Read Paw Prints in the Moonlight Online
Authors: Denis O'Connor
Paw Prints in the Moonlight (20 page)
Soon, Toby was once again lying by the fire.
âWell,' I said, âif it stays fair tomorrow we'll have some more fun in the snow.'
Toby looked doubtful, wondering how I could think of something as silly as that. Then we both settled down to an evening of reflection, gently toasting ourselves by the blazing log fire. I sipped a glass of brandy. Toby curled himself into a ball and purred loudly. I wondered if he remembered what happened a year ago. I certainly did.
When morning came, the sky was blue and it didn't look as if it would snow again. The freezing air made the snow crisp underfoot and, as Toby and I scrunched our way across the garden, on impulse and for the boyish pleasure of it, I decided to build a snowman. Later, I was joined by an inquisitive
Toby Jug who watched me at work from what he considered a safe distance. To please him further, I made a snowcat for him.
Toby Jug who watched me at work from what he considered a safe distance. To please him further, I made a snowcat for him.
T
oby Jug lived with me for a further eleven years, during which time we shared a lot of life together and I was impressed time and again by his remarkable character and personality. He was by nature an extremely loving cat with an attractively affable attitude to life. We continued to have many wonderful adventures together after this traumatic, eventful, but wonderful first year.
oby Jug lived with me for a further eleven years, during which time we shared a lot of life together and I was impressed time and again by his remarkable character and personality. He was by nature an extremely loving cat with an attractively affable attitude to life. We continued to have many wonderful adventures together after this traumatic, eventful, but wonderful first year.
The manner of his dying is for me an especially sad topic to write about. I think we all tend to imagine the future in terms of our awareness of the present, with all its assurances and comforts â we expect the good times to last forever. Toby Jug matured over the years into a fine cat but within a short time his life was ended with a suddenness that was impossible to understand. Not for him the gentle descent into old age and the eventual death in his sleep after a full and happy life. He was stricken with an agonizing spell of acute suffering in which I was powerless to help him. I would have done anything imaginable to save his life but it was not to be. He died just two days after his twelfth birthday, having been ill for several weeks. I'm afraid that veterinary science was not as well developed in the 1970s as it is
now and there was nothing that could be done for his condition.
now and there was nothing that could be done for his condition.
It happened like this. One day he whined in pain as he ate his food and seemed sickly all evening. I examined him as carefully as I could and scrutinized his mouth and teeth thoroughly. I could find nothing of significance. The following day he did his rounds of the garden as usual in the morning but he seemed to want only to lie around on the floor panting all day. During my lunch break I came home to check him out. There didn't seem to be any improvement but nor did he appear to be really ill either. Just a shade off-colour, as my grandmother would have said.
When I fed him that evening he was able to eat his food but something was wrong. He whined all the while he was chewing. I decided he must have an abscess or something else wrong with his teeth. Mac's veterinary surgery had by now been sold off and his surgery demolished to make way for a block of flats so I had to search in the phone book for a suitable vet.
Eventually, I found an address and carried Toby Jug in my arms into the car where he lay on my lap as I drove to this new veterinary surgery in the village of Stobswood. It was so unlike him just to lie and snuggle into my lap in the car that I began to feel more than worried: I began to feel afraid. There was a crowd in the surgery, some of the people had small animals, but there were no other cats. There
were, however, some noisy dogs who seemed prone to bark incessantly. Toby Jug clung desperately to me throughout the ordeal of waiting and at long last we were ushered into the consulting room.
were, however, some noisy dogs who seemed prone to bark incessantly. Toby Jug clung desperately to me throughout the ordeal of waiting and at long last we were ushered into the consulting room.
Gently, I laid him on the table in the room and stood back as the vet began to examine him. It seemed to take ages but throughout it all Toby Jug never once whimpered or demurred at the intimacies of the examination. At last the vet addressed me.
âI can't find anything wrong with his teeth or mouth. His stomach and insides did not cause any distress when I prodded him. He possibly has some kind of infection which is causing him gastric upset and I suggest that you put him on a milky pudding-type diet for a few days and see if there is any improvement. Give him a few days more and if there is no change in his condition then bring him back to see me. He is a small cat, isn't he?'
I could not for the life of me understand this latter remark and found it rather insulting.
Toby Jug got worse. A few days after the visit to the vet he wouldn't eat at all and he became incontinent. I took him back to the vet and was given tablets which he wouldn't take. He took to lying in his box all day, seemingly unable to stir abroad, and I tended him as I had done when he was a kitten. I tried to feed him on the baby mixture that I had given him so many years before but all to no avail. He
constantly cried out with the agony of whatever it was afflicting him and I found it unbearable to hear him suffering. Once more we made our way to the vet.
constantly cried out with the agony of whatever it was afflicting him and I found it unbearable to hear him suffering. Once more we made our way to the vet.
Whilst being examined in the surgery he vomited and whined painfully. I winced at the sounds of his pain, all the more so because I couldn't do a thing to ease him. The duty vet that particular morning, a young woman, was very gentle with him and I could tell she liked cats because she stroked and spoke to Toby as she examined him. She called for the veterinary nurse and asked for a particular instrument which, when it came, I thought I recognized an ophthalmoscope. With this instrument she carefully examined Toby Jug's eyes and then took a blood sample from him which she analysed with the help of a modern-looking machine.
When she finished her examination she looked sadly at me and my heart fell.
âI'm so sorry,' she said as she slowly stroked Toby's back. âI realize how much you love your cat but I'm afraid he has a brain tumour and there is nothing I can do for him except put him out of his misery.'
I felt dead inside as her words sunk in. I looked at Toby Jug and he looked at me. He knew he was dying, I could tell it in his eyes. The vet moved away from the table and opened the door to leave.
âI'll give you a few minutes privacy to say your goodbyes,'
she said. âYou'll be doing the best thing you can for him in the circumstances and he will not feel any pain, I assure you.'
she said. âYou'll be doing the best thing you can for him in the circumstances and he will not feel any pain, I assure you.'
And with that she closed the door and we were alone, just Toby Jug and me.
âI'm sorry, Toby Jug. There's nothing more I can do for you, pal,' I said lamely. âI wish I could ask you what you want me to do about this.'
I whispered more to myself than to him. With the full realization of what was about to happen the tears began unashamedly running down my cheeks. With a heartfelt sigh and wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, I made my decision and was about to recall the vet to tell her to take Toby Jug away. Suddenly, Toby moved from the prone position in which the vet had left him and, in spite of his condition, began slowly and painfully to move towards where I was standing at the side of the table. To my astonishment he began to climb with great difficulty up my jacket until his front paws reached my left shoulder and there he clung with desperation, despite his weakness. I put my arm around him for support and cried at the message he'd given me. Toby Jug had given me his answer. He wanted to go home to die.
This situation mirrored the time almost twelve years ago when I first took a very ill kitten back to my home to live. Now I was taking Toby Jug to our home to die. The door opened and the vet came in expecting me to leave Toby Jug
with her. She was surprised to see him clinging on to my shoulder. I explained how I felt and what I understood Toby Jug to be feeling. She took our decision very well and even offered to give me two prepared syringes containing a powerful painkiller which she advised me to use when it became necessary. Finally, she gave me her prognosis which was that Toby Jug would probably die within the next forty-eight hours.
with her. She was surprised to see him clinging on to my shoulder. I explained how I felt and what I understood Toby Jug to be feeling. She took our decision very well and even offered to give me two prepared syringes containing a powerful painkiller which she advised me to use when it became necessary. Finally, she gave me her prognosis which was that Toby Jug would probably die within the next forty-eight hours.
âKeep him warm and comfortable and let nature do the rest,' she advised as I was leaving with Toby Jug and a packet containing the two syringes.
When I arrived back at the cottage I lifted him out of the car and he seemed to brighten at the familiar sights and scents, but I could tell that he was very poorly. I considered somehow killing him myself for his sake, to put him out of his misery, but then hastily rejected the notion. I didn't know how and if I had known I could never have brought myself to do it. Nor could I bring myself to take him back to the vet to be put down, to be put to sleep as it is euphemistically called. Not my Toby Jug. We had faced lots of crises together and now we would just have to do our best to see this one though to the end.
As it turned out I didn't need to use the pain killer injections because he no longer cried out with pain. Perhaps his brain's endorphins had taken over and were relieving him of suffering in these final moments of his life. I certainly hoped
so. Two-and-a-half weeks after my initial visit to the vet, Toby Jug died.
so. Two-and-a-half weeks after my initial visit to the vet, Toby Jug died.
It was a day after our last visit that it happened, well within the vet's prognosis. The night before his death I had placed him in a newly lined box to make him as comfortable as possible and, having washed and cleaned him for the umpteenth time, I suddenly felt so drained of energy and worn out with distress that I was almost in a state of collapse. I had to sleep but I couldn't leave him alone and it was impractical to take him to bed with me. Instead, I moved his box near to the settee in the living room where we had shared so much living. Stoking the fire to keep out the wintry cold, I lit the candles for both our sakes.
Although I was very tired I took time to talk to him as I bade him goodnight. As I stroked and softly spoke to him, I told him how much I loved him and how wonderful he was. At my words he reared up from his lying position and pushed his forehead and face into my hand and gave me a throaty purr, just the once. I felt so much affection for him that I found it almost impossible to consider that he would ever die. Toby Jug was the super cat who could survive anything. I had believed we would enjoy life together for many more years.
Pulling my winter overcoat over me I lay back on the settee and, with only the flickering light from the coal fire and the candles to illuminate the room, I whispered goodnight
to Toby Jug once more. I then fell into the deepest of all sleeps that only exhaustion can bring. It was the last time I saw him alive.
to Toby Jug once more. I then fell into the deepest of all sleeps that only exhaustion can bring. It was the last time I saw him alive.
The next morning I found him dead in his box. Rigor mortis had set in, so he must have died shortly after I went to sleep. Even though part of me knew he was dying, the reality of his death shocked me more than anything I had ever experienced. I was totally devastated. I had lost something that I could never regain and which had been such a living treasure to me.
I considered what I had to do as I mechanically sipped my morning brew of tea. He wasn't there anymore for me but I had to be there for him. I shaved and dressed for work. Recently, I had been appointed to a lectureship at Newcastle University and I had twenty-nine students waiting for me to tutor them that morning. I didn't know how I was going to do it but there was no one else to take my place. The mourning for Toby Jug would have to go on mental hold. However, his burial would not wait. I couldn't face the prospect of coming home to the sight of his dead body.
I rushed upstairs and selected my very best sweater, a blue lamb's-wool one that I had bought myself last Christmas. For purely sentimental reasons, I couldn't bring myself to give up the tattered ones which he liked so well. Slipping on the pair of Wellingtons I used for gardening, I carried his body outside. In the misty early morning I dug a hole at least
four feet deep in the frosted ground under the gnarled old apple tree that he loved to climb. I held his cold stiff body for a long moment, the last time I would ever see him, and consoled myself with the thought that wherever he was he wasn't here any more. Wrapping him hastily in the sweater, I buried him along with a few of his remaining red balls, his food trays and a cushion on which he liked to lie. I placed his body on the cushion at the bottom of the grave.
four feet deep in the frosted ground under the gnarled old apple tree that he loved to climb. I held his cold stiff body for a long moment, the last time I would ever see him, and consoled myself with the thought that wherever he was he wasn't here any more. Wrapping him hastily in the sweater, I buried him along with a few of his remaining red balls, his food trays and a cushion on which he liked to lie. I placed his body on the cushion at the bottom of the grave.
After I filled in his grave I made him a solemn promise. Flushed with emotion and through my tears, I promised him that I would some day write and publish the story of his life. I wanted to share with the rest of the world the special memories that I had of him and our life together. I felt that I had to preserve the uniqueness of our experience if only to relieve my own pain and sadness at his loss. He was gone from me now but I would never forget him.
This I promised him in all good faith but I never imagined at the time how difficult it would be to keep that promise. I had kept diary notes and taken photographs but the latter were unfortunately lost when I moved houses. Still, I have an excellent memory that has served me in good stead as a teacher and lecturer. Over the years I made several attempts at writing the story of our life together but none of them worked. Then, when I took early retirement from full-time work, I decided to have a final go, prompted by my wife Catherine who had long suffered my stories about Toby Jug.
This book is testament to the fulfilment of my promise and to the enduring love of cats that was Toby Jug's legacy to me.
This book is testament to the fulfilment of my promise and to the enduring love of cats that was Toby Jug's legacy to me.
Five months after his death I sold the cottage because I found that I couldn't go on living there with the heartache of his loss. I moved far away so that I could begin a new life. Friends advised me to get another kitten and some were offered but I couldn't at that time bring myself to take on a new pet. Because of the way I felt, it wouldn't have been fair to either the kitten or to me. At that time I did not think that I would see Owl Cottage ever again, only fate has a way of making the unexpected happen â but that's another story.
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