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Goodbye, Sweet Henrietta
My sweetest Henrietta died on Friday morning in my lap. I hope that my touch in her last conscious moments was comforting to her. She was attached to me as no other cat has ever been, and I to her. I found her in an actual trash pile in Brooklyn, NY, on October 17, 2011.
We had thought that she had arthritis since January of this year, and I had been giving her medication for that three times a week. Once a jumper who spent most of her time on top of the refrigerator, she had slowly relinquished her former heights until she spent most of her last few months on our bed, which is only 18 inches off the ground.
About a month ago we took her to the vet’s because she was having difficulty breathing. We saw that from about that time on her mobility was quickly declining. I began to have to carry her to the litter box because she couldn’t get into it on her own. Last Monday we took her in again and our vet realized that her mobility issues were neurological, likely due to a tumor somewhere on her spine. The vet gave her a steroid shot, which helped her for several days. Thursday she began having trouble breathing again, and that night I lay on the floor of the bathroom, where she had retreated, and thought that she would die there. I looked in her eyes and slowly blinked, the cat way of saying, “I love you.”
I watched both my mother and my brother-in-law die. I know what it looks like. I know what it sounds like. Henrietta had the same death rattle they had. She kept on coughing, then flopping over onto her other side. When she coughed, liquid came out. We give humans in such condition morphine, to relieve the pain. Henrietta had nothing. A few times I thought she had died, so I whispered, “Henrietta,” and she flicked her tail in recognition. At some point in the night, she seemed to rally, and dragged herself to the bed, but wasn’t able to climb onto it. I gently lifted her up, and she lay on my stomach for the rest of the night. She had never done this.
It took Henrietta almost five years before she sat in my lap the first time. When I found her she had been abandoned by her previous owners. (After they had her declawed.) She was left in an old carry case. I had seen it on a Saturday night, next to our trash cans in front of the Brownstone where we rented, and I assumed my landlady, who had a cat, was simply throwing out an old case. Monday morning when I was leaving for work, I happened to take out the trash, and as I was putting the lid back on the can, I happened to look down and I saw her staring at me through the mesh of the case. So I know she had been there for more than 36 hours. Alone. Abandoned. Terrified.
She lived in our bathroom for at least three months before emerging, tentatively. We would throw treats and dry food at her every time we used the bathroom, even from the shower. I would spend hours in there, not even paying attention to her, just sitting with my laptop reading or watching something. This is how she and I formed the bond I mentioned. Through time and patience and showing her that it didn’t matter what she did.
It was after we had moved to New Hampshire, in a house 5 times the size of our apartment, where our three cats had enough space for themselves, that she began sitting in my lap, or next to me on the chair, and eventually sleeping on the bed pressed up against my leg, or between my arm and my torso. In the last few months, I would often wake in the morning with her between my legs.
Friday morning I woke from not many hours of sleep. She was still on top of my stomach, her head pressed into my arm. I placed my hand gently on her side to see if she was still breathing. She was, barely. We took her back to our vet, who is a kind and learned woman. The vet first gave her a sedative, which put her into sleep. The shot, though, stung and Henrietta bit my wrist, drawing blood. It was kind of perfect, in a way, because one of the first things she ever did, right after I found her, was bite me. I have a scar from that first bite, and right now a scab from that last bite.
As she drifted off to sleep for the last time, she tucked her forehead into my arm one last time.
We buried her on our property. We have a burial site where there are now two cats, a dog (which belonged to a previous owner), and a woman (another previous owner). We have done our estate planning and left instruction for our own burial in the same site.
In many ways, I would like to murder the person who abandoned Henrietta. On the other hand, she brought so much joy into my life, and I hope I gave her sufficient love that in the end she had no more memory of the before time. So perhaps it was divine intervention. And that person is going to burn in hell, anyway.
RIP, Henrietta Edith Ivey. In my life, October 17, 2011, to October 30, 2020. She was perhaps 13 years old. I will make a headstone for her over the winter, from slate. The inscription will read “Sweetest One, although she bit me.”
Sweet post on your kitty. Glad she had you
Sorry about the loss of your buddy.
My sympathy, Max. I felt the same way when I had to let my 18-year-old Kitty go.
I am so sorry. I lost a wonderful kitty too, and I miss him still.
I’m so sorry Max. When my beloved Boo was dying and I knew that the next day would be her last, I went to bed with her on my stomach too. A last physical connection. Sometimes it’s all we can do.
Condolences, Max to you and your family, including the other cats who will miss her.
I’m so sorry, Max. So happy that she brought you so many years of joy.
I’m sorry, Max.
I’m so sorry, Max. I know you gave her a wonderful kitty life. My condolences to you and the rest of Henrietta’s family.
Matt, she obviously gave you much pleasure. and joy. Remember those times. There will never be another Henrietta.
So sorry for your loss Max. You gave her a loving home.
Now I’m crying, but it’s the good kind of crying.
When we bought our farm in Pennsylvania in 1980 it came with a huge barn cat that lived outside for some years. He didn’t like people except me. He would walk beside me like a dog however he didn’t like pickled up or petted. He was up in years and one Monday night I was sitting on the floor watching Monday night Football. He came in the door through the pet door and crawled on to my lap purring loudly. He wouldn’t leave me alone . After the game I went to bed. He went outside. In the morning I found him dead in my closet. That was the closest he ever was to sleeping with me. I feel your pain Max. Morris the cat was also buried on the farm but now the farm has a dozen houses where he roomed and we live in South Carolina.
So sorry, Max. Lucky cat, lucky cat
ownerstaff.I’m so very sorry for your loss, Max. There is hardly anything more pure and innocent than the love of a pet, which makes losing them one of the most painful losses. I hope you can take comfort in the memories you have and that you both made each other’s lives a little brighter when you were together.
Beautiful tribute, Max. Our pets give us so much joy and help us in ways we don’t acknowledge enough.
My tabby Maggie may not be long for this world, so I’ll keep referring to your post from time to time.
All the best.
So sorry. It sounds like you gave her a great life, and got way more in return.
Sorry Max. You gave her a lovely life though, safe and warm and loved. She would never have been thinking of the hardship she had before that.
My Tauriel and I are mourning your loss.
A few years back my wife picked out a new kitten, and shortly after that had to go into the hospital for a couple of weeks. By the time she had come out, that cat was mine and now we are inseparable (well, as far as cats let that go). The cat is also kind of a jackass now, so we fit perfectly.
So, the cat loves me, and the wife hates me (for that).
Losing a pet is hard. But I don’t think any of us would give up the pain if it meant not having the time with them.
Wow!
She has similar coloring to Henrietta. ❤️
Indeed. When you take on the responsibility of a pet, you know it is until death, but the snuggles make it worth it.
May you meet again on your journey to what is next across the Rainbow Bridge.
https://www.rainbowsbridge.com/poem.htm
God bless you, Max; and comfort you and your family in this loss.
Beautiful picture.
I am sorry for your loss. Been there and will be there again so I get it…hang in there.
Awwwwww, I’m sorry to hear about it, Max.
What ‘Stug said, Max.
My condolences, Max.
Here’s Zippy the Pinhead:
She lived for 3 1/2 years, from 1998 until 20o1.
When she died, she weighed 3 1/2 pounds. But she returned exponentially more than that in terms of love. And I’ve never forgotten her.
Because, you never do.