Ross: A Warrior, A Friend, Endless Love…Our Cat

8 min read

What do you say about a furry little creature that was petite in stature but had a lion's heart and an angel's soul? How do you describe the almost eleven years of happiness he filled our lives daily? Where do you start? Let's start at the beginning.

Welcome to That's Life, I Swear. This podcast is about life's happenings in this world. Happenings that conjure up such words as intriguing, frightening, life-changing, inspiring, and more. I'm Rick Barron, your host. 

That said, here's the rest of this story.

Ross doing what it loved most, a place to sleep and the warm Sun on his furry face

So, full transparency here. This episode has been in the works since March of 2023. I tried to finish the episode but couldn't get around to recording it; now I can.

It was February 6, 2023, and my wife and I were sitting in our family room. What happened next caught both of us off guard. It was something we didn't see coming. However, I'm getting ahead of my story. Let's start at the beginning.

It was August of 2012 when I received a call from my wife. After saying hello, she wasted no time diving into the purpose of her call. "So, what do you think about adopting a kitty?" My response was, "What, we already have two cats." While discussing the pros and cons, as a married man for almost thirty years, I learned the foundations of marriage. The golden rule was 'a happy wife was a happy life'. Knowing I would not win this argument, I waved the symbolic white flag.

Ross saying his morning prayers

As my wife explained the story, she visited our vet's office with our two cats for a nail trim. It didn't take long when she was alerted to a new rescued kitten and up for adoption. The office manager carried this beautiful orange bundle of fur out from the veterinary backroom and introduced my wife to Ross. After 10 mins of holding and petting Ross, she fell in love with him. 

When I arrived home, I saw the kitten my wife fell in love with. Ross was an orange tuxedo cat whose big buffy tail was bigger than him.

It turned out that our vet's grandson rescued the cat we brought into our home that day. Our vet's grandson found Ross, his siblings, and the mother cat behind a large dumpster. The young boy could see that Ross was in ill health. Seeing this he wasted no time and quickly gathered Ross, his entire family and brought them to his grandfather's office.   

The vet was able to determine an approximate date of birth for Ross, and it was born around May of 2012. How our vet figured that out was beyond me, but he's the doctor.

We've been going to our vet for over 35 years now and he's treated our pets with visits dealing with required vaccines, emergencies, operations and even when we had to put them down. He's your 'country doctor' whose bedside manner reflects years of experience dealing with all creatures, great and small. Our vet's style is that you're not a customer but family. He doesn't have you come in, do a quick analysis and then gives you the bill. He actually and consistently gives you quality time with you and your pet.

When Ross arrived with his mom and other siblings from the vet's grandson, it took our vet several weeks to nurse Ross back to life. He was very dehydrated when found and lacking nourishment. The doctor said it was touch and go for a while and worried Ross would not make it. As it turned out, Ross was a fighter with a very strong heart.

The first day we brought Ross home, my wife and I took turns helping him adjust so that he learned his new environment. We showed him where the food dishes were located, the litter boxes [very important], and others. We took turns sleeping with him in the guest bedroom so he felt safe and knew he had a home now.

Ross looking for the 'mouse'

I forgot to mention that Ross's mother and other siblings were adopted…he was the last to be adopted.

The first couple of nights were hard to fall asleep with Ross. His burring was very heavy and loud. Even more so in that he slept curled up to my face. All of that was fine, but he had a habit of licking and biting my ear during the night. After three days, it was time for Ross to meet our two cats, Sidney and Abbey.  

It took some adjustment, but eventually, all three cats got along. That said, Ross did love to tease Sidney, our grey tabby. 

As Ross grew, I took note of his habits, like sleeping on the perch in our front window and sleeping on the bed pillows so he felt like he was sleeping on a cloud, I guess. Another habit he had was how he ate.

Ross showing it its done

When he would eat his dry food, he took time to pick up one piece of dry food at a time and eat it outside the dish. His timing to eat was also like clockwork, especially in the evening. Around 5 or 6 pm he would march into the family room, turn around and gently curl his big fluffy tail around his paws, telegraphing to us it was time for him to eat. 

And it's here where we make our entry point to what I shared with you earlier in the episode, the moment we didn't see coming.

It was Feb. 6, 2023, and like clockwork, Ross bounced into the family room and sat in front of us as usual during his ritual of letting you know he was ready to be fed. 

We noticed when he turned around that he had a severe noise bleed. Without hesitation, we packed Ross into his carrying bag and drove to our local vet emergency clinic. It was about two hours before we could speak to a vet to find out what was wrong with our Ross. The vet explained to us that Ross had a nasal tumor. After hearing the various options to help him, all we heard was that it was inevitable that Ross's time with us would not be long.

We did what we could to comfort him during our time with him. It tore our hearts watching him battle the nasal tumor, as his nose was stuffed with blood and the tumor pressure was impacting his eyes and breathing. We could hear his nose making a subtle nasal sound as he tried to breathe.

Ross, working with mom

The nasal tumor was causing him great difficulty to sleep. There were moments when Ross was standing up with his head bobbing downward as if trying desperately to find a comfortable position. Nothing was working to bring him comfort. 

Our family vet said that if Ross kept eating and drinking water, that was a good sign, but it would not prevent what was coming.

Not eating and drinking water for days told us his time was ticking away. We had to make that painful decision to let him go, as he was never going to recover and his quality of life, what he had left, was eroding quickly.   

Eventually, we called our vet to bring Ross in to be put down. 

As our vet prepped Ross for his injection that would put him down, he checked his heart. I watched the doctor's face. His face told me he could still feel the fight in Ross to hang on. It was then our vet looked at us and said 'Ross still has a strong heart'. 

Once the needle injection was completed, it didn't take long for Ross to pass. He was at peace now, he could finally sleep. 

We said goodbye to our dear boy Ross in the early morning of March 14, at 8:45 am. It was five weeks and one day from when Ross was taken to emergency and to the day we put him down.

My wife and I didn't say a word as we drove home. We couldn't, but we both knew what each other was thinking as we drove home in the rain.

That evening, I cried and looked around the house and saw all the places Ross had made his presence known. The front room window, sleeping on the bedroom pillows, playing with his favorite blue ball, and other memorable moments. 

Ross taking a nap with his buddies

It's hard when you lose a family member or good friend, but the ability and necessity to choose the moment of their death can feel overwhelming. Euthanasia, or assisted suicide, is rare (and often illegal) in human medicine, yet it is a common end to the lives of our companion animals, relieving suffering of a terminal condition. The Greek meaning is "good death, " which sounds like an oxymoron. 

As I watched Ross being put down, I was fighting whether we were doing the right thing. Yes, we were, but it was hard, damn hard. It was difficult to watch for me because I was anticipating the end. I know Ross knew he was loved and we did our best. 

During the day, the pouring rain was joined by powerful winds. The power of the winds were so great that our electrical power went off around 1 pm. 

I had a glass of scotch to ease my pain, but it did no good. Thinking back to the early morning after Ross had been given the injection, I couldn't help seeing his eyes somewhat open. I wasn't thinking rationally as I thought maybe he might surprise us and wake up, maybe this was just a bad dream. It wasn't, it was a harsh reality to swallow.

I decided to take a nap, while fighting back the tears.

Ross in a quiet moment of reflection

We went through the night with no electrical power, but were able to muster up some dinner, thanks to a gas stove. During our dinner my wife and shared fond memories of Ross. My wife commented that Ross probably caused the wind as he had the heart of a lion and wanted the world to know he was leaving for heaven. We both laughed.

Small as he was, all 7.5 pounds of him, he was my anchor. He made me calm without really trying. He'd walk into the room, sit before you as he would circle his bushy tail around him and make you smile, always. 

Our vet was very respectful in his handling the final minutes with Ross. As the vet prepared to inject the solution that would take our dear Ross to a final sleep, I could see the vet was holding back the tears. Here was a cat he spent time saving and returning to a strong life. He helped our Ross initially come into this world and did the same in the end.

The following morning of Ross's passing, I went outside to pick up the morning paper. As I dusted off the paper and unfolded to read the local news, I happened to look up into the sky. There I saw a beautiful bright crescent half-moon. Just to the bottom left of the moon was a bright star…there were no other stars around. In my heart, it was Ross telling me he made it to heaven. I know he was telling my wife and I thank you for loving him and that life would move on as it always does and must. I smiled. That's my boy, our cat with the iron heart.

Ross letting me know he made to Heaven

A week later, next to our Peach tree was a single tulip that just blossomed. Its color was orange. Apparently, Ross stopped by to say thank you again and left us something to keep in our garden.

What can we learn from this story? What's the take away

Knowing you must decide to release your pet is difficult while knowing nothing can be done to stop it. The odds are against you, period. It's like a broken egg that can't be unbroken. We didn't want to cheat Ross or us of more quality time if possible. Looking back, I doubted myself and the decision we had made. I felt I had failed.

Looking back now, I remind myself that my wife and I did the best to make difficult decisions while weighing love, hope and grief. 

Several months have passed, and the gut-wrenching guilt I felt and deep sadness have lessened. When I have those moments remembering our quirky, loving orange tuxedo cat, feelings of guilt and shame still play in my head, but they are diminishing. I'm certain Ross knew he was beloved. And I know he loved us, too, with all his feline heart. I'll always think of Ross with love, and I will not focus on how he died but rather on how he lived and all his magical, purr-filled, funky-pawed days.

Well, there you go. That's life, I swear.

For further information regarding the material covered in this episode, I invite you to visit my website, which you can find on either Apple Podcasts/iTunes or Google Podcasts, for show notes calling out key pieces of content mentioned and the episode transcript.

As always, I thank you for listening and your interest. 

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