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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.”
Are Torties just naturally smaller cats? We had one that was pretty small (although no one would mistake her for a kitten).
Likewise, most Tuxedo cats I’ve known have been on the large size.
I agree with all my heart.
Sorry to hear the news, Max. We lost our Sweet Tea and Grits over the last year. Sweat Tea was all mine, and Grits was only partly.
We had a Manx, a tailless little cat, but lost her years ago. We got her after my wife said there were mice on our back deck. I saw one one afternoon and that was it for the mice. We joked that the mice would go into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and turn away disgusted.
No cats or dogs at this time, but plans for more soon.
Max – Blessings and comfort as you mourn Henrietta. It sounds like she was well loved. I have an ailing kitty too named Buffy and I’m trying to enjoy every moment. She is my baby, now that my daughter is all grown up. I will be heartbroken when we say goodbye.
Have friends that have had a series of Siberian Huskies over the years. The last one died about a year or so ago, they’ve decided no more because they can’t take the heartbreak.
When our huskie died, my son was six years old. My husband and I would listen to him sob at night. We did not know what to do. Our veterinarian told us there was only one cure for such grief–to get him another dog. So we did. My husband got him a beautiful playful six-month-old golden retriever. Hilarity ensued. We named him Chewy–I need say no more. :-)
My husband had bought the puppy from a pet store who had gotten the puppy from a puppy mill. The poor dog was besieged with health problems. When Chewy was four years old, his intestines got twisted up. My daughter (who is now a veterinarian for obvious reasons) and I tried to get Chewy to an emergency care center, but we live on Cape Cod, and the closest one to us was sixty miles away. Our vet did not have the equipment to save Chewy, so he made a little ambulance out of our car with an IV and a place for Chewy to lie down for the long trip. Worst night of my life. This is the first time I’ve be able to think about this story. It was really hard for my daughter and me. We left Chewy at the vet, and the vet thought he would be okay. When we got back to the Cape, my husband and other daughter and son were in tears. The vet had called to say that Chewy had died.
At the time we had a kitty–the last one of a litter we had taken in. The mother cat was a stray, and she had four kittens. We kept mom (who later passed away) and one little gray kitty. Smokey developed a urinary tract infection shortly after Chewy died. When my kids and I brought Smokey to our vet, our vet had to choke back his tears–he had never seen such a sad family.
Smokey was in bad shape. The vet stayed late and did some creative surgery. He called me that night to tell me how the kitty was doing, and he said, “I cancelled my dinner plans. I will not let this kitty die.” We love our veterinarian. :-)
Smokey lived fourteen more years. We had to feed him every couple of hours because he always had a finicky stomach. Somehow he ended up possessing all of our love for all our other pets. It really hurt when he passed away a few years ago. The house felt so dark and empty without him. Now I have a wildlife garden instead, and I let God take care of the little birds and animals. :-)
This was Smokey:
Max,
I’m very glad for Henrietta, and for you, that she was physically close to you as she left this world. I’m sure she felt your love. Her choice of where to be at the end shows that that mattered enormously to her.
I am so sorry for your loss. I’m also grateful Henrietta had those years with you.
Buffy looks like our Sebastian:
We do have two surviving cats. Sebastian Fjori Ledoux and Kai-El DuBois:
Kai-El loves my wife but won’t let me anywhere near her. She had been returned multiple times to the shelter before we adopted her so we speculate that she had a bad experience with a man at some point. Sebastian loved our previous cat, Elwood Merriweather, who died in 2018. Wherever Elwood was, Sebastian would be nearby.
@max and @brianwatt, Nighty and I send our condolences. At 17, she’s still as stubborn as ever, but we love her and she loves us back in her own way. They are a comfort.
No like!
Condolences on your loss Max, I dread the day that we have to say goodbye to Kitty Perry
So sorry for your loss. But glad you found her and made that bond. That is the good part of the story.
I really feel for you and your loss. I’m not really a cat person, but losing a pet seems almost harder than losing a parent that you can talk to about what is happening.
Our pack of 3 Deerhounds and Scruffy the wonder dog (from the shelter) is now down to a 9 year old Deerhound – which is about the end of the line. I am trying to figure out how we can stay out of the “old peoples home” long enough to have another Deerhound. I can’t imagine not having a dog and after having Deerhounds, it is hard imagining having anything else.
After we lost our first dog – a Brittany named “Bandit”, we waited years to get another dog, since after 15 years, we didn’t think anything could replace him. I think that was a bad idea.
When I left Phoenix, I left behind a lot of outside cats. But there are other people there who take care of them, so I’m not worried.
And I have 3 regulars now, at the new place. The first was a little lady who came by a couple times; and then the next time she had a small kitten with her – not her own – that I think she brought to my place because she knew he needed help. He’s healthy and happy now. And there’s a real big boy who comes around regularly now too.
And earlier tonight, I made friends with a couple more kittens, across the street. :-)
I came to that conclusion when I lost my Sherman in 1984. When I graduated college I decided I would never be without a dog again.
A dog twisting his intestines is such a scary thing. It’s very tough to save them. The would need immediate surgery, and I mean immediate.
Such a beautiful testament to your wonderful friend.
It is also a testament to you, as many people want instant gratification from an animal they adopt. Good for you that you waited it out for those full three months before she so tentatively began to interact.
It sounds like there may be other cats you love, but none that will replace her.
On the election chat last night, I think he showed photos of 3 others.
P.S. The white and tan/beige one of mine that you mentioned, is almost identical in appearance to one I left behind in Phoenix, although that was a girl and this is a boy.
I have had seven cats over 25 years, but this is my Chellbie that left us in April 2016, and he took a big part of my heart with him:
It’s not that he was better than other cats, or that as the picture demonstrates, he could levitate, but we shared a weird connection. Like we knew each other throughout eternity.
Plus he had a great sense of humor. He pretended he didn’t like Mark, and would make a point of stealing M’s armchair. Then when Mark walked by, he would pretend to be interested in something happening in the other direction.
At the last minute he would twist in the chair and snag Mark’s pant leg with a claw, with a huge look of delight on his face. As though to say “Yep! Gotch ya again!”
I left at least a dozen outside cats behind, just around my place. I also would go around a few times a week, and feed a bunch more. That were all fixed, due to previous efforts. All told, I’ve probably known, to varying degrees, close to two hundred if not more. And I’ve had to deal with a lot of them passing, too. But I couldn’t trade not going through that, for not having known them all. It’s been amazing.
As I sometimes say to friends and relatives, I think the hardest thing about getting older is the accumulation of loss.
Grandpa Mason is a legend, and there are several videos of him. This one sums things up pretty well.
This seemed an appropriate place to share something.
I’ve loved the music of Michael Franks for most of my life. Michael and his wife Claudia have adopted and rescued dogs and cats for many years; I only found out a few years ago that his song “Crayon Sun (Safe at Home)” was written for his cat. Nine years ago their dog Flora passed, and Michael wrote “Time Together” for her. It became the title track of his next CD, which had a pre-sale promotion of signed copies with the income going to animal rescue organizations. I bought two, gave one as a birthday gift.
This is a talented artist who has been profoundly influenced by the small animals in his life.
Thanks for sharing. 😭
I still miss her, a lot. Yesterday was the 1 year anniversary of her dying. I have a scar on my wrist where she bit me.
Condolences, Max. I never saw this last year, as 2nd November my mother-in-law died. Sad season.
Sorry to hear that sad news. My mother in law died on December 18, 2020.
2020 was, suffice it to say, not at all a good year. My condolences on your double loss. My MIL was a sweet and very nice lady who warmly welcomed me into her family. I hope you liked yours as well as I did mine.
Max, in actually reading your original post, rather than the comment from yesterday, I came to the section about the cat abandoned in the case and knew I’d seen that before (still makes me squirm at the heartlessness of it). Scrolling through, I see I even commented at the time. My MIL died that night and I spent the day waiting while she was in surgery and recovery, and, of course, was on Ricochet. What happened that night, just put everything out of my memory. It was bitter and sweet to reread your post and scroll through the others’ comments. My best kitty is…we think…currently dying, but he’s going about it very slowly, so we’re just not sure. Back in March the vet said he’d last “a few more weeks.” Well, he’s still kicking and pretty stable. She thinks he has a spinal tumor, so he’s now paraplegic, with FIV, and a tendency to urinary tract infections. At 6 pounds he eats more than his house mates (10 and 13 pounds). He gets along amazingly on his two front legs, dragging the rest behind. He’s as sweet spirited and loving as ever at closing on 13 years of age. I don’t know how I’ll say good bye when the time finally comes.