Pablo’s first portrait – by his new mom.

My post will be short today. Most of my observations simply seem too brutal to record.

Rachel had the day off yesterday and I signed up for extra work, so she had the bulk of Pablo’s care. In my trips up and down the stairs, I could see evidence of her determined attempts to get Pablo to eat or drink. It has been odd, seeing bowls of lamb, beef, egg, kibble all about the house, untouched.

Last night after work I went to a movie with a dear friend, who has been reading my blog daily. She told me how much she appreciated my writing, the wonder of being so present and available to Pablo.

I was a little surprised but very happy; I actually began these posts because I had nowhere to go with my sadness, except to write about it. The people who are in sympathy with me were doing their best to be about the business of their day. I expect we will come together with it all very soon.

I am leaving shortly to check Elijah out of school early and take him to his mom’s place of work. I was struck with the timing of it, how easy Pablo made it for us by hanging on until Friday, so Elijah could have the weekend to process and be near his mom.

In the meantime, I am trying to be about the business of my day, and to stay in the present moment. And that is enough for now.

August 15, 2013

The ingredients of life, of actually living and breathing, are remarkable when that life begins to ebb.  Daily I read anecdotes about the determination of ordinary individuals.  But watching Pablo has been nothing less than astonishing.

The morning is downright brisk.  It is, after all, August, and 60 degrees is chilly in our part of the summertime world.

Elijah has to be at school at the godless hour of 7 am, so last night his mom nudged him upstairs pretty early.  I lingered on the sofa to finish a row of knitting.

I noticed Pablo teetering at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the activity on the landing. My heart stung for a minute: Pablo sleeps upstairs at night.

As I was mulling over whether or not to get him up those stairs and how best to do that, I saw Pablo manage the first step, and then the next.  I walked over to stand behind him and marveled as he made the long climb to the top to Elijah’s dark room.

“Pablo!” Elijah cheered.

Rachel, kneeling by his bed, cried, “You made it!”

She kissed her son good night and bustled about, making certain that Pablo’s food and water were available in the hall and then she took herself to bed.  I knew she was exhausted; I doubt she’s slept much since we left the vet’s office.

I went to my room to wind down.  About 11 pm I heard Pablo coughing.  I found him in the living room, facing the side porch door at an odd angle.  It’s not a door we use much, and I wondered if he thought it was the front door.

I spoke to him and he walked toward me.  I let him out for a pee and settled myself on the sofa for the rest of the night.  I knew he wouldn’t try to go back up the stairs.

Pablo began his ritual of endlessly pacing to and fro.  As I coaxed him to lie down. I remembered times on that very sofa when he would plop his big head on my knee, eyes dancing, whole body wagging, begging for attention.

I remembered his colossal farts that would cause me to shove him away with my toe and sometimes drive me from the room. I remembered him pulling on the leash on walks and standing over Daisy, Rachel’s first dog.  I would loop those memories until I stopped weeping, until he finally settled near me and I drifted off to sleep.

I woke to the sound of Elijah coming downstairs, dressed for school. I walked into the kitchen to see his mom dressed for work.  She must have picked up a shift; ordinarily she doesn’t work on Thursdays.

I went upstairs, checked messages and made coffee.  After my first cup I came down to check on things.

Pablo was at the front door, looking outside at Vincent, who was looking back at him.  The three of us slowly greeted the morning on the porch.

The yard was alive with sound:  street traffic, leaves swishing around in the breeze, the skitter of Vincent’s claws up the crape myrtle in pursuit of an imaginary squirrel.

Pablo in the light.

Pablo’s legs are so shaky he stumbles over twigs in the grass.  But his expression is more alert than I’ve seen in days.  This is the first time he has been outdoors for longer than five minutes in a long while.

I’ve inexplicably become patient in 48 hours.  I sit as I once did behind a camera, waiting for the image to arrive in my viewfinder.  I’m calling on all the pet whispering in my lexicon — I don’t want to rush him, but I don’t want him to feel he must remain outside to watch over me.

I follow him at a distance, noticing life, new growth on the lilac I planted in June, liriope suddenly in bloom, a bluejay feather in the grass, fresh critter tunnels in the dirt.

I am still in my nightgown.  I step inside to grab a throw from the couch, a notebook and a pen.  My laptop, phone and coffee cup are upstairs, but I do not want to leave Pablo to go get them.

I pull a rocker to the edge of the porch and sit down to write.  Pablo slowly sinks into a patch of Bermuda.  His head follows the vehicles as they transit the street.  I can see his sides heaving as he draws in the cool fresh air.  His entire body lurches forward with each breath.  But he is no longer gasping.

Vincent has grown tired of looking for moles and wants to go back inside.  My nose is cold and I need to check with my editors.  I pause in my journal to look at Pablo.  He turns his head and looks toward me.  There is relief and peace in his face.  I pull my wrap a little closer.  Vincent sits down at my feet.

We can stay here a while longer.

epilogue

The last time we saw Pablo was at the vet’s office.  Rachel and I took him; Elijah stayed behind with his father. The clinic doctors and staff are tender souls and gave us all the time we needed. 

Pablo’s spirit seemed to whisper out of his body.  Today it lingers near the door of Rachel’s house, in eternal vigilance over the kind woman who rescued him from a bitter existence and loved him every moment of her life. 

This record is a tribute to that love.

The CatWirks, © 2013, “Watching Pablo”

August 14, 2013

There are times when it just feels like a movie or a book; reality takes on the nature of popular fiction.

Yesterday time and rhythm were sort of reinvented.  I’m not a person who naturally sits and waits quietly; I’m almost always multitasking.  But the last 24 hours I have tended to focus deeply on the one thing in front of me.

Yesterday it was watching Pablo.

Shortly before Rachel left for work around 2, I realized that Pablo had been on his feet for hours, slowly walking from room to room, panting heavily.  When he lies down, the pressure against his diaphragm is too great, so it’s easier for him to breathe standing up.

He’d lost his breakfast along with the medicine Rachel gave him. He’d had no water, or very little.

I went into the living room and sat on the sofa, not far from where he was standing in the middle of the rug.  Speaking to him quietly, and sometimes silently, I encouraged him to lie down.

The longer he stood, the harder I cried.  About the time I began to calm down, he sat and then lay down in his familiar sentry position.  He reminded me of Rachel as a baby, just simply not willing to give it up and go to sleep.  His head would loll nearly to his front legs, and then bob up again.  He was on the job as best he could be, listening for intruders or the sound of his people moving about the house.

Not long after Rachel left, I thought it might be a good idea for Elijah to come by after school.  He wasn’t due home for another 24 hours and that might be too late.  I sent her a text.

She called me and we had a brief conversation.  Perhaps it was hearing her voice on my phone; perhaps it was the mention of Elijah’s name; perhaps it was coincidence, but Pablo rallied brightly and went to the front door.

Pablo surveying his turf,
Vincent watching his back.

I walked out front with him and he looked to the street and then the driveway.  He was clearly on alert, for what I could not tell.

We walked back into the house, and with a burst of energy, he scrambled up the stairs and went from room to room, looking for either Rachel or Elijah.  I sat down on the top stair and waited for him to give up the search.

Between us, Rachel and I had managed to get him to take a half-pill of Lasix every 30 minutes or so by crushing it, folding it into peanut butter and wrapping it in a strip of turkey breast.  But he had so little appetite that he would only accept the one small bite and refuse to eat more.

When Christian arrived with Elijah, we were still at the top of the stairs.  I had placed a small fan on the floor on the landing, so he could stand in front of it.  I know when I’ve had breathing problems in the past, that always seemed to help.  It seemed to help him, too.

The four of us went into my room. Elijah sat on the bed with me and Christian sat in The Chair.  They asked questions and I answered them.  Elijah offered suggestions and we tried some of them.  Others, like encouraging him to eat kibble, I discouraged, explaining that I didn’t think he’d keep it down.

I showed Elijah how to make a pill pocket and gave him an extra bite of turkey just in case.  I could feel Elijah’s bitter sadness when he handed me the food that Pablo had refused.

Elijah was able to get him to drink some water.  We had a bowl stationed every few feet throughout the house.

When it came time for them to leave, I walked Christian and Elijah downstairs.  Pablo stood at the top landing, sides heaving, looking down.  The two of them begged him to come down and I gently explained that he was too weak, that he’d surely come if he could.  Elijah pressed his face against his dad’s shirt and they stood together for a long moment.  I told Elijah he would see Pablo tomorrow.  At that moment, I felt that he would.

Pablo had not been downstairs for several hours and between the water and the diuretic I felt certain he needed a trip outside.  So I began to persuade him down the stairs.  But he could not manage the first step.  And I began to cry.

I pulled the rugs off the bathroom floor and told him that it was perfectly OK for him to pee on the tile.  But I knew that he would not.  Always when he was ill and had an accident in the house he was so ashamed.  And I knew he would hold it a long, long time.

So I managed to get my arms around him and together we scooted down the stairs on our butts, one step at a time, resting every few treads for him to get his breath.

When we landed he was so exhausted he could not stand.  Minutes went by and I watched and waited.  I opened the door a bit so Vincent could come in and Pablo could feel the fresh air.  Vincent is a tuxedo tabby and an entity unto herself.  She and Pablo are great companions and are so sweet together.

I guess we sat on the floor for 10 minutes or so.  Rachel had taken up the area rug because Pablo had vomited on it that morning.  So the floor was bare and he could not gain purchase enough to stand.  I tried supporting his legs to no avail.  Finally, he dragged himself to the living room using his front legs only, and was able to find enough traction to haul himself up.  We stepped outside and he finally relieved himself of minuscule amounts of urine and waste.

I had met my afternoon deadline at work and headed out to the grocery. I returned home with bags of fruit for the humans as well as a big tray of ground beef.  I began every 30 minutes or so crawling up to Pablo on my hands and knees to offer him raw meatballs.  He accepted one and two at a time, and by evening he seemed stronger.

When Rachel arrived home, the rather flat and monochromatic scene became multidimensional and vibrant.  I’d parked myself for the night on one sofa; she made her nest on the other sofa.  She tuned into Netflix and booted up “Breaking Bad.”  She’s only started watching it and is in about season 3.

I’d brought Hannah in and fed her and tucked her into her crate.  Hannah is a basset-dachshund mix not quite 2 years old.  She is dynamite covered in fur and still trying to figure out how to sit quietly with humans.

She’d fussed at me all evening, but when she saw Rachel ministering to Pablo she wailed miserably.  Rachel put her back outside and from time to time Hannah would hurl herself against the door in protest.

In between scenes of meth lab mayhem on Rachel’s enormous TV, we took turns beckoning, cajoling, reassuring, pleading, soothing and sometimes feeding Pablo.  Sometime in the wee hours Rachel dragged Hannah’s crate into the garage and incarcerated her there.  Apparently some imaginary creature was trolling the back yard and Hannah was trying to alert the neighborhood.

About 6 am I began checking email to see what assignments were available at work. Christian texted me to ask after Pablo. I made coffee and made a Lasix meatball, which I handed off to Rachel.  We were both still fully clothed, so there was no need to get dressed.

It’s Rachel’s “weekend.” She has today and tomorrow off from work. Elijah comes home this afternoon and is here until Saturday morning.  I took my laptop back up to my room, brushed my teeth and settled in for my workday.

The house is quiet now.  It’s nearly noon. Everyone is napping while I type.  I am grateful for that.