I had felt impelled to come and find a sibling for Aslan. Aslan, our purebred Ragdoll, had been meowing for weeks on end, and I told the family that he was telling me that he wanted a little brother to play with. They all laughed at me, familiar with my way of interpreting what our pets were saying. But, somehow, I really felt quite serious about this particular interpretation, and just a few weeks before Christmas, I set off to PAWS to find Aslan a playmate.
I reached the facility on Greenlake in Seattle as soon as it opened, and as I tiptoed into the holding area, my heart skipped with anticipation. They had just brought in a box of new kittens, and I felt certain that I would find the perfect one in their midst.
They were all sound asleep, sleeping off the anesthesia, and the trauma their young bodies had encountered. I took a feather, and gently waved it outside the box's opening. One tiny little black bundle of fur opened a sleepy green eye and watched me. I kept the feather moving. Yawning, he gingerly stood up, stretched, and tiptoed over the sleeping bodies of his litter mates. Not a one of them moved. He came to the opening in the box, and gently waved his paw at the feather. As I tickled him under the chin, he became a little more earnest about his play.
I scooped him up, and looked at his nametag. “Tumeric,” it said. “That’s a dumb name for a cat” I thought. “That will have to change immediately.” In the meantime, he had started his purring
engine, and it was going strong. He
nestled deep into my arms, and still purring, gave way to sleep once more. I had no doubt that this “was the one” for
both Aslan and me.
Gryffyn, as I came to call him, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen. When I showed his picture to a friend of mine who worked at animal shelters, she exclaimed: “He still has his nursing mouth! – He hasn’t been weaned!” That explained why Gryfynn climbed up on my shoulder and sucked on my earlobe, I thought. It was a rather endearing quality, although a little uncomfortable and odd. It was a ritual for him the first few weeks he lived with us; he’d climb up, nuzzle my earlobe, and fall asleep under my chin.
Aslan was delighted with Gryffyn, and in fact, stopped the meowing now that he had gotten what he asked for. Aslan was easily six-to-seven times larger than Gryfynn, even though he himself was only six months old. But Gryfynn was never afraid of Aslan, and seemed to enjoy the way that Aslan would completely encircle him with his “arms” and lay on him. If Gryfynn wanted to get away during their play, he would walk directly under the kitchen cabinets, without even crouching!
That tiny charm had its serious side, however. Gryfynn was plagued with bladder and urinary infections all of his life. We went from one vet to another, taking drugs and trying special diets. It’s my guess that that too-early weaning, and far too-early neutering had caused the problem. It is what took his life two months ago, at the much too-young age of seven.
Gryffyn, despite his fear of other people, was a constant companion to me. A tiny black shadow, he followed me from room to room whenever I was at home. He’d sit patiently whether I was in the kitchen or in the bathroom; it was clear that the only thing he wanted was to be near to me. He would always wait until I was nearly asleep to jump up onto the bed and snuggle in close. I don’t think he would move the whole night through, and I always felt his devotion coming through his still-small body and constant purring.
It was somewhat of a surprise that Gryfynn took to Brett the way he did, considering the fact that he hardly ever showed himself to others, but, in fact, he loved Brett from the beginning. There were times that I would see Gryfynn looking at Brett with what seemed to be a silent plea for help with his constant painful bladder spasms. Brett was tender with Gryfynn, and there was a bond between them. I was grateful that someone else could see and know the Gryfynn that I did.
Gryffyn's happiest times were spent in our garden in Orem. After our morning run, we had a ritual of letting “the boys” out into the garden while we sat outside and read our scriptures together. They would always be waiting by the front door, meowing and eager for their morning romp. Gryfynn seemed to forget his timidity and discomfort in order to stalk birds, sniff the flowers, and nibble on the grass. We kept some fresh catnip out in the herb planter, and he and Aslan both loved helping themselves to that. They would be quite reluctant to go back into the house, and would be extra playful if they had the opportunity to make a second visit to the garden later in the day.
After Brett left, Gryfynn really started to decline in health and spirits. The situation was complicated by the fact that I left for full-time work, and Gryfynn seemed really bereft. The night-time snuggles were still sweet, but there was a deep loneliness that now existed for both Gryfynn and me, and he never felt really at ease with Isabeau, who wanted to chase him all of the time . . . not a good thing for a sweet but fearful guy who never felt very well.
I took Gryffyn to the vet twice in the last 18 months, and both times were an agony for him. He just hated travelling, hated strangers, and hated being poked at when he was in pain. To add to the complications, the vet did not feel it was right to give Gryffy drugs, and we tried a new diet that Gryffyn just didn’t like. There had been too many changes. Worse still, there were constant strangers coming into the house to look at it to see if they might want to purchase it . . . and while I was not there to comfort him.
I was so busy with work and the upkeep of the house and yard that I am afraid I didn’t really realize how much Gryffy was suffering. I would hear him moan sometimes in the middle of the night as he lay next to my shoulder, but I think I just kept hoping that he would feel better the next day. I kept thinking that if we could all get through this hard time, if we could get to the next house, perhaps I could have a little walled-in garden again where Gryffyn could play with Aslan and all would be well. This has been the case with my thinking for all of the animals: things will be better when I move. But, poor Gryffy was holding on for my sake while he was completely miserable. It became a vicious cycle of people coming in to the house, which stressed him out, which caused his bladder problems to flare up, which caused him to be more stressed and fragile for when people came to the house. I came to realize that Gryffy was moaning most of the time that I was with him. I spoke to the vet and he said that there was a surgery that might help, and I read everything about it that I could find on the internet. The results were iffy, and I just wasn’t sure that it was worth putting Gryffyn through more suffering, especially as I began to think that his issues were caused by something that happened to him with that early neutering.
I still put the decision off for several weeks. I just couldn’t bear to really think about it, and I just kept wishing that something would happen to change our circumstances. I wondered how much of a difference it would make for Gryffyn if people weren’t coming into the house. Could we all just hold on a little bit longer?
I knew deep inside that Gryffyn really couldn’t hold on, and I had to make the decision to end his suffering. It’s always puzzled me how we consider ourselves inhumane if we let our animals suffer, yet consider ourselves to be inhumane if we think about ending the suffering of a human being. I also worried that I might be choosing something for Gryffyn that I really wanted for myself at the time: release. This caused me a lot of second thoughts, and I questioned myself over and over again. Above all, it was just too soon to lose my little shadow and nighttime companion.
Gryffyn had been very brave for me; he was my little guardian angel. He didn’t want to leave me, but he was in very bad shape. I finally had to break that impasse, and in doing so, I had the feeling that Gryffyn was paving the way out for me; that somehow the change that was his death was going to bring about change for me. It’s not the way I wanted it to be, but now as things are unfolding; I am more sure than ever that Gryffyn’s death began the movement out of the stasis and limbo we had all been stuck in.
I called a local country vet who made house calls – I wasn’t going to put Gryffy through a fearful ride to a strange place. I also texted Brett to let him know what was going to happen. Brett dropped everything to come, something I had not anticipated. Gryffyn was very glad that he was there, and I am so glad that he had us both to help him through the end.
The vet did something very unusual: he wrote me a letter a few days after Gryffyn’s death. This is what he wrote:
"Dear Lynda,
It was time for Gryffyn. Thank you for calling me to come help end his ordeal and for letting me use sedation to allow a seamless transition to euthanasia.
The procedure was painless. Your decision was both humane and an extension of your kindness. It was far better to allow Gryffyn to go out on a higher note rather than await a more protracted ending.
It was also clear that you will miss his spirit around the place.
Perhaps now is the time to discover the same good grace to be as to yourself as you were to him.
I am sorry for your grief and loss.
Sincerely,
R.H. Hogan"
Gryffyn died April 3, 2012, just a few days before Passover, when I felt myself start to live again. Passover marks a deliverance from bondage, and reminds His people that God is with them.
Gryffyn, as I came to call him, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen. When I showed his picture to a friend of mine who worked at animal shelters, she exclaimed: “He still has his nursing mouth! – He hasn’t been weaned!” That explained why Gryfynn climbed up on my shoulder and sucked on my earlobe, I thought. It was a rather endearing quality, although a little uncomfortable and odd. It was a ritual for him the first few weeks he lived with us; he’d climb up, nuzzle my earlobe, and fall asleep under my chin.
Aslan was delighted with Gryffyn, and in fact, stopped the meowing now that he had gotten what he asked for. Aslan was easily six-to-seven times larger than Gryfynn, even though he himself was only six months old. But Gryfynn was never afraid of Aslan, and seemed to enjoy the way that Aslan would completely encircle him with his “arms” and lay on him. If Gryfynn wanted to get away during their play, he would walk directly under the kitchen cabinets, without even crouching!
That tiny charm had its serious side, however. Gryfynn was plagued with bladder and urinary infections all of his life. We went from one vet to another, taking drugs and trying special diets. It’s my guess that that too-early weaning, and far too-early neutering had caused the problem. It is what took his life two months ago, at the much too-young age of seven.
Gryffyn, despite his fear of other people, was a constant companion to me. A tiny black shadow, he followed me from room to room whenever I was at home. He’d sit patiently whether I was in the kitchen or in the bathroom; it was clear that the only thing he wanted was to be near to me. He would always wait until I was nearly asleep to jump up onto the bed and snuggle in close. I don’t think he would move the whole night through, and I always felt his devotion coming through his still-small body and constant purring.
It was somewhat of a surprise that Gryfynn took to Brett the way he did, considering the fact that he hardly ever showed himself to others, but, in fact, he loved Brett from the beginning. There were times that I would see Gryfynn looking at Brett with what seemed to be a silent plea for help with his constant painful bladder spasms. Brett was tender with Gryfynn, and there was a bond between them. I was grateful that someone else could see and know the Gryfynn that I did.
Gryffyn's happiest times were spent in our garden in Orem. After our morning run, we had a ritual of letting “the boys” out into the garden while we sat outside and read our scriptures together. They would always be waiting by the front door, meowing and eager for their morning romp. Gryfynn seemed to forget his timidity and discomfort in order to stalk birds, sniff the flowers, and nibble on the grass. We kept some fresh catnip out in the herb planter, and he and Aslan both loved helping themselves to that. They would be quite reluctant to go back into the house, and would be extra playful if they had the opportunity to make a second visit to the garden later in the day.
After Brett left, Gryfynn really started to decline in health and spirits. The situation was complicated by the fact that I left for full-time work, and Gryfynn seemed really bereft. The night-time snuggles were still sweet, but there was a deep loneliness that now existed for both Gryfynn and me, and he never felt really at ease with Isabeau, who wanted to chase him all of the time . . . not a good thing for a sweet but fearful guy who never felt very well.
I took Gryffyn to the vet twice in the last 18 months, and both times were an agony for him. He just hated travelling, hated strangers, and hated being poked at when he was in pain. To add to the complications, the vet did not feel it was right to give Gryffy drugs, and we tried a new diet that Gryffyn just didn’t like. There had been too many changes. Worse still, there were constant strangers coming into the house to look at it to see if they might want to purchase it . . . and while I was not there to comfort him.
I was so busy with work and the upkeep of the house and yard that I am afraid I didn’t really realize how much Gryffy was suffering. I would hear him moan sometimes in the middle of the night as he lay next to my shoulder, but I think I just kept hoping that he would feel better the next day. I kept thinking that if we could all get through this hard time, if we could get to the next house, perhaps I could have a little walled-in garden again where Gryffyn could play with Aslan and all would be well. This has been the case with my thinking for all of the animals: things will be better when I move. But, poor Gryffy was holding on for my sake while he was completely miserable. It became a vicious cycle of people coming in to the house, which stressed him out, which caused his bladder problems to flare up, which caused him to be more stressed and fragile for when people came to the house. I came to realize that Gryffy was moaning most of the time that I was with him. I spoke to the vet and he said that there was a surgery that might help, and I read everything about it that I could find on the internet. The results were iffy, and I just wasn’t sure that it was worth putting Gryffyn through more suffering, especially as I began to think that his issues were caused by something that happened to him with that early neutering.
I still put the decision off for several weeks. I just couldn’t bear to really think about it, and I just kept wishing that something would happen to change our circumstances. I wondered how much of a difference it would make for Gryffyn if people weren’t coming into the house. Could we all just hold on a little bit longer?
I knew deep inside that Gryffyn really couldn’t hold on, and I had to make the decision to end his suffering. It’s always puzzled me how we consider ourselves inhumane if we let our animals suffer, yet consider ourselves to be inhumane if we think about ending the suffering of a human being. I also worried that I might be choosing something for Gryffyn that I really wanted for myself at the time: release. This caused me a lot of second thoughts, and I questioned myself over and over again. Above all, it was just too soon to lose my little shadow and nighttime companion.
Gryffyn had been very brave for me; he was my little guardian angel. He didn’t want to leave me, but he was in very bad shape. I finally had to break that impasse, and in doing so, I had the feeling that Gryffyn was paving the way out for me; that somehow the change that was his death was going to bring about change for me. It’s not the way I wanted it to be, but now as things are unfolding; I am more sure than ever that Gryffyn’s death began the movement out of the stasis and limbo we had all been stuck in.
I called a local country vet who made house calls – I wasn’t going to put Gryffy through a fearful ride to a strange place. I also texted Brett to let him know what was going to happen. Brett dropped everything to come, something I had not anticipated. Gryffyn was very glad that he was there, and I am so glad that he had us both to help him through the end.
The vet did something very unusual: he wrote me a letter a few days after Gryffyn’s death. This is what he wrote:
"Dear Lynda,
It was time for Gryffyn. Thank you for calling me to come help end his ordeal and for letting me use sedation to allow a seamless transition to euthanasia.
The procedure was painless. Your decision was both humane and an extension of your kindness. It was far better to allow Gryffyn to go out on a higher note rather than await a more protracted ending.
It was also clear that you will miss his spirit around the place.
Perhaps now is the time to discover the same good grace to be as to yourself as you were to him.
I am sorry for your grief and loss.
Sincerely,
R.H. Hogan"
Gryffyn died April 3, 2012, just a few days before Passover, when I felt myself start to live again. Passover marks a deliverance from bondage, and reminds His people that God is with them.
I miss my sweet Gryffyn, a tiny soul that no one else seemed
to know, but who brought great comfort and love to my life. I thank God that I had the opportunity to
share my life with him, and I pray that I will have the chance to live with
Gryffyn again some day.
