Kitty Beanhead

Kitty Beanhead came into my life by accident. She was found inside a little trailer behind the building where I worked. She had somehow gotten trapped inside for nearly 2 weeks. A co-worker of mine was passing by one day and heard a "meow." He came to my office and told me he thought a cat was in the trailer. Together we went to see, and sure enough, there was a cat. She came bounding out, and we tried to catch her by putting an empty box over her, but we didn't realize the box had a tear on one side, and she came right on out of the box! So, I quickly scooped her up in my arms. She was nearly starved to death. I think the only thing that had saved her was the fact that it had been raining a lot, and there were rusty holes in the trailer, so at least she had water to drink.

She was so skinny she could barely walk, but there was still a sparkle in her eyes. Someone went to the store and got some cat food, and we fed it to her and she ate it up immediately. We put the kitty in one of the vacant offices, but she didn't like being locked up alone. So, on my lunch breaks, I'd go in to visit her. She'd run up to me and hop into my lap, purring. I'd pet her until she fell asleep. After a few days, I decided I'd take her home. I wasn't ready for a pet, but there was something about this little cat that I loved. So, one day, I picked her up and said, "Want to go home with me?" She got in the car, sat in the seat (I didn't have a pet carrier yet) and just rode along. She wasn't nervous or scared. She looked out the window, then walked into my lap as I was driving, put her two front paws on the steering wheel and looked out the front windshield and meowed.

The very next morning, I woke up and she was laying next to me, and her paw was in the palm of my hand. It made me smile. It was like she was telling me, "Hey, thanks for taking me in. I think I'm gonna like it here!"

I don't know why I decided to name her Kitty Beanhead, but I just did. Several other names were auditioned, but none of them stuck like Kitty Beanhead. It just seemed to fit her. She was a silly cat, with a constant look of "What the heck are you looking at?" on her face. This will sound strange, but she smelled like maple syrup. I could hold her and give her kisses, and I swear, her fur smelled like maple syrup! Her personality was wonderful, and she was a really smart cat. And she was tough. She wasn't scared of much - except the vaccuum cleaner.

We enjoyed nearly 15 years together. She put up with me moving from apartment to apartment, working late, going out of town, and not letting her jump up on the dining room table. We ate many dinners with her begging for scraps, and she usually got them. She loved saltine crackers. One night, I accidently left some crackers out on the table. The next morning, I came around the corner to find crumbs all over and half eaten, soggy crackers on the floor. She also like popcorn. I was eating some one evening and she crawled on my lap, got right up to my face and tried to lick the popcorn out of my hand as I was eating it. I couldn't get mad at her though. It was just too darn cute.

I got married a couple of years ago, and Beanie suddenly found herself living in a house with two other cats. It was quite an adjustment for kitty who was used to being the only cat. But she did well, even though she never quite did warm up to the 18 lb. male cat she was introduced to. She tolerated him, but she never hesitated to turn around and bat her with her paw if he decided to sniff her tail. He would always back off pretty quickly!

As she got older, she started to lose weight.I attributed it to the stress of a change of environment. It wasn't a sudden thing, just gradual. I took her to the vet, and they said she was okay - just that she was getting older and was now a "senior citizen." Then, a few months ago, when the Iams pet food was recalled, that I took her in again, because that was the food she'd been eating for a few years. She was then diagnosed with kidney disease and hyperthyroid, along with hypertension. She started taking medicines, and had to be hospitalized over the Easter holiday to flush out her kidneys. After that, she rebounded. As of June, the vet was pleased with her progress and said she was doing well. And she seemed to be feeling better too.

A few days ago, I started to notice a difference in her behavior. She had stopped eating very much, and her breathing had become labored. She also seemed to be a little weaker than usual, stumbling sometimes when she walked. So, I took her back to the vet. He did a blood test and was shocked with the results. Beanhead had become dangerously anemic, and he gave her only a few days life expectancy in her condition. I was devastated.

I knew a choice had to be made. I looked at this little cat who had brought so much joy to my life, and she was becoming just a shadow of what she used to be. I could have decided to hospitalize her again, make her take more pills, give her steroids, force feed her. She would have kept fighting as long as I wanted. She was still a tough little cat. But it wouldn't have been fair for me to ask her to do that. She was so tired, so frail and weak. I just wanted to give her some peace. It's one of the hardest decisions I've ever made, but at the same time, I knew in my heart that it was the correct one.

She passed away peacefully at the vets on Wednesday, August 15th, a little after 8am. At first, she looked at me as if to say, "Am I getting more medicine? I'm so tired, but I can try a little more." I just whispered to her, "It's alright - just close your eyes. You can sleep now, and everything is going to be okay." So, she laid her head down, her whiskers twitched, and then she was gone. She was finally free.

I have a lot of great memories of Kitty Beanhead, I can't write them all down. Those memories, along withthe support of my husband, friendsand my parents are the only things that can get me through the days now that Beanie is gone. I want her back so badly. I just want to hold her once more and hear her purr. She took a little part of me when she passed. The way I feel is the definition of heartbroken. But if someone told me they could take away all the pain I'm feeling, but in return I'd have to give up all the memories I have of her, I'd turn them down. I'm hurting, but the memory of her makes me smile. She was one of the best gifts God ever gave me, and I'll forever be grateful for the day she jumped into my life. I hope that one day, I'll see her again. Then, she can put her paw in the palm of my hand, and I can say to her, "Hey, thanks for taking me in. I think I'm gonna like it here."

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