RIP Jasmine, aka the Dowager Empress
Morning, folks,
About fifteen years ago, I had just moved from West Hollywood back to my hometown in order to deal with my new, and often-times rocky journey into sobriety. My ex-roommate and best friend (who would later become my wife, then ex-wife, then a decade later, an ex-friend) wanted to know if I would be willing to take a cat that she had rescued as her other cats were beating her up. I said sure.
Jasmine came to live with me, and stayed through four moves and a decade and a half and many transitions in my life. I would guess she was between one and two years old when I met her.
I called her the Dowager Empress because she was always the oldest animal in my house, and spent a great deal of her life sitting up high looking down on the rest of us. She had a sense of royalty about her.
I wish I could say we always had a great relationship. We didn’t always. She didn’t like to be held until later on in her life, and as I was fucked up in many ways, I can’t say that I treated her as well as I could have for that entire time. Interestingly enough, my friend, Michael, taught her how to be held, and after meeting him, she got much less pissed off when I would pick her up and cuddle with her. I remember once after physically losing my temper a bit at her for something, I picked her up and hugged her tight and cried like I hadn’t cried in a long time because I so didn’t want to be that person anymore. She seemed to understand, and only meowed to be let down a little bit. While I can’t say I was perfect, our relationship changed a lot after that, and we became much closer, and I think (hope) that I treated her with more respect and love and lost my temper with her much more rarely. She spent a lot more time burrowed on top of me while watching television or sleeping at night, and I even heard her purr a time or two, something she did very rarely.
Coincidently, as I started getting through the heavy cloud of shame and fear that clung to me after getting sober, and as I started letting more and more people into my life and my house, she decided that she really liked sitting in people’s laps. She would eye every person that came over for lap potential. She eventually ended up in almost everybody’s laps, or at least did a damned good job of trying. However, she was a bit crotchety, and you would never know when she would bat at you because she didn’t like how you were petting her. And with the exception of Michael and once in a while, me, she did NOT want to be picked up by anybody. She laid down the terms and that was THAT. End of story.
Once a guest of mine really did NOT want her sitting in his lap or even getting close to him, and I told her, “Jasmine, not everybody wants you sitting in their lap!” My guest said, “Some people have allergies.” I eventually had to put her upstairs in my bedroom, because, like me, she was stubborn, and wanted what she wanted and that’s all that mattered. Interestingly enough, that guest hasn’t been back to my house. For all my faults (and there are many), people who find themselves at odds with my pets, don’t spend a lot of time in my house after that fact becomes known. Because while I pay the mortgage, the pets are the ones that really own the place. Respect and love me and my animals. Oftentimes, the respect and love of me is optional, however, respecting and loving my animals is not.
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that Jasmine seemed to be a bit weak on her haunches. I didn’t quite trust my senses though because she always recovered quickly, and she had NO problem jumping up on the couch or the bed to sleep on top of me. It was sort of like seeing it out of the corner of my eyes, and by the time I focused on it, it had passed.
I had taken her to the vet about 4 months ago, and the vet thought she looked great for her age and her blood work came back pretty unremarkable, so I pretty much figured that this was just a by-product of being 17 years old. Plus, I’m really broke right now, and taking a trip to the vet is always daunting and stressful to me. I literally start to hyperventilate when I think about it. I have the same feeling about going to my doctor, by the way, just so you know.
Over the past couple of days, she seemed more and more lethargic, and I noticed that she was drinking a lot of water, and I had made a mental note to get her to the vet when I could, which would have to be when I got paid again.
Unfortunately, yesterday when I woke up, she wouldn’t move off the couch. When I picked her up to put her by the food bowl for her breakfast, she couldn’t stand and just huddled by the water bowl, a heart breaking sight. As it was early in the morning, when I tried to call the vet, they weren’t open, and their phone system automatically transferred me to the emergency clinic. Since it was so close to them opening, I decided to wait. I kept calling back and calling back, but the emergency clinic kept answering. Finally at about 8:45, I thought to look on the web and see if I had the right number. Turns out, I didn’t, I still have no idea why. So, I dialed the correct number, and made an appointment to bring her right in. I then spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out how much money I could pull together for this; the final tally came to about $300.
The vet came in, and was very shocked at her appearance. I was shocked to find out Jasmine had lost a third of her body weight since I had brought her in before. The vet and I had a long conversation, and the vet narrowed it down to diabetes or kidney disease, both of which require a lot of treatment and a lot of money. Having treated my other cat for kidney disease, I know what’s involved and how difficult it is for both the cat and the human. Also, given her age, and her general level of crotchetyness (some might call it psychosis) the very difficult decision was made to put her to sleep.
As I’ve done with many of my animals and some friends’ animals over the years, I was there with her throughout the process. I held her on my chest while the sedative was administered, and about fifteen minutes, I petted her face and cried while the last shot was given. She passed very peacefully, barely moved through it all. I cried a lot and talked to her in my heart (I always feel like an idiot talking out loud to an animal in a vet’s office for some reason). Then after a bit of time to get myself together, I took her carrier, settled the bill with the vet (who was gracious enough to only charge me for the exam, not the euthanization) and went home to do some more crying and then get to work.
Jasmine, rest in peace, and thank you so much for sticking with me for so long, and making me a better person through your presence. Please know that you were loved, and that you will always be missed. I hope you’re playing with Branagh and Figaro and Jett and so many others somewhere near the Rainbow Bridge. I also hope to feel you sitting on my lap again when I get there.
Travis
About fifteen years ago, I had just moved from West Hollywood back to my hometown in order to deal with my new, and often-times rocky journey into sobriety. My ex-roommate and best friend (who would later become my wife, then ex-wife, then a decade later, an ex-friend) wanted to know if I would be willing to take a cat that she had rescued as her other cats were beating her up. I said sure.
Jasmine came to live with me, and stayed through four moves and a decade and a half and many transitions in my life. I would guess she was between one and two years old when I met her.
I called her the Dowager Empress because she was always the oldest animal in my house, and spent a great deal of her life sitting up high looking down on the rest of us. She had a sense of royalty about her.
I wish I could say we always had a great relationship. We didn’t always. She didn’t like to be held until later on in her life, and as I was fucked up in many ways, I can’t say that I treated her as well as I could have for that entire time. Interestingly enough, my friend, Michael, taught her how to be held, and after meeting him, she got much less pissed off when I would pick her up and cuddle with her. I remember once after physically losing my temper a bit at her for something, I picked her up and hugged her tight and cried like I hadn’t cried in a long time because I so didn’t want to be that person anymore. She seemed to understand, and only meowed to be let down a little bit. While I can’t say I was perfect, our relationship changed a lot after that, and we became much closer, and I think (hope) that I treated her with more respect and love and lost my temper with her much more rarely. She spent a lot more time burrowed on top of me while watching television or sleeping at night, and I even heard her purr a time or two, something she did very rarely.
Coincidently, as I started getting through the heavy cloud of shame and fear that clung to me after getting sober, and as I started letting more and more people into my life and my house, she decided that she really liked sitting in people’s laps. She would eye every person that came over for lap potential. She eventually ended up in almost everybody’s laps, or at least did a damned good job of trying. However, she was a bit crotchety, and you would never know when she would bat at you because she didn’t like how you were petting her. And with the exception of Michael and once in a while, me, she did NOT want to be picked up by anybody. She laid down the terms and that was THAT. End of story.
Once a guest of mine really did NOT want her sitting in his lap or even getting close to him, and I told her, “Jasmine, not everybody wants you sitting in their lap!” My guest said, “Some people have allergies.” I eventually had to put her upstairs in my bedroom, because, like me, she was stubborn, and wanted what she wanted and that’s all that mattered. Interestingly enough, that guest hasn’t been back to my house. For all my faults (and there are many), people who find themselves at odds with my pets, don’t spend a lot of time in my house after that fact becomes known. Because while I pay the mortgage, the pets are the ones that really own the place. Respect and love me and my animals. Oftentimes, the respect and love of me is optional, however, respecting and loving my animals is not.
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that Jasmine seemed to be a bit weak on her haunches. I didn’t quite trust my senses though because she always recovered quickly, and she had NO problem jumping up on the couch or the bed to sleep on top of me. It was sort of like seeing it out of the corner of my eyes, and by the time I focused on it, it had passed.
I had taken her to the vet about 4 months ago, and the vet thought she looked great for her age and her blood work came back pretty unremarkable, so I pretty much figured that this was just a by-product of being 17 years old. Plus, I’m really broke right now, and taking a trip to the vet is always daunting and stressful to me. I literally start to hyperventilate when I think about it. I have the same feeling about going to my doctor, by the way, just so you know.
Over the past couple of days, she seemed more and more lethargic, and I noticed that she was drinking a lot of water, and I had made a mental note to get her to the vet when I could, which would have to be when I got paid again.
Unfortunately, yesterday when I woke up, she wouldn’t move off the couch. When I picked her up to put her by the food bowl for her breakfast, she couldn’t stand and just huddled by the water bowl, a heart breaking sight. As it was early in the morning, when I tried to call the vet, they weren’t open, and their phone system automatically transferred me to the emergency clinic. Since it was so close to them opening, I decided to wait. I kept calling back and calling back, but the emergency clinic kept answering. Finally at about 8:45, I thought to look on the web and see if I had the right number. Turns out, I didn’t, I still have no idea why. So, I dialed the correct number, and made an appointment to bring her right in. I then spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out how much money I could pull together for this; the final tally came to about $300.
The vet came in, and was very shocked at her appearance. I was shocked to find out Jasmine had lost a third of her body weight since I had brought her in before. The vet and I had a long conversation, and the vet narrowed it down to diabetes or kidney disease, both of which require a lot of treatment and a lot of money. Having treated my other cat for kidney disease, I know what’s involved and how difficult it is for both the cat and the human. Also, given her age, and her general level of crotchetyness (some might call it psychosis) the very difficult decision was made to put her to sleep.
As I’ve done with many of my animals and some friends’ animals over the years, I was there with her throughout the process. I held her on my chest while the sedative was administered, and about fifteen minutes, I petted her face and cried while the last shot was given. She passed very peacefully, barely moved through it all. I cried a lot and talked to her in my heart (I always feel like an idiot talking out loud to an animal in a vet’s office for some reason). Then after a bit of time to get myself together, I took her carrier, settled the bill with the vet (who was gracious enough to only charge me for the exam, not the euthanization) and went home to do some more crying and then get to work.
Jasmine, rest in peace, and thank you so much for sticking with me for so long, and making me a better person through your presence. Please know that you were loved, and that you will always be missed. I hope you’re playing with Branagh and Figaro and Jett and so many others somewhere near the Rainbow Bridge. I also hope to feel you sitting on my lap again when I get there.
Travis