Dolly entered our lives on a bright summer’s day, the kind of day where you are just beginning to get hints that summer is soon coming to a close and the first winds of fall are rapidly making its true intentions known. She left us early yesterday afternoon, as the faintest hints of summer were just creeping into our town. Dolly passed away quietly, at home, with me by her side. Dolly was our beloved “rescue cat,” found wandering one day in the middle of our street. On that morning, as I walked a new route at a different time of day,I was approached by two joggers who were unsuccessfully trying to coax a small, buff-colored kitty from the middle of the road; calling to her in a futile attempt to remove her from the many and certain dangers of our neighborhood street. Dolly would not budge from her chosen position.
I slowly approached Dolly, knelt down about 2 feet from her, and in a motion well- known to every cat-lover, moved my fingers back and forth, that in cat language, seems to indicate I have something very tasty and special awaiting her. Dolly immediately walked over to me and a feeling of safety that she would now experience every remaining day of her life. I picked her up and she immediately started purring. In fact, she purred all the way to our house at the end of the street. Dolly seemed to know that she now had a place to call her own. I carefully carried her home, woke up my wife with the words, “I have a cat in the back room.” We both immediately ran to that holding room to let Dolly know she was now an important part of our family and could stay with us in her new and adopted home.
We have two other “rescue cats” and they immediately accepted her into our little family with only a few of the usual hisses and guttural growls. I noticed that these sounds did not seem to deter Dolly and later that day I discovered the reason why Dolly ignored those loud cat sounds. Our brand- new little family member was deaf, completely, totally, unable to hear. Now I understood why the efforts of those two helpful joggers had failed to move Dolly from the middle of the road. She could not hear them, us, other cats, and more importantly, the sounds and dangers of the outdoors. What was she doing outside on her own?
We will never know what Dolly was doing outside that day. We tried to find her family, placing signs and pictures of her all around the neighborhood. We placed notices on the internet, monitored our paper and those of nearby towns, but no one claimed Dolly. After about a month, while she was stealing our hearts and cementing her place in our family, we gladly accepted the fact that our little home was now also the home of our 4 pound, buff-colored little treasure. She was a remarkable and unforgettable addition.
While Dolly was deaf, she had adapted to her condition remarkably well. She walked with a decided purpose wherever she went. Nothing could deter her as she marched boldly to her food or her favorite place by the sliding glass doors that led to our backyard. She rejoiced in the visits of the birds, squirrels, rabbits, skunks and whatever other living thing graced our yard. She was blissfully unaware of the dreaded vacuum cleaner that always strikes fear in our other felines. Dolly would sleep through our loudest cleaning adventures. I guess it was a true blessing for being deaf.
At Halloween, we discovered another curious habit that Dolly brought to our home. In preparation for the trick or treaters that would be arriving the next day, we purchased our candy gifts and placed them in a large, circular bowl we use to help us distribute the candy bars to the wandering horde of children that always grace our neighborhood on October 31st. Dolly immediately walked to the candy bowl, jumped in, smelled the delightful treats all around her, and quickly fell asleep. It appeared that Dolly really loved candy. She also loved soda. We spent many a day discovering new methods of keeping those treats, so unhealthful for cats, away from her constant and ceatieve attempts to steal them away from us if we dared to look the other way. Dolly was one determined feline.
She also was the softest, most gentle, loving and accepting creature I have ever known. She would greet me in the morning, imploring me to quickly feed her the treasured moist food she so desired. In spite of her small size and weight, Dolly could really, really eat. She sensed when feeding time was near; at those times she would congregate wherever I happened to be, making her presence known, not by loud vocal calls or whines, but simply by just being present. Wherever I went when feeding time was near, there was Dolly. One of our other cats, Sammy,rapidly learned that following Dolly at these times of day was a really good thing, and soon, almost like fog rolling in on a summer’s morning, I would find two cats at my feet. Dolly the silent and Sammy, using his soft, “cooing” voice, imploring me to feed them and feed them soon. I have to admit, their sly tactics worked every time. It became our routine, twice a day, every day.
Dolly loved to spend the day with me in my office. She would grab her favored chair, leaving it only to search for any stray food or other treats she always tried to coax from me. Sammy, of course, would soon follow. At night, Dolly would finish her meal and march downstairs to be with her family while we watched television. She would go from person to person, cat to cat, ending up in her cat bed by the sliding glass door, where she could await the nocturnal visits from her outdoor friends. On occasion, we would find Dolly sleeping in our bed, her head on the pillow, just like her human family members. In a very short period of time she had invaded our home and stolen our hearts. Sammy, Kato, our alpha-male cat and our entire family loved her and were so very glad she had joined our family. It soon seemed that she had always been there with us. And then, about a month ago, things began to change..
Dolly no longer was waiting for me to finish work. Her attempts to coax more food from me started to become less and less. She spent more time in the living room, near the food, but a bit away from it in her other little cat bed. Her gait was slower, she seemed less sure of herself. One morning,after she had finished her meal, I noticed she first walked into the wall before she headed back to her bed. Later that day, I witnessed her feeble attempts to located her feeding dish. I walked over to her, waved my hand in front of her face and got no response. Dolly, our deaf little feline, was now also blind. I called the vet immediately and we took her in that afternoon. Our veterinarian ran repeated tests and could not find the cause of her latest disability. The doctor drained fluid from around her heart, a condition that most likely was the culprit for her blindness and attempted to discover the cause of her latest infirmity. We were given options, possible causes and new procedures and were told about “quality of life.” which I soon learned were code words for” make her comfortable, because she will not be recovering from this illness.”
We all prayed for a miracle and in about a day our prayers were answered. Dolly could see again! Our vet had told us the damage was not reversible, but sure enough, Dolly once again had the gift of sight. She walked determinedly to her food, as before, marched up and down the stairs like she always did, to find her treasured spot near the backyard to watch the marvelous outdoor world. She climbed the highest chair in the living room to get the best view and seemed to be her old self once again. And then, five days ago, it all changed forever.
Dolly again lost her sight, and it was not coming back. Her world got smaller and smaller. She would not leave the living room and slept in her cat bed near the food. Two days ago, her eating started to become less and less frequent and slowly, it ceased altogether. We talked about what to do, recalled the advice of “quality of life” and chose to make her as comfortable as we could. We discussed that if she did not show improvement we would call the vet and make an appointment to take her in for what we both knew would be the last time. Yesterday, we made that dreaded appointment and I watched Dolly carefully throughout the morning. Her breathing became more and more labored and I soon realized that the end was near. At precisely 12:30 pm, with the sun almost at its peak, Dolly left us for her forever home. I was at her side and said a prayer for our treasured and cherished pet. Dolly was no longer in any pain; and more importantly she left behind so many memories and lessons I will never, ever forget.
Without ever once saying a word, or even hearing one, Dolly taught me what it meant to live with infirmities. She never complained, not even when her sight was also taken from her. She continued to take each day as it arrived, determinedly adjusting to whatever came her way, accepting it and passing on whatever love she could still give. And, in the end, Dolly taught me how to die, to die with a dignity and peacefulness that belied her tiny body and weakened condition. While small in stature, Dolly was a giant among us.
Of course,while Dolly was a cat, she was, in fact, more human than many people I have known. She harbored no grudges, spoke no evil, never craved for more than what she was given. She gave only love and expected nothing in return. (Except, that is, for her beloved moist food) and always found a way to make our days brighter; even if her days were constantly filled with darkness. I bemoaned her fate every day, asking why such a loving and gentle creature was given such a cruel lot in life. Dolly never seemed to care that she had been dealt such a fate. She lived fully every day of her life and in those short few months that she graced our little home, she taught us all what it means to live, to love and to make every day special. In the end, she taught us how to pass into the next world, hopeful and ready for whatever adventure awaits beyond the curtain. I miss her beyond words and will continue to miss her every day until I see her once again.
Dolly, as you might have guessed, was really something very special. I will never know why I took that walking route the day I rescued her from the middle of the road. I will never know how she became deaf or what caused the illness that finally took her from us. She never heard us speak a word, yet in the end, that really did not matter. Dolly spoke volumes about what it means to be on this planet that we share with all the other living creatures. She told us how to live, how to go on with our lives no matter what is thrown at us. Dolly spoke to us each and every day and one fine day, when I see her again, I will tell her how much she was loved by all of us and what her short time with us really meant. And that time, for the very first time, she will hear me and understand what an impact a four pound, deaf and ultimately blind feline had on each and every member of the Burley family. Until then, dear Dolly, rest in the comfort of God and all the angels. You deserve the best seat at the table. And be sure to ask for “Super Supper.” You know it was your favorite meal.
Via con Dios, Dolly. See you soon.