Ingrid (1987-2005)

Well, my pal Ingrid has been gone almost two weeks, and it's pretty lonesome around my house. After almost 18 years of her being there with me no matter where I made my home, her absence is profound.

She was born about 1:15 p.m. on October 19, 1987, and when she came to live with me 5-6 weeks later, her eyes were still blue. Her fur was jet black, and I knew that beforehand, and I had thought that I would call her "Berlin," because that sounds like a cool name for a black cat. But when we met, I said "No, this kitten's name is Ingrid." Because it fit her better.

As she grew, her eyes gradually changed to jade green with flecks of emerald. She was okay at the vet's, to begin with, but by the age of about six, she decided that she hated those places, and she would basically declare war when we got there. We had to tank her with isofluorane gas for the vet even to examine her. Luckily, until the last 8 days of her life, that was only once a year. Of course I've spent a lot of time lately reflecting on those last 8 days, and second-guessing myself, because I feel guilty. It may be a while before I let myself off the hook on that one.

But it would be a disservice to both of us to dwell on that. In the time we had together—nearly 18 years—we grew very close. When Ingrid was real young, I was afraid she might grow up to be an autistic kitty or something, because I was working full-time, going to grad school and teaching classes. I had made my decision before she came to live with me that she would be a strictly indoor cat, and that was a sound choice. She outlived all her littermates by several years. And her brief forays outside under my supervision were great adventures for her.

People used to get sick of me telling stories about Ingrid. But if they met her and spent a little time with her, they were invariably quite taken with her. We had lots and lots and lots of good times. It helps me to think back on those days now. But since this is a memorial, I won't try and tell her whole life's story.

Even her very last night with me, when I turned the light off Ingrid came over and snuggled up with me, as had been part of our routine for many years. She liked to sleep under the covers during the colder months; in summer, she'd either sleep on top at the foot of the bed or on her own bed (the one with the heating pad she loved). But toward the very end she had had trouble sleeping, pacing around, trying different places and positions, and that told me she was feeling pretty uncomfortable. Ingrid didn't complain about the pain, but when I rolled over and raised my head at night to see how she was doing, she had her paws tucked in and she was watching me. Protecting me and making sure I was okay.

The last time I saw her sleep, Ingrid was having a vivid dream, with her paws and ears and whiskers twitching. She woke with a start, sat up and looked at me and came over to me for reassurance, like "Man! I am soooooo glad to see you!"

By then Ingrid had all but quit eating. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She tried her best, and she asked me to feed her, and she'd sniff at her food, but it simply wasn't working. In her last five days, she just about had to force herself even to drink any water. She had to concentrate hard to do that. So I was giving her subcutaneous fluids, and you know what? Ingrid tolerated that really well. She was a champ. Barely even flinched, and she would purr, and it made her feel much better. You get a headache and feel kind of crappy when you're dehydrated.

Another sign: For years when I petted her while she was lying down, I'd tell Ingrid that "You can put your head down, Sweetie." She never would. I stroked her, her head came up with her eyes and ears intent on me as if saluting me, and she purred. But those last few days, my kitty must have been weary. Just so tired, without any other way to tell me. Because she finally put her head down for me as I stroked her. She even closed her eyes.

I feel awful that Ingrid died at the veterinary surgeon's office. But we didn't really have much choice. They were trying to save her life, but they couldn't. I got a good honest and positive vibe from the surgeon, and I told her that if things looked really bad, based on what I had seen and what Ingrid's behavior had been telling me, there was no point in even bringing her out of the anesthetic. To my sorrow, that is what they found when they opened her tummy. It looked real bad. Because it was a weighty decision and she'd already gotten to like Ingrid, the surgeon actually called in another completely objective surgeon who'd never met Ingrid before who was in mid-operation, and they agreed. She was finished.

Ingrid had almost nothing to look forward to except pain. She would never get any better. The cancer had developed into little nodules all over her pancreas and her gall bladder and the connecting tubes, blocking her biliary duct so that the bile just backed up into her bloodstream. Even if it had been a matter of removing a cyst or an abscess—which would have been the best case—her recovery would have been slow and painful, and she would have been miserable because they'd have had to board her 2-4 days. But the cancer sealed it. It was time to let Ingrid go.

She died at 2:47 p.m., Thursday, August 25, 2005.

I brought her body home laid out in the carrier and went on a mad campaign to get rid of all the medicine and food and her litter box and her bed. All of it. I saved her toys to bury with her, but I couldn't have that other stuff around any more. So it was hours before I even looked in the carrier. Then I finally took the top off the carrier. She lay on the old soft towel, with the t-shirt I had put in there to try & help her feel more relaxed because it smelled like me covering her. I pulled the shirt back just enough to see her head, and to make sure her head was in a comfortable position. That may seem silly, since she was dead, but it was important to me. I didn't uncover anything else; I couldn't bear to look where they had operated on her. I don't want to have that memory.

I slept close to her body that last night, then got up early the next morning and went to work in the back yard. The previous Saturday, Ingrid had conducted her next-to-last patrol in the back yard as a friend and I talked and watched her, and there was a place back by the fence where she lay down in the grass, all stretched out with only the tips of her ears above the grass blades. We got a kick out of that. She decided "This place is good. I'm lying down here."

So that's where I buried her.

I surely miss Ingrid.

I don't know what to say. I am sooo sooo soooo sorry.

R.I.P. Ingrid you will be forever loved and missed sweetheart.
Play hard at Rainbow Bridge and I know all the PT pet angels have welcomed you with headbumpies and whisker kisses.

And remember sweetie to watch over your pawpie and also remember that one sweet day you and your pawpie will be together again and you can lay beneath a beautiful willow tree in the grass and pawpie can stroke you again just like he used to only this time you will be together forever.

I am so sorry! :( That was a beautiful tribute to her. She will always be with you in your heart and you'll meet again someday! (((((HUGS))))))

Extremely sorry for your loss. You had a wonderful, long time with Ingrid. As someone recently said to me when I expressed sadness over the loss of my dear departed Sami, Sami wouldn't want you to be sad when you think of her - and she wouldn't. I know it is way too early for you to think in those terms, but one day it will be a little easier. Take heart, you are not alone in your grief. And remember, your little one is watching, still keeping an eye on you while you're sleeping.:(

RiP sweet little Ingrid....you are deeply missed. watch over your daddy and play well at the RB.you will both see each other again someday.....RIP sweet Ingrid.

Oh my my my...........how did I stumble across this thread? I guess it was meant to be.

With tears in my eyes I can tell you how much I fully understand your pain. I have been there - done that - with my very first and best friend, Sugar, who also lived to be 18. Sugar was a male, long haired pure white kitty. He arrived with that name and at first it didn't seem appropriate for a male to be named Sugar. But he lived up to that name over and over again.

Even though it might take a while - you will be able to smile again and maybe, just maybe, you will also be able to feel Ingrid visit you to make sure that you are alright - and to reassure you that she is in a happy place now - loving you still.

These losses are so difficult - we love these little ones in ways we cannot describe to anyone in the purity that we feel.

My heart goes out to you.

We are so touched by your story. Your Dad loved you the way I loved my darling Sasha (May 8, 1994- August 31, 2005) and all of my darling furkids who so generously shared their precious lives with me.

I hope Sasha and her fursiblings greeted you at Rainbow's Bridge. One thing for sure, you had a good life with your Daddy.

Ingrid's Dad: Please accept our deepest sympathy on the passing of your beloved and treasured Ingrid.

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People used to get sick of me telling stories about Ingrid. But if they met her and spent a little time with her, they were invariably quite taken with her. We had lots and lots and lots of good times. It helps me to think back on those days now.

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The PT people in this Forum never tire of telling about their pets or reading about all of the charming and wonderful pets of other subscribers. I love your recollections of Ingrid and will always be happy to read whichever cherished memory of her you wish to share.

Ingrid -- shine on, darling girl at Rainbow's Bridge. Play with my darlings and one day every pet who paved the way will be reunited with their people.

Ingrid's Dad,

Don't ever feel bad about telling Ingrid's story. That was an endearing story of a man and his best friend.

I am SO very sorry for your loss. RIP sweet Ingrid. Watch over your daddy and have a wonderful afterlife at the Rainbow Bridge.

((((((HUGS TO YOU Ingrid's Daddy)))))))))))

What a beautiful and touching tribute. I've felt your same pain so I know just how real and terrible it is right now.

Please believe me when I say that some day, you will be able to remember Ingrid with joy instead of pain. But take your time and do it at your own pace.

I'm glad you found PetTalk to share Ingrid's life with us. When you feel up to it, we are here to listen.


rip Ingrid.

Ingrid's Dad: Thank you for telling us about Ingrid. It's obvious that you 2 shared a long and wonderful relationship. I won't forget Ingrid and your moving tribute. I wish I had your way with words. Until we're all reunited again....

:( :( :( Oh my gosh...talk about leaky eye syndrome! What a wonderful tribute to such a sweet kitty. Ingrid was very lucky to have you as a hooman and to show her what love feels like. Likewise, her love for you has never left. I just know that in the middle of the night, she comes to you and purrs in your ear just to let you know that she is OK. You will see her again...there's no doubt about that.

Ingrid darling, I'm sure you are enjoying your eternal life at the RB and I do hope that you were there when the other PT kitties travelled the long road up there. Purrs and headbumpies to you sweetie and please watch out for Casper and OJ. They would love to be your friend.

What a touching tribute to your lovely girl, Ingrid. Even though our kitties live long cat-lives, it is never long enough.

I appreciate being able to share this with folks who can understand.

I'm something of a loner, and I don't have that many friends--if that is anyone's fault, it is mine, but that's really the way I prefer it--so this has been a difficult time for me. Ingrid took care of me to the best of her ability. I tried my best to do the same for her.

People are quick to say stuff like "Get another cat," but it's awfully early even to consider that. Those people are usually the same ones who talk about "owning" a pet. That ain't the kind of relationship Ingrid and I had. Yes, I was the boss in some ways, deciding where we'd live and when she could go outside and what was safe for her to chew on, but all of Ingrid that was mine was what she gave to me of her own will. That's what I miss so badly.

If Ingrid still is someplace, I hope that she is okay.

I've heard the Rainbow Bridge stories, and whether that happens or not, it is a nice thought.

What happens after we die? I don't know. In truth, I don't think anybody actually does know. However, I respect everyone's right to believe as they choose. And one thing of which I am absolutely positive is that if we have souls, then Ingrid does, too. A friend of mine who usually refers to himself as an atheist has commented that "You know, Tom, regardless of whether God exists or not, there is a certain energy in all living beings, and it is contrary to all known laws of this universe that that energy would simply disappear. It has to go somewhere."

Another friend treasures this quotation from Depak Chopra (who also quotes Buddha):

"We are travelers on a cosmic journey—stardust swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal but the expressions of life are ephemeral, momentary, transient.

The Buddha once said:

'This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds; to watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance; a lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky, rushing by like torrents down a steep mountain.

We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other; to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment but it is transient—it is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other and then this moment will have been worthwhile.'"

I'm so very sorry for your loss. :(

Ingrid's Dad,
What a beautiful and moving tribute to your best friend, Ingrid. I understand all too well the pain, and am deeply sorry for your loss. I know Ingrid had the best life possible, and she is looking down over you now. Let the memories bring a smile to your face, and a calm to your heart.

Please don't be a stranger. We welcome you to PT.

Johanna