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.

Re:

Quote:

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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

I am in awe of your rendition of events and Ingrid's life and how connected you both were. That's something that you will cherish your whole life.

Ingrid can never be replaced because she has claimed a part of your heart that will be forever hers. That's the way it should be.

When and as equally important if, you feel the need to bring another little furball into your life, you will find (and I can tell from your writings) that your heart is big enough to share, but only when the time is right. You will certainly know when that time arrives.

From the bottom of my heart, my condolences and to Ingrid, Godspeed.

You will meet again.

What a wonderful story and tribute to your beloved Ingrid. How fortunate that you were able to share so many years together, but I know no matter how much time, it is never enough.

RIP sweet Ingrid.

I look forward to hearing more about her.

By the way, Welcome to PT. I am sorry that your first postings are marked by your tragic loss, but I hope you will continue to stay with us and share more stories about her.

I cannot stop crying. Such a great kitty-dad you were. RIP sweet Ingrid. Your Dad loved you so. I bet she KNEW it!

Thanks for sharing this touching story with us.

Sas

I looked around, and I'm surprised they are still posted, but some years back (about 3 years) I made some entries here under my real name (Tom Horn) about a male Rex rabbit named Louie whom I found after he had been abandoned in July 1999. I had wondered whether Ingrid would tolerate his presence, because by then she was almost 12.

They got along just fine.

I think Louie was born sometime early in 1999, then abandoned by some ignorant person who thought he could survive on his own. I nearly ran over him the night I found him; he'd gone looking for water and food, then wandered into the street. Poor guy was thirsty and hungry! Very near-sighted, too, I think.

Louie lived with us from July of 1999 until November 3, 2003. That Sunday night in November, I got out of the shower, and his body language was something no one else could have read, but it was very much as if he had taken a shower himself and shaved and put on a tie, and he was waiting for me. Of that I am absolutely sure. He wanted to say goodbye.

I knew the second I picked him up that he was dying. He had just been hanging on to see me again. I had been working on my car that day, not paying much attention to him, and I'm sure it was an effort. It was like he thought it would be too impolite to leave without saying so long.

I picked him up and cradled him, and within ten minutes he was gone.

Funny thing--Ingrid mourned Louie. A few days later, she was sitting in the hallway and I was on the couch, and I said "Come here, Sweetie." She took two steps toward me, then turned right and went over and sat down by Louie's cage, and she looked in there for a solid 20 seconds or so. That's a long time for a cat to peer at something that isn't there. She remembered him. She missed him.

Then she came over to me and hopped up by me. She was sad.

I could tell, also, that in her last few days Ingrid was afraid of letting me down. Can you imagine that? She didn't want to leave me alone. She didn't want to cause me any pain. I'm certain of it. I've heard some people say that cats have no sense of their own mortality, that everything for them is here and now, but if you'll pardon the expression (and if it's not out of bounds here--I apologize if it is, because I don't want to offend anyone and if it's forbidden I will never do it again), I believe that that assumption is bullshit. None of them will do calculus or learn to speak Russian, but the range of intelligence and prescience is every bit as wide in cats as it is in human beings.

It was hard enough when Louie died. It's much worse now.

I'm very grateful for any good thoughts you might send Ingrid's way. Or mine.

I was reading the new posts and had a thought. You have such wonderful recollections of Igrid and Louie that you ought to write them down. I did that when my Sami died. Everytime I thought of something funny, sad, silly that had happened to us I jotted it down in the memory book. That way it makes you feel better now to have those recollections and you surely won't forget as the years go past and the memories aren't quite so clear. Anyway, it allowed me to cry, remember and ensure that the memories won't be forgotten in the future.

Oh, that was such a sweet tribute to your sweet little girl. Rest in Peace Ingrid, have fun at the Rainbow Bridge! (((HUGS))) to you, Ingrid's dad, and welcome to Pet Talk! That was so touching and so sad. :( :( :( Oh, Ingrid, you will surely be missed.

WE ARE SORRY,TO HAER ABOUT INGRIDS PASSING,AND ITS NICE,TO KNOW,THAT THERES ANOTHER MAN,OUT THERE,WHO LOVES HIS CAT,AS MUCH,AS I DO.
AND INGRID,IS IN FINE PAWS,TOURING,WITH THE PET ANGEL ARMY,AND WAS ABLE,TO MAKE THE TOUR,IN TIME,FOR PARIS.
SHE,OBVIOUSLY MEANT SO MUCH,TO YOU,AND SHE WANTS YOU,TO KNOW,THAT SHE MISSES YOU,AND WILL SEE YOU AGAIN,ONE FINE DAY.

I am so sorry about Ingrid's passing!

Here on PetTalk there are many people who have experienced the amount of communication that can arise between different species!

I don't know exactly what "soul" means but I am absolutely convinced it is something we have and animals and especially pets have just as well.

And when they go it is the same as with any other being who came close to us: we cannot look over the big barrier between life and death but just have to comfort ourselves with the memory of the life we had together. And it sounds as if Ingrid and you had a very good life- and she knew it:)

What a wonderful tribute to a great friend!!! I am quite sure Ingrid would have liked it,too!!! RIP... Sandra

I was my privilege to read Ingrid's story.

Very touching.
I'm sure you both miss eachother.

I'd like to thank everybody again for their kindness.

I've been making an effort to try & let myself off the hook on this; nothing that I could have done (yet failed to do) let carcinomas develop in Ingrid's pancreatic and biliary tracts. It wasn't a matter of not changing the litter box often enough--and I'll admit that in my primitive hard-core bachelor housekeeping, I let it go too far sometimes (*most* of the time, my friends would probably interject), but Ingrid never commented on that (as I have heard about other cats doing) by making a deposit elsewhere--or a matter of my not loving her enough, or even of having taken her for granted sometimes over 18 years. It wasn't anything that I did, or anything that I failed to do, that let the cancer get a foothold in Ingrid's tummy. It just happened. There was nothing I could do about it. It just happened. I couldn't have foreseen it, and I couldn't have stopped it. It just happened.

Our cats may think that we have magical, godlike powers, but the truth is that we are just members of a species with hands and access to technology.

It has been a great help to reflect on all the good times we had together. For instance, regarding the litter box: Ingrid never failed to hit it, regardless of how messy it was. But she watched me intently (as if she were trying her best to memorize the procedure, so she could maybe do it herself) when I emptied it and changed the filler, and you know what? She'd nearly always mark it, as soon as it was set. Like: "Ooh, my nice clean litter box! Now it's good to go!"

Another time, we had gone out of town, and after having already started to return, I realized I had an engine problem that I needed to fix. So I doubled back to where we had stayed, took Ingrid inside, and called my boss long-distance to tell them why I wouldn't make it to work that day. While I was on the phone, Ingrid stretched up to tap me on the elbow, and she had this pleading look on her face. It said "I can't find my litter box." So I got off the phone, went out to my car to get her box & bring it inside, and she jumped in there immediately.

And jeez. . .that was actually about 15 or 16 years ago. That's a long time, huh?

Ingrid lived 6520 days: 17 years, 9 months & 6 days. She came to live with me when she was about 5 weeks old.

I have to keep this in mind. That's a jolly long life for a cat. I've read about folks in here who have had cats pass away when they were much, much younger than Ingrid. We had ourselves a good long ride. I could hardly ask for more. I need to remember that.

Of course, the flip side is that after being together for so long, it's hard to get used to being the one left to carry on. There's this void now.

I've got Ingrid's grave fixed up pretty nice. The spot she chose out there in the back yard, and some timbers I used to elevate the soil level about 9 inches, and the ornamental grasses and ferns I planted there. . . . As graves go, it's really okay. I cannot foretell how long I might live in this house--I'm just very, very glad that Ingrid had the chance to enjoy it, too: she adapted immediately, sprawled out on the carpet and asked "So why didn't we do this a long time ago?"--but I think I've got her resting place established so that nobody will ever bother her. Anyway, I hope so. In addition to the soil & the plants, at two different depths there are cast-iron things like parts of a trellis that I laid in there (one at the bottom of the planter, another a few inches below the surface of the surrounding yard), plus a long plank of wood covering her pet carrier.

In the pet carrier, except for her head, I covered her with a shirt of mine. I put her toys--including the one that she used to carry around talking with her mama-call, the one she often brought to me and the one I was afraid to wash even though it had gotten so ratty, because I thought she might not like it any more if I did--and a couple of those cloth things with catnip in them that she used to hook her claws into and wash down and rub on her head like crazy--and some others she used as pillows, and one of those little plastic rings that you take off the milk jug when you open it, because she was nuts about batting those around and she loved to bring them to me to flick them around for her when I was sitting in the bathroom (if you get the picture).

I put a scoop of coffee in the corner of the pet carrier, too, because I had found out long ago--a good 16, 17 years ago, when she was still sufficiently agile to jump up on the counter and stick her nose in the coffee filter before I poured the water through there--that something in the aroma of fresh-ground coffee was attractive to Ingrid. She loved it. "Gonna check the coffee?" I'd ask. And she did. Got about three hits to make sure it was okay for me before brewing. It was funny.

In her latter years, I'd hold the cone down by the floor and let Ingrid check the coffee. She took that job seriously.

From all I have read, the form of cancer Ingrid had was really bad: aggressive, almost impossible to resect completely, only very rarely benign, with an extremely poor prognosis. Pancreatic & biliary carcinomas are almost universally fatal in all mammals--including humans. The diagnosis is a death sentence.

So I can be glad that Ingrid was still mentally sharp, that her personality was intact, that she was not in excruciating pain, and that she was still mobile and responsive. Still basically herself. She lay down with me & snuggled up and purred our last night together. She met me coming out of the shower and even asked me to feed her (which I couldn't do--not that she likely would have touched it, anyway--because she was going in for surgery) on our last morning. We didn't wait until things were just absolutely pathetic, or until she couldn't hold her head upright or anything demeaning like that, or until searing hurt was all she knew. Except for having to take Ingrid back to a place that she hated as much as the vet's--and not being able to hold her as her little life slipped away--I did my best. There was no way I could explain to her that that scary place might have been where they could save her. We had to try.

Ingrid still had her dignity. So I think maybe I did well by her. I tried.

Even so, I tend to second-guess myself. It's hard to let go. For every "What if I had only," I keep coming up with "No, that would not have helped." It was far beyond my power to make Ingrid young and healthy again. I need to accept that. I have to do it. Ingrid never liked it when I was sad; she could tell, and it bummed her out, too. So bit by bit, I have to let her go, and I have to forgive myself for not being able to make her all better.

Dear Ingrid's Dad,
As I read this thread, Im so chocked up I cannot swallow.
Having been thru 3 cancers, (our smokey 8, our Patience 15,
& our Mittens 16) Its a terrible thing.
My heart is breaking for you, as I know only to well the heartbreak your going thru.
Do not second guess your self.
Cancer sucks.....
I know your in pain, and it hurts like ****.
I wish you well. Please know that Ingrid will always be with you.
She lived a good , long life. You have many memories that you will cherish the rest of your life. She knew you loved her, as much as she loved you. And love is stronger than death.
I wish you well. And Welcome to Pet Talk, everyone here is so great, Im sure you will love it here as much as I do.
Please take care, and let yourself grieve. As hard as it is, I promise it will get better with time. Although you never forget.
Our babies have a way of getting in our hearts, thank god for memories.

Just me...

INGRID,IS WITH THE PET TALKER ANGEL ARMY,IN GREENLAND,VISITING ALL,THE BEAUTIFUL SCENIC PLACES,IN THAT UNSPOILED ISLAND.
INGRID,IS PROUD,OF THE NICE THINGS,THAT YOU SAID ABOUT HER.AND SHE IS GLAD,THAT YOUBHAD THE STRENGTH,TO GET HER,OUT,OF THE AWFUL PAIN,THAT SHE WAS IN.
ITS ON,TO ICELAND,THEN SCANANAVIA,THEN THE WORLD.
AND WILL INGRID,HAVE STORIES,FOR YOU,AND PLACES,FOR YOU,TO VISIT TOGETHER,WHEN YOU MEET AGAIN,ONE FINE DAY.

Ingrid has now been appointed official coffee inspector at the Rainbow Bridge. You took fabulous care of her, and have some great memories. It's hard to lose a pet at any age, but more so when she's been with you a long time.

Your friend is right. Matter cannot be destroyed. It only changes form. Ingrid is "somewhere", whether it be the Rainbow Bridge or wherever. She knew and still knows how much she was loved.

Blessings to you,
Mary and Puddy and the Fur Posse

No you couldn't have done anything. Because mankind has to live with the fact that we'll die and everyone we love will die.

Whatever we do "right" cannot change that. One of my favorite sayings is "Relax- nothing is under control." Nature isn't- look at the floods and the fires.

I am sure Ingrid appreciated her life with you just as you did the other way round. That's happiness. And it only lasts a moment of eternity.

Tomorrow I will probably adopt a cat.

It's been five weeks today since I buried Ingrid. And it's really lonesome around my house. Damn, but I miss Ingrid.

There were two cats who were littermates in a cage at my vet's office when I took Ingrid there the last time (for her ultrasound). A black short-haired male with copper eyes and a gray medium-haired female. I've stayed in touch with the staff there, and since late August the male has been adopted, so I'd imagine that the female is pretty lonely. Kind of puts us in the same boat.

But I want to avoid doing anything unfair, like expecting any other cat to be like Ingrid. And I will have to remember that a young cat is going to be pretty energetic and hard-charging, as opposed to how mellow Ingrid had become over the years. For instance, Ingrid learned about 15 years ago that I sleep really late on the weekend, and it's ill-advised to try and rouse me on a Saturday or a Sunday before I really want to get up. She used to go thundering across my bed, then act like "Oh--I didn't disturb you, did I?"

I just hope I'm not doing this too soon.

A friend of mine had a cat who got hit by a car, and within just a few days she adopted some kittens. Kate said that on the way home, she cried for her dead cat (who absolutely refused to be an indoor animal), but she knew the kittens would be great friends to one another and to her. They have been.

Ingrid was jet-black with lovely green eyes. She had just about the silkiest, most shiny coat of any black cat I have ever known.

The cat I'm probably going to adopt is female, like Ingrid, but she looks nothing like her. That's a good thing. If this goes okay, before long I might even get another for this cat to play with. The dynamic of two cats to keep each other company when I'm gone would be very different from a solo cat, which might also help me not compare her/them to Ingrid.

Cats' personalities are all very different. Just as different as one person can be from another. And I have been acquainted with lots of cats and dogs who were really much better people than most--well, that might be a little harsh; how about if we just say *many*?--of the humans I have known. [But that's a whole 'nother story--right?]

So if this kitty comes to live with me, I will need to get to know her and respect her and treat her right and let her be her own cat. . .just the same way that once upon a time, so long ago, I did that when Ingrid came into my life.

I cannot understand why the very thought of that would create such a huge lump in my throat and make my eyes burn. It's not like I have let Ingrid down or done anything disloyal to her. She always liked it better when I was happy than when I was sad. And I could tell very, very clearly that Ingrid was worried that she didn't want to leave me alone, and that she felt as if she was letting me down to be sick, and she wondered who would take care of me.

I'd like to tell one more story about Ingrid: From the time that she was a tiny kitten, her occasional baths in the tub (yup--in real water!) were deeply confusing for her. Just plain befuddling. This only happened about six times during her whole life, but she would stand up on her hind legs with her front legs resting on the side of the tub to watch the water flowing into the tub, and it was fascinating to her, and then she'd let me pick her up and put her in there, and she never flipped out or tried to fight me, and it was funny because I talked to her and told her what we were doing the whole time as I poured water over her and lathered up the flea shampoo, and she had trouble deciding what in the world was happening because she knew she wasn't supposed to like water, but obviously if she was standing in the water she was getting wet, and cats aren't into that stuff, but the hot water felt really good and she was getting lots of attention with body rubs and the whole bit, and it was almost more than she could take. A profound mystery.

I guess she trusted me that well. Oral meds? No, no, NO! <*NO!*> But a bath? She would tolerate it. She did okay. Last time we did that when it was time to rinse, I even ran the spigot and stuck Ingrid's little head under there a second. All she did was close her eyes and duck her head, then shake her head like a propeller and look at me like "Man! What the *hell* was that?"

Okay, by the time I took her out and rubbed her down with the towels, she had had about enough, and she woud growl to let me know that I was pushing my luck, but it was nothing personal. She never bit me then or put out her claws; she just had to offer her opinion on the whole subject, like "All right, now listen here, you: I'm losing my patience, and I think that bath night is just about over."

Your bathing story made me smile:) What a good kitty. My heart kitty Filou would never accept pills. He has now chronic renal failure and has to see the vet weekly to get subcutaneous fluids. He accepts it - not really voluntarily but he keeps quiet at the vet's and when it's over he jumps into the carrier saying "And now we go home." I hope he stays some more years. He's only 9 now.

Filou and his brother Tigris are 100% different. Cats are personalities just like humans. That young cat will be different from Ingrid anyway and that's good because she may be a new love. In Cat General you can read about Tubby& Peanut's mom who lost Tubby after 19 years last December. She still misses him and thinks to seem him from the angle of her eyes. Which doesn't mean she wouldn't love CJ whom she adopted a month or so later. But loving CJ doesn't mean she misses Tubby less.

After my sweet Meo passed away 20 years ago I didn't want to adopt another cat for many years. At the end it became 15 years until Filou and Tigris came into my life. I missed a lot of fun and laughter. And I still think Meo was the sweetest little girl.

Have you considered giving Filou his juice at home?

I NEVER would have thought that it could be as easy to do that as it turned out to be when Ingrid needed it. She made it very easy for both of us. Barely even flinched the first time I gave her an injection, and she actually got to where she purred when the fluids flowed in.

I'm not saying I like the needles and stuff, but what it came down to was that she needed the juice to ease her discomfort, so that was that, regardless of any aversion I might have had to poking a hole in my kitty's skin I was gonna try & see if she'd let me because she needed my help, and she let me. And it was MUCH, MUCH less traumatic than a vet visit. Less expensive, too.

If you look around, it is possible to get saline bags & the needles & everything online. This is generally a whole lot less expensive than going to the vet. Easier on the animals, too.

Then again if you cannot stand the idea of doing it yourself, so be it.

I'd like to refer you to this thread:

http://PetoftheDay.com/talk/showthre...threadid=87197

You write such loving interesting tails of your beloved Ingrid. I'm glad to hear you are opening your heart to another kitty, and possibly another one after that. I have two kitties - one male and one female - and I love the differences between the two and the different dynamics that each brings to our life.

As Barbara mentioned, I lost my Tubby boy last December and I was as upset about it all as you were/are about your Ingrid. However, I knew I had to get another kitty right away. Peanut - my female - is 17 so I knew I couldn't get a kitten who would terrorize Peanut to no end, and I was also unsure that I was ready for the antics of a kitten since it had been 18 years since I had to kitten proof my house. Therefore I chose to adopt an older cat. Cracker Jack is 7 so he is old enough to be settled down a bit, but is still young enough to be kittenish at times, and even though he's supposedly "older", he still terrorizes Peanut to no end. ;) :rolleyes: :D

You are right in that no two kitties are alike, and your new kitty will not only look different from Ingrid, she will act differently also. It will take time for you to get to know her as well as you knew Ingrid. If you think about it, you had many many many years to get to know Ingrid - and her you. It will take just as long with the new kitty. Sometimes CJ is so much like Tubby that I can't get over it, but then he goes and does something that is so totally not Tubby that I can't get over it, so it's just a matter of letting time take its course and us getting to know CJ and him getting to know us.

Like Barbara said, I miss Tubby terribly, and will 'til the day I die, but I know Tubby is happy that I have opened my heart to another kitty. I think Tubby would have liked CJ and if I have any regrets at all, it is that Tubby and CJ didn't have a chance to meet each other.

Good luck with your new sweety. You will both go through an adjustment period, but I'm sure that you will both learn to love each other as much as you and Ingrid once did. :)

Thanks for the thread- yeah I know that it is possible. But Filou is not a mellow kitty. He is an Aby monkey and never stands still for a second.
At the moment ( we caught it kind of early) he has to go weekly for his fluids. Later in time I may try to administer them myself. I know that Medusa never thought it would work out with Puddy.
Filou has been a one-7,5lb cat-stampede this night ;) I am happy that he is still so well.

I'll be gone for a week. I am curious to hear whether a kitty will have come to join you.

Another story: friends of ours had a cat, Maunzi, a tabby who passed away at the age of 18. At 14 she had survived a severe case of poisoning (she never left the garden and they never found out what happened) and still lived a good life until she was 18. They were desolate. As they were in their 70s they said they didn't want a cat anymore because they weren't sure how long they would live. They live downtown Munich- some single houses close to some 5-6 storeys. One day, a cat came through the window. It was a tabby boy and he asked whether the job was still available. They had no idea where he could have come from but asked everywhere and tried to find his owners. He was 6 or 7 years old- said the vet- and had been well taken care of, he was no stray. They never found anybody who missed him. He came and stayed. :)

Ingrid's dad, I'm david p. I think we are a lot alike. I'm a 57 year old bachelor living in Pittsburgh. For 22 wonderful years I was lucky enough to be a companion to Thai a bluepoint Siamese. She was my soulmate, buddy, and confidante. I loved her dearly and I still do. She lived from 1981 to 2003. In the last two months of her life I saw her get weaker and weaker due to the effects of old age. The day before I made the heartwrenching decision to put her to sleep, I had to hold her up so she could get a drink of water. I let her go to the bridge on August 23, 2003. About two monthsn later, I went to Petco on adoption day and there I met Nikki (she's in my signature) a beautiful tuxedo kitty. I adopted her then and there when they said she was so shy and I was the only one she wasn't shy with! So, Ingrid's dad, I know exactly what you went through and I'm sure that Ingrid and Thai are playing together at the bridge.

David--

Wow, man! 22 is like 104 human years! That's fabulous.

-----------------------------------

I made the plunge. Saturday I adopted a long-haired cat. First long-hair who has lived with me. (Cat, anyway.) She was born April 21.

Aside from being a spayed female who likes her tummy rubbed, she has nothing in common with Ingrid. That's good. It would be unfair to compare them.

It was just way too lonesome around my place without Ingrid. I'm always going to miss her, and I'll never know anyone else like her, but the pain is beginning to ease, and that is as it should be.

This cat is very timid. Still prefers to spend most of her time under the bed. But if I lie on the carpet down there, she'll usually come over & venture out. When she gets petted, she purrs really loud and does the kneading thing (without putting out her claws--and she has huge paws) and rolls over repeatedly.

She cannot settle down on the bed. I adopted her from my vet's office, and it may be that in the past when she was up on a prominent exposed and flat area, it usually involved a procedure. She won't fight or hiss or growl, but she'd rather be elsewhere.

She was the very last of the batches of kittens they had up for adoption at my vet's from the summer (which lasts well into the fall down here in Texas). So she has spent lots of time in cages, I think, and getting used to big open spaces, carpet, and the absence of sounds from other pets of all kinds in nearby rooms is kind of a mind-blower. Very different. I'm going to wait a few days or more before I open the two larger bedrooms.

Her brother was adopted out within the last few days. Otherwise she might be kinda nutty.

She had never seen a television before yesterday. Sorta flipped her out. It doesn't scare her any more, but when the sound is on it's too much to handle and she has to go hide.

Also she had never seen a mirror before. I wish I had the dance she did there on videotape. The other cat was really fast in matching her every movement. But it didn't growl at her or hiss or try to fight.

I got her on the bed a little last night before lights-out, and she purred, but she had to get down. She even jumped up once or twice, but got down immediately. This morning when I turned on the light, she was beside the bed looking up at me, and her first reaction was to run back under the bed & peek out at me. Then as I showered up before I left for work, she dashed up & down the hall.

Wonder what she'll be up to today?

I know she can speak, because she cried real softly when I was carrying her from the vet's office out to my car, but other than that she hasn't said a word. Purrs really loud, and when I was patting the bed trying to get her to jump up there, she looked up at me and mouthed a meow but no sound came out.

She sneezes a lot. And wheezes. It doesn't slow her down, but I've gotta find out what's up with that. Maybe an asthmatic.

Unless you see her in direct sunlight, she's all gray topside, white on the bottom of her tail & her tummy. Copper eyes.

Her name will be Matilda. Lends itself to "Mattie" or "Millie" or "Tilly." Her coat makes her an easy "Fluffy."

Ingrid will always be my one and only Sweetie.

It sure will be nice to have somebody waiting for me when I get home.

I'm so glad you took the plunge!

Matilda sounds like a little doll, and I bet she has some Maine Coone in her. They are known to be big cats and they are also known for their tiny voices. My Peanut is either part Maine Coone or part Norwegian Forest Cat, and she sqeaks more than she meows - so adorable - and she has done the "mouthing" thing (open mouth but no sound) quite often and she is just adorable when she does it. :D

I'm sure that within a few days Matilda will be up on the bed and sleeping with you and she will have made your entire place her domain with no more hiding.

She sounds like a complete love and I'm so happy for both of you. :D