Letters to Ferris - Missing You

Ferris,

As each day passes, the void in our hearts hasn't lessened. We have small comfort in knowing you didn't suffer much and there was little we could do to save you as we learn more about how sick you were. Our sadness will always be there that you are not here to experience each day with us, but our minds are a little more at ease.

We miss feeling needed and wanted by you. Your constant and patient interaction with us is a cherished memory. Daddy misses you crawling after him, begging for him to pick you up, pet you, play with you--all of which he would lovingly indulge you. I miss feeling you knead me and shove your face into my neck and softly purr. That look on your face when you were so utterly happy or sleepy and wanting Mommy time.  You defined us as parents and we had a purpose.

Our compass feels off and we try to keep busy. I find myself pacing, sometimes wandering around, waiting for you to meow at me and tell me what you want or need. I keep having the feeling you're just in a secret sleeping spot and you'll walk around the corner any minute with an inquisitive chuff and that lazy curl in your tail.

Watching our old videos of you and looking at your pictures helps ease the pain, but it is no substitute for the scent of your soft fur, the feeling of your warmth draped over us, or the bright look of your playful eye engaging us to romp with you.

We miss you so much.

Letters to Ferris - the Little Things

Ferris

There are so many reminders of you in this house, something I am happy for. I can’t tell you how much we miss your little noises that you’d make. Even when you were curled up between us in the dead of night and I just needed to touch you, you’d raise your head and respond with the cutest half meow, half purr.

I see you out of the corner of my eye all the time, and when certain shapes and colors are bundled up somewhere I think it’s you. Sorrow fills my heart when I realize it’s just a trick of the eyes.

The little things that are missing are what hurt the most, I think. Like coming home and seeing all your little paw imprints on the bedspread, now perfectly smooth as when we left it, all your kibble bits scattered all over the kitchen floor, the sound of you jumping on the window sill behind me as I clacked away on the computer, and your curious little face poking out from behind the curtain.

We are so in love with you. The way your pink nose would flush when you were excited, the beautiful shade of green of your eyes with your impossibly white fur complimented by your black cloak. The way your mouth would open to let out even louder purrs when we rubbed your nose—you loved that so much. How, when Daddy would pick you up, you’d hold on to his shoulders so tight and give him such loving kisses.

I loved to see you how excited you’d get when Daddy walked into the room. You’d give him an inquisitive trill and flop over so he’d have no choice but to go up and give you your deep massage you loved so much.  

I miss how you’d wrap your body around my head when I had a migraine and settle your throat right across my ear and purr, as if you knew exactly what would take away the pain.  I miss how you’d jump into my arms and let me carry you around and how you’d nuzzle in my ear as if that was the most content you’d ever been—aside from being outside soaking up the sun and rolling in the grass.

We miss you so much, Ferris. We miss you under the Christmas tree; we miss you under the credenza, watching us from a distance. I miss hearing you gallop through the house and treating every possible structure as a fort. We miss your kisses, your warmth and the endless hours of love you gave us.

Letters to Ferris - A Day is Not the Same

Ferris

Getting up to start the day is so hard without you.  I thought it would be easier because you wouldn’t be snuggled up next to me making it difficult to leave the cozy bed—I was wrong. I remember how, if we missed the alarm, you’d be at the foot of the bed giving your short “meh!” bark to gently wake us up. And when I stumbled into the shower, you’d be sure to follow.  I spent more time in there than necessary because you and I would be playing through the shower curtain.  Before I even had a chance to towel off, you’d be trying to climb me, impatiently waiting for me to dry off.  But once I did, you’d hop into my arms and shove your little face into the hollow of my neck, purring as if enjoying how clean I was or you just liked the feeling of my wet hair.  Either way, you made it hard to start the day. Some days we just crawled back into bed with Daddy and relaxed until the last possible moment, other days, I held you as I made coffee and lunches with one hand. Of course, if the lunch was made with any type of meat, you surely benefited.

As I got ready and Daddy got out of the shower the two of you (one of Daddy’s favorite things in the morning) would play Blankie Monster and rough-house, but he could never say no to your cutesy-act begging for love—no matter how late we were.

When we both were readying to leave the house, you’d leave your favorite perch in the sunny office window to say goodbye, and of course, get more pets, as if wishing us a good day. Every day we’d say, “bye, baby! Be a good boy!” Even though you are not there, I whispered it anyway this morning as I locked the door.

Going home is hard. When we drove up to the house, we’d either see your little face in the window waiting for us or as we burst through the door, you’d be there to greet us. Often times with one of our socks you dug out of the laundry basket in the entry way or on the bed, which told us how much you missed us too.  The house is silent and utterly empty.  I find myself wandering the house, going to all your little spots you loved so much hoping that when I walk into the room you’ll be there, lifting your head and giving me a meow to say hello like you’ve always done before.  I can’t bring myself to wash off your nose marks from the window.

I will miss you at the dinner table, trying your hardest to bargain for a treat.  You always knew Daddy would be the first to crumble and when that failed, then you knew Mommy couldn’t say no to your sweet, bright eyes. 

When we unwound for the evening, I loved how you’d demand my lap as your personal real estate, and there was so much comfort and love I felt when you’d rest your head on my arm. You always made me feel special when you’d sit up and crane your neck to give me kisses, purr and talk to me. I loved to watch you and Daddy play with Mr. String, and you provided endless giggles when you got a hold of your catnip bag.

If we stayed up too late, you’d be there to tell us. Barking at us to follow you into the bedroom. Your human heaters were needed! Even though I always wanted to snuggle with you, you’d naturally resist, but then always come back as if suddenly it was now your idea. If you didn’t want to lay beneath the covers, you’d always treat Mommy like furniture, and I was perfectly okay with that.  Daddy always called you my sleep charm, because as soon as you’d settle down and I could run my fingers through your soft, warm fur and hear you purr, I’d be out too, quickly joining you in dream land.

We miss the warmth you gave to our home—that house has never been without you. We miss all the little noises you made and we took great pride in being able to understand your facial expressions and what each of those little barks and chuffs meant. I miss feeling your paws climb over me, pat my head, touch my face and Daddy misses his buddy who he could play with on the chair, chase around the bed and get to talk to him. Not only were you a snuggle bug, you were a chatter box and always made us feel special.

Love,

Mommy & Daddy

"He sure is a sensitive little guy..."

Over the weekend, Ferris gave us all a pretty good scare. Doing construction on the front entryway was way more involved than we thought it was going to be. And way dustier than we anticipated. It didn't help that we didn't block off the area we were working on, so moldy insolation and dry wall particle dust went everywhere. We tried to keep Ferris out of the way as possible, for his protection just as much as ours, what with all the supplies and materials, nails and screws he could get into.

We kept him our room for the better part of the day. During a break I stowed him away in his room with food and water so he'd also have access to his litter box. We kept him in there for a few hours. He didn't seem interested in using any of those services, so I put him back in our room so we could have the front window's air circulation.

Once we were finished for the evening, Vin went into the room to let him out. It was there he discovered Ferris had had an accident on the bed, and was very distraught over it, hiding under our bed. Once he came out, he threw up all over the floor. Trying to comfort him so he knew it wasn't his fault, I knew there was something wrong with him right away. Earlier in the afternoon he had suffered, unbeknownst to me, an asthma attack. I thought it was a simple hairball he was coughing up.

After he was let out of the room, he was distant, trying to hide, slow-moving and visibly depressed. I figured it was just his shame of having an accident. Vin left that evening to go with our friend Curt to catfish.

After I settled in for the night, I noticed Ferris wasn't well at all. He had flopped into the office, where I was, and when I called to him, he wasn't responsive. I knelt down to pick him up and he was limp in my hands. He came to once I had him in my arms, but promptly wanted down. He crawled under my desk and laid his head down, his breathing labored. I called my friend Cheryl to come look at him. She would tell me if I was paranoid or not.

She agreed he didn't seem well so off to the emergency vet we went. Usually when Ferris is in his carrier he cries and yowls the whole time. Not this night, he promptly curled up into a quiet ball. Once at the vet he was so lethargic and listless. Two hours later, the doctor was able to see him and didn't see any reason to run tests. I do love how they give you worst case scenario to send you into a panic, though. The words "Kidney failure, and acute renal failure" were mentioned. Yes, I cried. But, she didn't see me paying for emergency rate tests and to wait until our vet could see Ferris.

We had to wait until Wednesday to take him because our vet was on an extended holiday for the labor day weekend. Those were the longest 3 days of monitoring and watching the little bugger to make sure he was eating, drinking, pooping and peeing. He didn't seem to appreciate the extra attention, not one bit. He couldn't bring himself to liven up, but he certain could flick his tail in a way that told me to leave him alone.

Overall Vin and I got him back on all four feet and his vet did a blood panel that told us he was perfectly fine. Healthy as a ... well, cat. No failure of any kind, just elevated white blood counts due to stress. The construction was dusty, smelly and loud, definitely not a fun place for a kitty. Cheryl said, "He sure is a sensitive little guy..."

She is so right!