WWTBAM Bored

Yesterday we had to send Laverne to the next world. She was fine this weekend, but Wednesday stopped eating, wasn't moving much, and basically sat next to the water dish without drinking from it.

We knew her kidneys had finally shut down, and took her to the vet. They confirmed my suspicions -- she was dehydrated, lost 35% of her body weight from her exam last October, and had a subnormal temperature. It was her time to go.

Laverne was the "accidental cat" -- Judy and I went to look at shelter cats on Sunday in 1999, and found Shirley, who we liked. But we wanted Josh to be part of the decision-making process, and he was with friends that day. When we came back the next evening, Laverne was in the pen with Shirley. Turns out she was adopted on Saturday, and this 13-week-old kitten had beat the putz out of the woman's pomeranian dog, so she returned her. The guy said, "her fee's been paid, you can take her with Shirley if you want for free." And so we did, and the rest is history.

And she was feisty like that her entire life. A sweet petite baby cat who could suddenly come out in a berzerker rage when called upon.

Twenty one years is a good run for a cat. I will miss her just the same.

I am so sorry. What a great run for your baby.

I'm sorry, Spiff. She did have a great run.

I am so very sorry, Mr. Spaceman. Me and Wiki send our best lickkisses and cuddles to you. I'm pretty sure that Laverne already has met BeBe, who loved cats (and still does.)

I've decided for myownself that cats are not so bad to know. If I ever made so much as a tiny growl the size of a peanut at one of BeBe's friens, she would show me her biggest teeth (as I would have done back to her if she ever made fun of my wonderful chicken girls. I didn't even growl at BeBe's possum.) Anyway, I will look forward to meeting Laverne when the clock says Bridgetime for Me. I would like to have her for my frien for eternity, too.

so sorry Spiff.

I'm so sorry, Spiff. That was a good run, indeed.

“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….”

— Author unknown

Sorry to hear the news, Spiff. Laverne is in good company.

So sorry to hear this.

Take care.

My condolences Spiff.

Condolences, Spiff.

Accidental pets are the best ones.

Ritterskoop wrote: ↑

Tue Apr 14, 2020 12:31 pm

Accidental pets are the best ones.

I don't think I've told my story about my accidental pet before. I might have some time during the last 20 years, but I don't remember.

In 1974 I was living in a condo in Palo Alto. (I paid $30,500 for it. It's probably worth well over a million now.) I had a girlfriend who still lived with her parents while she was going to stenotype school. She had a Mustang that had a broken drivers-side window. One Monday, when she left to visit me before I went to work and she went to school, a dog was sleeping in the back seat. There were a lot of children in the neighborhood, so she figured someone dumped him on her street, hoping one would take him in. She shooed him out and drove away. The same thing happened again on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday when she told me about it and asked if I'd take care of him for her if he were there still on Friday. He was so she brought him over. I would never have had a dog otherwise, as I lived on the second floor and had no fenced area. I had to take him for a walk three times a day and wasn't very happy about it. I continued to date my girlfriend for several more months, but when she graduated and started working, she lost interest in seeing me. I kept the dog.

So Max and I became a team. I named him before everyone else started calling their dog Max. Everyone who met him said that was an unusual name for a dog. I guess I started something. Actually, my girlfriend suggested his name when she came with me to work one Saturday and saw the name of one of my coworkers on his cubicle, "Max Foster." Max, the dog, looked like a Doberman with a longer coat and a full, deadly tail. That tail would clear off a coffee table in one sweep. I found out years later he was a New Zealand Sheepdog.

I bought a camper van and started going on weekend trips with Max. He loved going on rides. When I took a two-week vacation in 1976, he went all over the 13 western states with me. The next year he went with me to visit my parents in Wyckoff, New Jersey, on a three-week vacation that turned out to be five weeks as I hit a deer halfway between Ocean City and Salisbury, Maryland on the way home. It took two weeks to find a radiator that held water.

When I changed jobs a couple of times and moved to the Sacramento area in 1980, I finally was able to build a fence and let him out during the day. Or so I thought. He was able to clear the six-foot-high fence when adequately motivated by another animal. He had epilepsy, which was kept under control as long as I gave him Dilantin and phenobarbitol twice a day. However, early one morning, I was awakened by him having a fit that didn't stop. I drove him to a vet as soon as he opened, but it was too late. Max had hemorrhaged internally and died.

I've had cats since then but have never been able to bring myself to get another dog. I don't think another could ever compare with Max. He's probably chasing Laverne in Asgard.

I love "adequately motivated".

I had, as a college student, a room based on my dog-sitting the homeowner's 2 dogs, one an extremely well-behaved standard poodle, Desire', the other some kind of probably black lab-rottweiller mix who would leap the six-ft fence whenever she was adequately-motivated, which was basically whenever she was up for a run.

With me doing a lot of the running.

Helpful neighborhood kids would tell me "Hilda went thataway".