat, I got the towel and went to put it into the carrier. Cam had left the door shut, and the moment I opened the door, Saf abandoned her food and shot into the carrier like a rocket. I put the warm towel in and pushed it as smooth as I could. She settled into it, stretching a little and working her paws, so that part was all right.
Cam called to say the car was warmed up and did I want her to come and take the carrier, and I said I thought I could manage, going downstairs being easier than going up. I'd also forgotten that Saffron had lost weight. I probably could easily have carried her upstairs again too, but I was pretty sure nobody would need to do that. "Hey Saf," I said, as I picked up the carrier. "Do you want to go adventuring?" She often answered me, but this time she just blinked benignly.
I took her through the snowy back yard and around the garage to the driveway. She was sniffing the fresh air avidly; I could hear her very well because the condition of her mouth made her breath sound strange. I put her in the car, panting not with exertion but with stress, and got in myself. She uttered about the usual number of complaints on the way. There was very little traffic and we made good time.
At the U everyone spoke to us in hushed voices, but the young woman at the desk asking the routine questions about our address and so on said at the end, "And is Saffron still a domestic shorthair?" We actually laughed; I said, "Yes, she hasn't decided to become a long-haired cat yet," and Cam said, "That's exactly the kind of thing she would do if she could." Which it definitely is.
Another young person came to collect us shortly, saying they had a private space for us. It was a large room with sofas and padded chairs and a basket of blankets, plus a wall of windows on the outside, with a glass door to the outside as well; and a choice of too-dim or too-bright lighting. We left it dimmer for the moment and let Saf out of the carrier. We'd agreed that if we were given a room to sit with her in, as is usual at the U, she would be exploratory, and that would make everything harder. It turned out to be very comforting.
Here are some photos of her exploring, the last one after they put in the catheter. She was moving too fast for Cam to feel satisfied with the photos, but you can see her body language very well.
She explored every molecule of that room, marking things with her drooly mouth and making occasional interrogative chirrups and trills. She marked my boot and Cam's jeans as well. She loved jumping up on the ledge that ran below the windows, and sniffed extensively at the doorsill. There was a single leaf on the floor there, and she picked it up in her mouth, considered it, and dropped it again. She visited us in time, walking over our laps and purring and headbutting us, but she had too much work to do to settle. She strode about with her tail in the air and her long neck extended, sniffing and cataloguing. There was a ficus tree in the far corner away from the windows, possibly artificial; and a tiny plant near the windows, with a thick woody base and long trailing thin leaves. Saffron loved chewing on plants; the last time that Cam brought me a bouquet of flowers we ended up having to keep it in the front stairway, where at least I could admire it any time I went downstairs. And Saf figured out where it was and would dash down to the landing and start nomming up any fallen leaves. So she had a serious go at this tiny tree-like entity, but she couldn't do it much damage in her current state.
(Cameron reminds me that she eventually figured out that if you introduced Saffron to the bouquet of flowers and let her sniff it extensively and approve of it, she would not attack the bouquet thereafter. I had forgotten this. But it is a very Saffronian touch indeed.)
A young, very soft-spoken vet came in with a student and introduced herself as Dr. Rizi. She asked us to tell her about Saffron. I was unable to speak, but Cam managed to say the same things I'd said on the phone. Dr. Rizi talked to us for a little while; the main thing I remember is that she said cats are in the wild both prey and predator, so while a hurt dog will let you know that it's in pain, a hurt cat will hide the fact. So despite the great painkillers and her insouciant behavior, Saffron probably was in some kind of pain. And the fact that she couldn't eat or drink well was the clincher. (Dr. Rizi did not put it that way, she was much more graceful.) So euthanasia was definitely something it could be time for.
They took her away and put a catheter in her leg. When they brought her back she was extremely upset. First she couldn't get out of the carrier, and then she couldn't get her leg to work right. We got her up onto the couch. She was yelling more than I've ever heard her yell, which is saying something. I was thinking, This is horrible, we can't do this to her, she hates it. She grabbed a fold of the sleeve of my hoodie in her teeth and chomped the hell out of it. She hissed at her leg. She growled. She scrambled and writhed. I was about to ask Cam to push the button they'd shown us for summoning staff at once, when suddenly Saffron got the knack of the catheter. She then rushed about re-investigating and re-marking the room and occasionally us. They'd told us to push the button when we were ready for them to come back. It took a while. They had put an elastic bandage over the catheter, a bright orange with jaunty black tiger stripes, a cartoon version of our orange tabby girl.
They also told us that we could sit with Saffron after the euthanasia, and depart through the door to the outside without having to go through the lobby.
Eventually she got tired and went into her carrier and lay down. Cam got the button and after a few moments we pressed it. Dr. Rizi came in with two syringes and explained what they were. She put Saf in a soft blanket and she lay on Cam's lap, purring. We petted her head.
The drugs they use work very fast as a rule. But in this case, it appeared that Saffron's explorings had dislodged the needle from the vein, and she just got a sub-cutaneous dose of the anesthetic. They had to take her away and put in another line. "Rasputin cat," said Cam as they left with her.
She was returned wrapped in a towel and very sleepy from the sub-cue anesthesia, her little pointed stripy face just the same as I would see it on my pillow in the night or morning whenever I woke up. Dr. Rizi said she was very good and friendly, and petted her forehead with one finger. I said that she always wanted to cooperate, but sometimes it was too much. "I think with this one, some comfort, a soft bed, love and pets were the thing," she said.
Saf was still purring very faintly. We stroked her forehead carefully.
This time it worked.
We are still just wrecked and grieved, and occasionally panic, thinking, in Cam's case, that she is very late giving Saffron her medications, and in mine that I haven't seen her in too long and she must eat something.
Indeed, we have not seen her in too long.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 09:57 pm (UTC)I'm so sorry. She was perfect and she knew how much you loved her.
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Date: 2025-12-30 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:29 pm (UTC)I'm glad you guys had each other for as long as you did.
Her memory for a blessing.
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Date: 2025-12-30 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:53 pm (UTC)May you be comforted; may there be much to explore between the stars and along all the meads of heaven.
no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:59 pm (UTC)Mary Anne in Kentucky
no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 11:08 pm (UTC)She always reminded me a lot of my Miles. :)
Much love to you all.
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Date: 2025-12-30 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 11:45 pm (UTC)I'm also sorry that they're used to people calling and choking out a few broken syllables, but they really are, when I had to call for our little Ista dog I very calmly talked about her difficulties and the vet tech said, "Oh, we could probably fit you in Tuesday," and I started to cry and said, "No, she's--Tuesday will be too--" and the very very nice vet tech said, "I see, oh, yes, 8:30 then, we will be here at 8:30, please come." Having you just say "sorry" is something they are good at, you did it all perfectly.
no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 01:09 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing her story. It is beautiful.
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Date: 2025-12-31 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 02:01 am (UTC)I loved the descriptions of her last exploration, that made me cry.
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Date: 2025-12-31 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-31 08:37 am (UTC)