Tiger's Tale
Tuesday night (8/30) I was in my room getting ready for bed when I felt a sudden urge to go check on the cats. I normally put food out twice a day and at the evening feeding, usually around 6 or 7, I stay outside and chill with the cats to watch them eat and play. I go in when it gets dark or the mosquitoes start biting. But here it was 10:00 pm and I just felt like checking on them. I went outside and called to them and Rio came running. Baby was in the yard - she's always just a bit beyond reach - watching something. I called for Tiger a few times and finally I saw him inching his way across the yard towards Baby. At first it looked like he was stalking something. He was low to the ground and going slow. He stopped when he got to Baby and then he got really still. Baby was looking at me and meowing so I walked over and picked up my little boy cat Tiger.
He was cold and limp and mewed loudly the moment his feet left the ground. His fur was matted and at first I thought maybe he had gotten sick and threw up, but there wasn't any odor. Then I thought maybe he got into something. His breathing was really labored and I got really scared. I took him into the garage where there was more light and took a good look at him. I didn't know what was wrong but I knew he was in pain and frightened. I looked for a place to put him down for a minute so I could really check him out but when I tried to set him down he dug his claws into my shirt and pulled himself up as close as he could to my chin and neck. At that exact moment I noticed and remembered the syringe by the cat food. It was the last bit of pain medicine the vet had given me for Baby after she was spayed. She was feeling good enough to run away from me when I tried to give it to her so I figured I wouldn't press the issue. Without even thinking I grabbed the syringe and pushed the medicine along Tiger’s gum line. He didn't even fight me on it. I sat down with him for a second so he would relax and fairly soon he was asleep in my arms.
Over the next hour or so I tried to get advice and information about what to do and what had happened. I found out that Tiger had been most likely been mauled by my brother's dog. No one actually saw the attack, but they did see Gruff go after Tiger. The assumption was that Tiger was scared but got away because Gruff came back when he was called a few minutes later, and there was no indication of injury of another animal (no blood). Tiger was seen later, however his lack of movement and heavy breathing were assumed to be fear related. With this information in mind, and a rudimentary exam (a general body palpation to feel if there was anything protruding or broken) performed by me, I called an emergency vet and asked some basic questions.
I didn't feel any broken bones in his arms or legs, he was warm but not hot, his eyes were clear (albeit dilated from the meds), and his nose was a little dry but cool to the touch. His ribs felt intact but I kept feeling some kind of bubbling under the skin and there was one spot right below his rib cage that felt ruptured or something... it was like there was an air bubble and it would move up and down as he breathed. I told all of this to the vet and he said he couldn't make any guesses, and based on my financial situation he obviously couldn't look at Tiger, so he told me to keep him comfortable overnight and decide what to do in the morning. Since Tiger wasn't in pain at the moment, and he was sleeping, I felt like that was something I could live with for the time being. For the next seven hours I slept with him in my bed for a little while, sat in the recliner with him on my chest, and eventually put him in a makeshift house made out of a laundry basket, a towel, and some of my clothes. I put him at the foot of my bed and listened to him breathe while I prayed. "Father give me a miracle or give him peace."
(8/31) At 6:58 am Wednesday morning I heard a little stirring and when I looked in the basket Tiger had his eyes open but didn't move. We have a morning ritual where I say, "Meh" to him and he says, "Meh" back so I greeted him but he only opened his mouth - no sound came out. I tried picking him up but he cried out so I laid him back down. He put his little head down into his bed and his breathing was so raspy and labored. I just knew he was dying and in pain. I sent a quick status text message out to someone and it was arranged that another person (a guy) would put Tiger down for me.
I do not come from a family of city folk. We're not complete rednecks, we're fairly civilized, but there's more than a little bit of that country/farmer blood flowing through our veins. We've always had at least one animal around and if it came down to the animal getting deathly ill or injured we did the dirty work at home. I was prepared for the fact that Tiger was going to be killed - I knew it would be quick and painless. I put his make-shift bed out in the garage near the back door, unlocked the door for my friend, and then kissed Tiger goodbye and told him I loved him. I sent a quick text to my friend to tell him that I wanted him to bury Tiger in my favorite white shirt that I had bundled him up in. About 20 minutes later my friend called and said, "He's in a better place." I thanked him, hung up, got in the shower, and cried. My mom came down to do some laundry while I was brushing my teeth and said, "Stephanie, that cat is outside running around, I just saw him." I teared up again, "It's one of the feral kittens, mom." "Are you sure?" "Yes, **** just killed him for me."
The rest of my day was packed. I knew I would have time for more mourning later so I got ready covering up my swollen, bloodshot eyes as best as I could, posted a status on FB, and headed out. When I got back to the house it was almost 4:00 pm. I'd been to the car wash, the airport, lunch in Portland, Starbucks drive-thru, and dropped my friend off in Keizer. I needed to rest before youth group so I lay down for a nap. I woke up at 8:00 pm with the realization that I had slept through numerous phone calls and my alarm. I called my friend to apologize for missing youth group and we talked for some time about Tiger, and life, and God's love. When we hung up I messed around in my room until I was able to relax and then went back to bed.
(9/1) I woke up around 9:45 am, having overslept again and groggy from my extended sleep. I headed for the loo and then washed some of the night away from my eyes. When I got back to my room I had missed three calls from my 10 year old niece, Emily. She left a teary voicemail, "Hey Aunt Steph, it's me, I don't know how to put it this way but I think I found Tiger and he has a broken leg. I'm not sure if it's him or not but he's outside on the... downstairs where you feed the cats and um, I'm pretty sure it's him cuz Rio was with him, and, he might still be alive. Thanks. Bye."
I raced out to the garage in my pajamas and swung the door open and sitting at the water bowl, with an obviously mangled paw, was my little man, TIGER! I saw those amazing greenish-blue eyes in that sweet face and I knew it couldn't have been one of the feral tabby kittens. I ran over and scooped him up as gently as a crazy woman can. He mewed from the pain, and wasn't happy about being held at first. He settled into the crook of my arm, however, and I got on the phone to try and figure out what the H E double hockey sticks had happened.
People make choices based on their experiences and what they think is right. Sometimes they do or say things because they don't know what else to do. Sometime they don't do things for the same reason. I'm not gonna throw stones at anyone because I know the people involved. Wednesday morning when my friend took Tiger to "take him out back" the scared and hurting kitten made a run for it. My friend shot at him but Tiger ran up under a stack of wood so my friend couldn't verify Tiger's death. My friend called me, knowing he had hit Tiger, and told me what he thought was true or would be true soon, "He's in a better place."
The vet called a little after 1:00 pm today. She asked me if I knew Tiger had been shot. I told her the whole story at that point, since I now knew it, and she said Tiger's front right leg/arm had been shattered by the blast: his little leg has to be amputated. She assured me that there are very few surgeons out there who could fix it (none for certain in Oregon) and none in general that could fix it for under $1000.00. She then said, "But kittens are born with three legs and a spare, and Tiger will be just fine with only three legs." I totally cried happy tears at that. She went on to say that his color was good and his lungs were clear, but they were pretty sure one of his lungs had collapsed - not ruptured! Praise the Lord! The collapsed lung would most likely heal by itself over time, but this is why his breathing had been so shallow and labored. Also, there was definite swelling in the abdomen and subcutaneous emphysema (air trapped under the skin) caused by the trauma of the dog attack and infection that had already set in. My heart sunk - this was the bubble feeling I had mentioned to the emergency vet. The specific cause of the swelling is unknown at this time. The vet put Tiger on pain meds and anti-biotics and tomorrow they will do a barium test to see if there are internal injuries like a hernia or tear in the stomach lining. If all is well in the abdomen the amputation will occur on Saturday.
I'm trying really hard not to be overwhelmed by my frustration, and just focus on the positives. I'm so sad that Tiger was suffering all day and out in the cold over night because I didn't know he might still be alive. I'm frustrated that I didn't do what I first wanted to do - take him to the ER on Tuesday night - right when I knew Tiger was hurt. I'm frustrated that I'm broke and made decisions based on money and logic and not based on what my heart and spirit were telling me to do. I'm frustrated that there was an obvious communication issue between me and my friends and information was withheld. I'm frustrated I didn't call different people in the first place. I'm horrified that I didn't try harder. My only comfort at the time was that I wanted to do what was right...
I'm also hurt and struggling with the fact that a lot of people in my life don't understand the issue here. It's not just that I had a kitten and he got hurt so now I need a new one. If someone destroyed a piece of art that an artist had been working on for three months would the artist be appeased by offering him another piece of art or a blank canvas? I believe God created animals to be taken care of by man. When you take care of something you don't just get a new something when the previous one breaks or stops working - believe what you want about the purpose of animals but acknowledge that they are living, breathing, feeling, thinking, creatures. You can't substitute one for another... at least I can't. Someone suggested I let Tiger go, that we have another litter of wild kittens running around and I could just take on of those. Do you not comprehend that first of all Tiger is the kitten of the kitten I rescued last year. I have known him since he was born. I have held him in my arms while he slept. I have seen him race towards me with big wide eyes even when his cat momma was calling for him. I've wiped this little guys eye boogers, and sneezing nose, and yucky butt when he was still learning how to bathe himself. We have bonded! He's my little buddy! No, he's not my child, but he is my little cat friend and there is value in that. If it weren't for him and Baby, and Rio, and Pirate, there's a good chance things might not have ended up the same way for me... I was in a REALLY bad place even just a few months ago. Having these little creatures in my life gave me a literal, physical, practical, necessary, reason to get up in the morning: they needed food, they needed me to care for them, and they needed me.
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