Bruce

Many times Max would prepare for bed, but before he could fluff his pillow or get completely tucked in, there was Bruce.  With one gigantic leap Bruce would claim the center of the bed.  Bruce insisted on a little extra room.  I'd laugh and say, "Thank you, Bruce, for picking us.    Then I'd say, "Max, thank Bruce for picking us."   And, Max would mock,  "Thank you Bruce for  picking us, can you give me little room, please?"    That was our routine.

Deciding Bruce could stay six years ago, when he moved in as a foster cat, was the easy part, knowing that we had to let him die peacefully was hard --  very hard.    His kidneys were deteriorating, he wasn't always eating,  his weight kept dropping, sometimes he just stared off  into space, AND he wasn't jumping  on Max's  bed.  

I will always be grateful that Bruce chose to live with me.  Bruce died Friday, August 20, 2010.  I love you Bruce. 

Kitten Spends the Night -- Nigel Amused, Bruce is Not

Bruce is still feeling pretty crummy, so I decided to do something to perk him up.  I brought home a kitten.  Just for a night.  A kitten would definitely perk me up.  Especially this one.   She's a ball of energy.  She's like the energizer-bunny with extra batteries.  She likes to run, even though her back right leg is obviously deformed and doesn't work quite right.   Well, Bruce thought my idea was a really, really, really bad one.  He hissed.  He hissed  loudly.  He used every muscle in his face to hiss as loud as he could.   Nigel, on the other hand, was quite amused.   The kitten, named Jubilee, will be looked at by an ORTHOPEDIST surgeon next week (a doctor who fixes bones) to see if she needs surgery, and if so, what exactly will be done.  In the meantime, someone else took her home for night.  I haven't heard how her old cats reacted.  Hopefully, they were more welcoming than Bruce. 

UPDATE

For more than 40 days oil has been spewing (I'm actually in need of a much stronger word -- suggestions?) into the Gulf. In today's Washington Post officials from BP Oil Company and from the administration say that it is possible that the oil will continue to spill (need a stronger word here too) into the water until AUGUST!!!!!! That's four months since the explosion, four month since 11 people were killed, four months since birds, mammals, sea creatures and vegetation were contaminated and starting dying off. It's just way too long. We keep hearing that they are trying to stop the spill -- the "top Kill" (whoever heard of top kill before this disaster?) failed, other attempts have failed and now we are told that the oil may not be contained until AUGUST!!!!, it's just not right.

This is one of those situations where it is easy to feel helpless, BUT every one of us can write a letter, let your representatives know that something must be done sooner. Write to President Obama. He mentioned that his daughter asked, "Did you fix the hole?" Let him know that, like Malia, you are worried that the environment will not be able to bounce back from this enormous disaster.

On another matter that I feel equally powerless to control is Bruce. He came home from the hospital on Friday, had a great night, a good Saturday, an okay Sunday and a miserable Monday. He came back to the hospital today. Right now it seems like I can't do much but watch him, offer him food, make sure he's comfortable and drive him to and from the hospital. Bruce has a wonderful medical team caring for him. At this very moment its beginning to look like even they, fabulous as they are, may not be able to help him. The picture to the left is of Brucie chilling in my office after getting fluids. I am grateful to Dr. Rosen for taking my call as she was to board a plane for home. She listened to the update and instructed me on what could be done for Bruce today. I am indebted to three members of the incredible medical center staff, Evelyn, Kira and Maria for administering fluids today, Memorial Day.

Once again, shelter and medical center staff are here when others are enjoying a holiday. Bruce and I (well, probably just me) are extemely grateful.

Big Bruce -- The Cat who Picked Me!

I can't help it -- everyone who has every lived with an animal has a favorite. Of course, I've had more than one favorite, I've had been fortunate to share my home with some pretty remarkable animals including Alvie -- the cat who lived in the sewer pipe before deciding to break through my window screen to live with the other cats, Sidney and Artie -- SamMelvin -- my big orange shelter cat who would eat icing off a cake (and did) as well as anything else -- Dave -- My first DC cat, a very thoughtful guy who allowed my daughter to dress him up in princess clothes -- and Bruce.

Big Bruce picked me and my house 6 years ago. I was not looking to adopt another cat. But, Bruce was a shelter cat with no prospects of finding a home. Bruce, a big boned fellow, was pretty ragged out. His hair was thin and patchy and many bones on his big frame were visible. I decided to foster him. I brought him home and he was welcomed by the other cats -- Fiona, Gladys, Micky & Merl. Why not, Bruce was a blob. For the most part, he just hung out in a basket in the utility room. I advertised him as a sweet, gentle cat who was looking for home. Several people called and a couple of them came to meet him. Each time Bruce was in the basket, and each time I took Bruce out of the basket to show him off -- his long body, his sweet personality, his gentle head-nudge Each time, however, Bruce just crawled back into the basket.

A month later, my family and I decided that since Bruce was no trouble, and since he rarely even got out of the basket, he might as well stay. That very next day I filled out the adoptions paperwork, Bruce was no longer a foster cat, but my cat. And, that very same day, Bruce got out of the basket in the laundry room and never got in it again. He sleeps on my bed, on top of my legs or on top of my head (really) and if I try to move, he swats me. He also sleeps on both of my kids' beds, the window ledge and his kitty cup. He plays hard, really hard, especially with Merl. If Merl says enough with a full-face hiss, Bruce says MORE and jumps on Merl signaling that the game is far from over.

But, Bruce is not playing right now. He's in the hospital. His kidneys are not doing what they are supposed to do. The doctors and nurses are working very hard to get Bruce back on track. He's spent two nights this week in the hospital. The picture of Bruce in his hospital cage shows an anxious cat ready to get out. I keep telling him, "Bruce, you chose to live with me 6 years ago, and now you better choose to get better so you can go back home." It's hard to sleep without Brucie on my legs, or even my head.