Pooh Bear's passing

When Helen gave me these kittens to foster, she said she was concerned about the orange kitten (Pooh Bear), and her concern was not misplaced.  He was a bag of bones, nearly half the weight of his brother.  Whereas his brother Piglet had a decent appetite and ate up his bit of canned food with medicine mixed in, Pooh bear lapped at the liquid but ate very little.  He was weak, and did not play or purr.  He mostly slept.  At first he was wary of us, his human foster parents, but soon he seemed to enjoy his chin-scratches and petting.  I was delighted when, a few days in, he approached Liz with his tail raised in the feline signal for "Hi, friend" and rubbed his body against her leg affectionately.  "He loves us!"

What gave me hope for Pooh Bear was the quality of his eyes.  Sick cats often leave their eyes half-closed, avoiding eye contact.  Their eyes appear dull or distant.  Sometimes the inner eyelid begins to close half-way over the eye.  Sometimes, you can see their fear or their pain.  Pooh bear had none of these signs.  He met my gaze with a deep, placid regard, eyes clear and bright with recognition of my being, inviting me to recognize his own spark of being.

But like Helen, from the very beginning I was worried.  It was the weakness, the lassitude of his muscles.  The roundworms and whatever else he'd been through to reach such an emaciated state had sapped his strength.  When he broke with symptoms of an upper respiratory infection the day after he arrived, a worm of worry squeezed my gut.  I feared he wouldn't have the strength to overcome the infection, and would be overwhelmed.  After 5 days of medicine, supplemental feeding, gentle cuddles, and lots of rest, he was not improving.  Sunday afternoon he lapped up the liquid from his canned food, and even ate a few kibbles.  When he was done, I lay back on a dog bed and placed him on my chest for cuddles.  He lay exactly where I put him, completely limp.  I couldn't feel his breathing or his heartbeat or the heat from his body, so tentative was his presence.  At that moment I knew he would be leaving soon, and I held him and wept.  I put him to bed with his brother and they curled up tight together.

He was gone in the morning, still entangled with his sleeping brother.  He passed peacefully, surrounded by warmth and love.  Liz, teary-eyed, said she had been planning to take his picture and post it on Facebook with the message, "Don't tell Maureen, but we're keeping him."  In the 5 days we had him, he stole our hearts.  Good bye, Pooh Bear.  We love you.