Thanks everyone, for your kind thoughts.
Several months ago when Tasha became ill, the vet had suggested (after tests and bloodwork) that it could be either irritable bowel or some sort of intestinal cancer. She had suggested I could either have her further tested for cancer, or assume it was IBS and treat her. Either way, she told me that if it was cancer, there was nothing they would be able to do for Tash anyway aside from palliative care, so I opted to have her treated for the symptoms and not put her through the testing.
I just wanted to write a bit about Tasha, as I think she deserves some sort of recognition. She came into my life (and my son's) when she was around 8-10 months old. My sister and her husband had been out one evening walking their dog through a heavily wooded area in the west end of the city, and they came to an open field. There were a couple of boys going through the field with a pellet gun, taking potshots at anything they could, and so my sis and her spouse decided they should leave. Just around that moment the heavens opened up and it began to pour...but just as they were getting ready to bolt to their car they thought they heard something. My sister said they searched for a few moments and then, underneath a huge leafy shrub, they spotted this little bit of a cat, soaked to the skin, so thin her ribcage was showing, and she looked absolutely miserable. So they gathered her up and when they got home, they called me. The Humane Society was closed for the evening and their dog didn't get along with cats, so they asked if I could take her for the night. Well, as soon as they came over and dropped off this little cat, I knew she wouldn't be leaving. My son (who was around ten at the time) begged for me to keep her. I was going to say no, but when I saw her my heart just melted. She was such a tiny little thing, half-starved and completely confused about what was happening to her. The first thing I did was put down a dish of food and she charged over to it, so happy to have a meal in her belly that her purr was coming through loud and clear as she devoured what was in the dish.
The next day I examined her more carefully and found she was completely saturated with fleas. So she had a flea bath, more food, and probably more attention than she'd received up to that point in her lifetime. She settled in quickly and became a part of our family...a tiny little creature with a huge appetite, an even louder purr, and an enormous heart.
'Tasha' was actually named after a character from Star Trek: The Next Generation. My son, being a geeky sci-fi nut, was in love with that show. After Tash had been with us for a week or so and we still didn't have a name for her, one day my son called me while I was at work. And I don't know where this came from, but suddenly I blurted out to him, "Oh, you know, we should name the new cat 'Tasha' after Natasha Yar on Star Trek, since you love that show". Well, he agreed heartily, and so Tasha it was.
For the past 16 years she has been one of those cats 'in the background', content to live in the shadow of more dominant furred family members, such as Kaya and Yofi. But Tasha certainly didn't let anyone get away with anything. If Yofi was pestering her and wouldn't go away, she'd swat him across the face with one of those huge ballplayer mitts of hers (being a polydactyl kitty, I'm sure she could have tried out for the big leagues) and he'd know that she meant business. He'd go running off to his room, nose totally out of joint, pouting, "She hit me
again, mom". She would come and sit on the sat of the sofa whenever I was watching tv, and she would purr that huge rumbling purr of hers and rub her head against mine...or she would slip silently onto my leg and remain there, sides heaving in and out with contentment. And if Tash was hungry, she let me know. Loudly. Even though she was tiny in physical form, her voice superceded everyone else. I'd come home from work and ask, "Who's hungry?" and the first thing I'd hear would be Tasha, emphatically declaring that she had been starved for at least two and a half days (so her story went) and she needed sustenance immediately or she would faint clear away. But to hear her cry was a bit funny too, for that loud declaration of hers - I swear - sounded like she was yelling, "MOM!!!!!" to me. And as I sit here typing this, it is dinner time...and that cry is silent. I think that is the hardest thing for me to adjust to at the moment.
So to my little Tasha....thank you for 16 years of unconditional love. I can only hope that I gave you the same, and I pray that the decision I made today was what you wanted. Sweet dreams, Tashie...may we meet again some day.
I wanted to share this photo of Tash, plus one other one...the first one I took a few weeks ago when I was trying to get a photo of one of my Schleich models. I snapped the shot and then looked at the screen, only to find that Tasha had popped her head up into the frame just as I had taken the picture. And the second one was taken some time ago...but again, I had been trying to take a picture of something else, and suddenly there was Tasha, nose right in the camera...smiling that sweet smile of hers.
