This is a page of tributes to our little ones who didn’t make it. Fostering is such a joy, and yet each of us has experienced tragedy and loss as well. This page is dedicated to all kitties who fought the good fight and couldn’t win, and to the foster parents who went through it with them and came out the other side with hearts broken and yet somehow ready to keep on.
Wolfie
Wolfie died at only about 3 months old. We’ll never know exactly what was wrong with him, but it started to manifest when weaning started. Apparently he had a genetic defect that didn’t allow him to digest food properly. There were other issues as well, showing up on x-rays, and he was euthanized. He was a little, feisty grey kitty, an adorable little boy who never got to be. He rests in peace in my back yard.
Ao
If Wolfie was a sad loss, Ao was a heartbreak. I was smitten with Ao when he was tiny, and he was with us after everyone else was adopted. How do you explain this kitty? This one who gazed at you with perfect trust, who chose to live his best life against all odds, this one who took everything life threw at him, and embodied serenity.
Ao was born with a rare defect called Flat-Chested Kitten Syndrome. His whole ribcage was flattened so that it was wider than it was deep. On the sides his ribs actually came to little points. Behind his shoulders was a big dip. His heart was displaced, and his lungs were compromised, so he had to breathe harder.
But all he knew was that he was a kitten. He pushed in to nurse with his other four siblings. He ate and slept and grew; he scrabbled around and got stronger. As he got older, he pounced on his siblings and wrestled with them; he climbed the little cat tower, and chased toys.
It was like he was two cats. His physical body was weak, and his balance was terrible, so he fell off things. Often, his aim was off – he’d pounce but not connect. And, unlike the others, he had to sit out for long periods, watch from the sidelines.
But his mind was joyous. When he was in he was all in. He was enthusiastic in everything he did. He couldn’t have enjoyed every moment of his life, but he embraced them all, every moment, and lived them all.
Often when he was unable to be physically in the thick of things, he sat in my lap, snuggled in my arms, gazed up at me with his tiny, trusting face. He was serene; he was joyous.
And he was feisty. When he met my cat Jiro, who outweighed him by 5x, Ao arched up his back, stuck his tail straight up, fluffed up his fur, and hissed. He said, “This is my room, you, so you just get right out of here.” And Jiro fled.
I knew I would keep Ao forever, if we couldn’t find the perfect people for him. But Jordan and Caleb found him. Jordan’s brother had physical issues as well, and her heart went out to this little kitty, so his wonderful new parents took him home, to love and care for for his whole life.
Everyone knew Ao wouldn’t live a normal lifespan, but no one expected complications to arise so quickly. Ao lived the good life with his lovely and adoring people for only a few months. He had his own cat tree; a balcony, where he wore a little harness to sit outside and watch birds; and, when he was seven months old, he wore tiny bat wings for Halloween. But his body started deteriorating before the end of the year. The injuries were too much, involving his lungs and heart, and he didn’t make it.
A little kitten, a few months of life. But so profound an impact. I’m crying again as I write this. Rest in peace, little Ao. You were tiny, but you managed to make the world a better place in your few months of life. How many with longer lifespans can say that? Thank you for all you gave.