It went far and wide. Wide-eyed kittens hopefully and eagerly dreamed of being chosen.
But it was not to be.
In a small town, only people in Oregon (or who love Oregon) knew about, a Siamese Queen awaited her fate. Cheysuli was chosen.
For many years all was well in Chey’s world. She was crushed (and perhaps one could say diminished) when her beloved calico mentor, Georgia transitioned. She was further distressed to the point of near death when Ichiro was adopted. But she soldiered on as all good cats must.
And then she stopped eating. The vet did blood work. She still didn’t eat but they did fluids and an anti-emetic.
On the third day, which was a Saturday, after she’d only been eating what was forced down her and painted on her pretty brown stockings, they gave her more fluids and another injection. They started her on Tapazol because her thyroid was high.
She nibbled but didn’t eat. She was force fed on Sunday and her body painted, which she dutifully cleaned.
And she came home and ate.
She didn’t eat a ton at any one visit to the dish but she ate frequently, probably at about 70% of what she would normally eat and 300% of fishy flakes, because when you are 15 and haven’t been eating, if you like fishy flakes, you get fishy flakes.
And then Saturday night. She vomited. Once. Twice. Five times. White foamy bile. She was drinking though.
The Woman knew. Chey wasn’t coming back from this. She had no interest even in cleaning herself up, not really. And while sometimes cats react to Tapazol, this didn’t feel like that.
But the Male wasn’t ready–who knew he liked her so much despite her constant disdain?
So they went to the emergency vet. Fluids, more blood work, offers of ultrasound. She got more injections. She went home and did not come out of her carrier. She could move. She didn’t want to.
She stayed hidden in her carrier nearly the whole night, coming out only twice to cuddle with the woman for an hour or so.
She refused all water, all food.
She could have been forced. She could have gone for an ultrasound. But at 15 years old there were few things in her presentation that would have made the extra days of life worth the effort of more time being fussed with. She was now on Tapazol and a high blood pressure medication and an appetite stimulant.
On Monday the Woman called a very nice man who came out that night and helped Chey across the Bridge. She was greeted by far too many beloved friends. This man treated everyone with kindness and cried with all of us though we had never met him.
And now the search may begin once more. But that is a story for future generations. For now, we can look at the stars and remember when Chey ruled the world.