My Girl Zoe

Our beloved cat Zoe died on Friday, February 15, at approximately 4:30 p.m.  My husband Paul and I realized that morning that she was in pain and her health had deteriorated quickly following her diagnosis of squamous cell carcinoma on January 30.  It was an aggressive cancer that does not respond to chemo and made surgery impossible due to its location in her throat.

Zoe was one of four girls born to my next door neighbor’s cat, Lizzie.  I was single then and living in an apartment.  At barely a year old, Lizzie was on her second litter.  I came home from work one day to find another neighbor’s son had treed the heavily pregnant cat while he and a friend threw stones at her.  I immediately took her in and her kittens were born a few days later.  Lizzie chose, of all places, a newly cleaned, covered litter box in which to deliver her babies.  Two of the kittens were born close to midnight September 25 and two more in the wee hours of September 26.  For a petite feline who weighed under 10 pounds, her brood of four seemed unimaginable.

Zoe was a timid kitten, earning her the title of Shy Kitty.  Finding good homes for Lizzie and her babes proved harder than anticipated so in the end, Paul kept the only black kitten, Mrs. Bean, and I kept Zoe.  Shortly after Zoe’s birth, one of my two cats, Zorro, died unexpectedly.  Zoe’s name was chosen to celebrate Zorro and her presence in the home helped heal our hearts.  She relentlessly pursued a friendship with my remaining cat, Redmond, and he grew to cherish her.

Zoe had a Cheshire cat smile, a high pitched voice, and matured into a little talker, shedding her shy kitty moniker with ease.  After Paul and I married, Zoe quickly adapted to the life of an indoor/outdoor cat, took on the job of vector control, and managed to keep other cats out of the backyard through intimidation rather than fighting.  Agile and adventurous, Paul and I awoke one morning in our second-story bedroom to find Zoe staring back at us from her perch in the Redwood tree next door.  She often followed me to the property line in the morning as I walked to work and was there to greet me in the afternoon when I returned.  

Zoe lived a good life.  She never lacked a full belly, a loving home, or a sense of security.  My girl always came when I called, including last Friday when I interrupted her sunbath on a beautiful, warm afternoon to take her on her final journey to the vet.  Zoe was loyal, loving, and brave to the very end.  Paul’s was the last face she saw.  She died in my arms as we prayed for her easy passage to the next life. 

Sweet, Zoe, I had forgotten how much a broken heart hurts.  Thank you for sharing every day of your life with me.  You are loved and missed.

Zoe Sundstrom
September 25, 1997 - February 15, 2013

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Kylie - the Twice Rescued Feline

Shortly after Phyllis her her 4-year-old rescue cat, Kylie, moved from Richmond, California, to Cleveland, Ohio, the curious feline escaped his new home and scaled 25-feet up an evergreen tree.  Small, prickly branches protruding from the trunk prevented him from exiting the tree without injury.  Phyllis could hear the “scared and stuck” cat but when she shone her flashlight up the trunk toward the sound of his whimpering, all that was visible of the black, gray, and white tabby were a pair of eyes glowing in the dark.  

The weather was wet and cold.  Low temperatures were expected during the night.  It soon became clear to Phyllis that the frightened feline would not be coaxed down so she called the fire department.  Upon arrival they told Phyllis they could do nothing that night because their ladder would not reach the tree top.  They advised Phyllis to place food and catnip at the base of the tree thinking Kylie would be lured down by hunger.  Doubtful but desperate, Phyllis followed their suggestions.

When morning came, Kylie was in the same spot.  A second call to the fire department was routed to animal control.  After observing the situation, the officer believed that Kylie’s leg was stuck but that he would free himself and come down if he got hungry or cold enough.  Phyllis knew better.  The officer agreed to speak to the fire department and was informed that cat rescues were not part of their job description.  

A dozen arborists were called.  Of those that had trucks with cherry pickers that could pluck Kylie from his perch, none were available to make the call.  By now Phyllis was accustomed to hearing that the cat would come down on his own so she contacted the homeowner’s association landscaper to seek ideas.  He agreed with Phyllis that Kylie would not make it down the tree without assistance nor could he survive another night trapped outdoors.  Hawks posed a threat and the cat was perfectly positioned as easy prey.  Temperatures were expected to reach 29 degrees and Kylie had been without food and water for more than a day.  

Phyllis stubbornly placed another call to the fire department.  The receptionist she spoke with was an animal lover, who argued with the fire chief that if they could send trucks to block parties, they could rescue a cat!  Soon enough a ladder truck arrived with a paramedic vehicle and an animal control officer in tow.  Kylie’s big adventure came to an end and he seemed relieved to return to more mundane cat concerns within the warmth and safety of his new home.  At last, everyone was in agreement.

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Layla - the Post-War Dog

Shortly after returning stateside from Vietnam, 19-year-old Norm received a hardship discharge from the army.  His father had suffered a debilitating heart attack and could not work to support Norm’s disabled mother and younger sister.  Norm moved back home, got a job, and became the family provider.
           
Realizing how difficult the adjustment was for him, Norm’s girlfriend showed up one day with a German Shepherd puppy, hoping the dog would be a positive distraction.  She was right.  Norm named the pup Layla after one of his favorite Eric Clapton songs.  Small enough to cup in his two hands, she grew to be sweet, loyal, and enormously intelligent.
           
Employing many of the dog training skills he had learned in the military, Layla learned quickly.  The two went everywhere together when Norm was not working, including frequent camping trips in his VW bus or jaunts to the ocean where Norm liked to scuba dive.

            

A few years later, Norm married and Layla reluctantly adapted to sharing him with a wife.  One evening the couple’s pilot light blew out after they had gone to bed.  The house began to fill with gas and Layla nudged the couple until they awoke and realized something was terribly wrong.  Thanks to Layla’s persistence, the young newlyweds survived the night.

With the arrival of two children, Layla assumed added responsibilities.   She would lie beneath the children's cribs and immediately alert the parents if one started to cry during the night.  When Norm’s toddler daughter was learning to ride a tricycle, Layla instinctively positioned herself between the child and the street.

Layla had large soulful brown eyes and when she stared into his face, Norm often felt that she literally understood his words, not just his tone and body language.  He had never felt that way about a dog - before or since.  She lived to be 17 and was a part of Norm’s world for half his life.

She comforted the former soldier suffering from PTSD, supported the young man who had taken on burdens beyond his years.  She was witness to his growing maturity in marriage and  fatherhood.  She was friend, family and devoted companion through anything that came Norm’s way.

She was Layla.

Norm and Layla, circa 1973

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Missy - the War Dog

Believing it would make a man of his son, Norm’s father signed for him to join the army when he was 17 years old.  Shortly after his 18th birthday, Norm was sent to Vietnam to fight in what would be the final 10 months of the war.  Trained as a dog handler, he spent nine months of that time working with Missy, a silver and black, 55-pound German Shepherd.

Missy and Norm were one of 30 dog teams serving with the 1st Calvary Infantry Division in South Vietnam.  Their missions lasted five days, with three days of rest before going out again.  They went wherever they were needed when it was their turn and repeated this routine throughout the war.  

When Norm and Missy arrived on a mission, Norm met with the Lieutenant or Captain in charge, received a situation report, and proceeded to walk point with Missy leading the way.  Missy’s job was to alert Norm to potential danger, including booby traps, trip wires, and ambushes.  With her heightened canine senses, Missy served as the eyes and ears for everyone.  When she stopped, ears and tail raised, everyone stopped.  Missy could not communicate the exact danger - only the direction from which it came.  

The lives of every soldier on the mission depended on Missy, who had already seen four years of combat.  Yet she developed a special bond with Norm despite having served with several handlers.  The young soldier who had never been away from home before developed an even stronger bond with her.

Norm’s 80-pound rucksack, which he carried on his back, was essentially a survival kit for their time in the jungle.  It included ammunition, first aid supplies, a rain poncho, food rations, and enough water for both to remain hydrated in the stifling heat and humidity - 35 quarts for Norm and 10 quarts for Missy.

The ethos of a dog handler is that the dog comes first.  Like handlers before him, Norm fed and watered Missy before tending his own needs.  At night she slept next to him.  Twenty four hours a day she stood at the ready to save his life, defending it with her own if necessary.  “Missy was a true combat Scout Dog who ultimately gave her life for her handlers, fellow infantrymen (grunts) and her nation,” he says.

Norm did not return the same boy who left home to join the army but, thanks to Missy, he was not alone on his perilous journey to manhood.  Her memory both haunts and comforts him.  Her spirit lives forever in his heart.

Come back next week and read about Layla, Norm's dog in the post-war years.

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Juba and Nova - Kitty Health Care Crisis

Seven months after their 20-year-old cat Squeek died, Amy and Marc decided to adopt two black kittens.  “Black cats have the lowest adoption rate and the highest euthanasia rate so there was no question we were getting black kittens!” says Amy.  Just two months old at the time of their adoption in August 2012, Juba, a male, and Nova, a female, are from different litters and have radically different personalities.  Nova is willowy and agile and can turn anything into a toy. Juba is contemplative in nature, a quiet observer of his surroundings.


Nova spent the first eight weeks of her life receiving good care in a shelter, where her pregnant mother had delivered kittens after being surrendered.  Juba was rescued by a construction worker at a worksite.  The man believed one of his colleagues was beating Juba, who had suffered a broken tail.  The ragamuffin kitten with amber eyes and fur that resembles dreadlocks bears the emotional scars of that time.


Amy and Marc were in for a number of surprises following the adoption.  Over the next four months, both cats suffered from coccidia and giardia, two common intestinal diseases. It is likely that Juba has herpes; both kittens had conjunctivitis.  At one point Nova started making periodic choking sounds and jutting her head forward as though trying to vomit.  The diagnosis was an upper respiratory infection but her condition worsened despite treatment.  A polyp in the ear was suspected but the only way to know for certain was exploratory surgery, which was avoided after X-rays revealed she had pneumonia.  The couple has pet insurance but all of their claims have been denied.


Determined to see the young felines through this crisis, Amy read everything she could regarding cat care.  Juba and Nova are fed high quality food and given daily supplements.  Finally, in December, both kittens received a clean bill of health.  For Amy, a performance artist and storyteller, the experience left her wiser.  A recent performance was centered on the theme of home.  While developing her part, she contemplated the meaning of caring for sick animals, developing trust, and creating a safe, nurturing environment.


The cats may always have emotional issues.  Juba has food anxiety and is obsessive about getting enough, no doubt due to hunger he experienced as a stray.  He is aloof while Nova has separation anxiety.  Despite the challenges, the family has bonded.  One of Amy’s favorite sights is when Juba and Nova sit facing each other and groom one another’s faces, first on one side, then the other.  “They look like a black heart,” she says.  A perfect symbol for all the love it took to create this family.

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Cameo - the Path to Friendship

In 2009, Lynda and her husband, Niles, took a giant leap of faith, selling their house in Northern California and moving to the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State.  Niles had a dream of building his own home and Lynda wanted more time to spend exploring nature with her standard Poodle, Cameo.  Moving from a densely populated urban area to a small town of 9,000 accommodated their wishes.  

Soon after they relocated, Lynda and Cameo began walking at the local fairgrounds, mainly because it allowed dogs to be off-leash.  One day Cameo met a Tibetan terrier, Yogi, and the two became fast friends.  Lynda asked Yogi’s guardian, Jim, if he would like to meet the next day to walk the dogs together.  He said yes and soon the foursome was gathering every day at 9:00 in the morning for a one-hour walk.

They began inviting other regulars at the park to join them and the group steadily grew.    At times they have had as many as 12 people and 17 dogs.  Usually the numbers are lower and the group is “constantly morphing” but one of the things Lynda loves about life in the coastal town is “everyone seems to have a dog.”  

The dogs play a crucial role in the group. They tend to pair off with other canines similar in age.  Puppies play together and learn social skills while the older dogs avoid the fray.  Just as Lynda and Jim did, other walkers often make friends through their dog’s relationships.  Sometimes newcomers arrive saying they heard about the walkers from somebody in town.  On occasion even out-of-town visitors with dogs ask to join them.  All are welcome.

To maintain good relations with nearby homeowners, the group is self-monitoring, which includes cleaning up after their own and other dogs.  Their efforts have been so successful that when events are held at the fairgrounds, signs are posted in advance for the dog walkers, alerting them that their routine will be interrupted temporarily.  When that happens, they meet on the beach or a trailhead in the forest.

Lynda’s new life took root the day Cameo met Yogi.  Their daily two-mile walks have provided them with numerous friends, countless hours in nature, and a seamless transition to small town life.  Neither could have anticipated how much adventure awaited them following one chance encounter with a pair of like-minded souls. 

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Huckle, the Aging Tabby

Animals bring such joy and laughter to a home when they’re young and frisky.  But aging pets arouse feelings of tenderness and vulnerability as we come to grips with the reality that our time together won’t last forever.  And that we, too, are growing older.

Vicki and her grey tabby Huckle have shared 18 good years.  He is the same age as Vicki’s youngest child.  In his younger days, Huckle was the family provider, hunting and gathering rodents and birds to share with his loved ones.  With her two eldest children living independently and the loss of the family dog last year, Vicki and her husband noticed Huckle was lonely so they adopted two kittens from their local shelter.  The young cats have camaraderie with Huckle but he remains king of his domain.

Vicki watches Huckle experiencing the same age-related and generational problems that humans do.  The young felines are fun, spry, and curious while Huckle has health problems and requires watchful care.  “That’s what happens as we all age,” Vicki observes.  With so much history together, Vicki gravitates to Huckle at this stage of his life because “he’s got the roots and that’s the difference.” 

            

Huckle likes to sneak up onto Vicki’s chest in the morning, enjoy a little petting and get brushed.  It used to be a daily ritual but he doesn’t seem to tolerate touch as easily these days.  The routine has now expanded to include the two younger cats as well and sometimes togetherness is all Huckle requires.  That, and the heating pad Vicki provides for him to sleep on.

            

When Huckle seemed to be losing ground last month, Vicki wondered if it was his time.  But when the older children returned from college, he roused and regained a little of his old self.  Because Huckle is deft at communicating with Vicki through looks and behavior, she feels confident she’ll know when their time together is ending.

            

For now she appreciates Huckle’s warm little body snuggled against her own and his comforting purrs breaking the early morning silence.  Huckle reminds Vicky every day about the value of history, friendship, and loyalty that comes with sharing life with animals.  He won’t always be a part of her life, but he’ll always be a part of her.

By Elizabeth Sundstrom