Poor little Ollie was already six years old when she came to me. Ironically, it was September 3rd, 2007...also her birthday. A former 'family' member (of the mutated evil/stupid gene branch) had adopted ~ and declawed ~ her, and when he had enough, he dumped her into a wooded area to fend for herself. She made her way to his mother's home a little up the road where she was allowed to reside on the outside deck, sometimes fed but never allowed inside, and so she suffered through many a stormy and frigid night, doubtless wondering what she had done to deserve such shabby treatment.
Because I already had several cats, it was with great trepidation (but even greater love) when I agreed to take her into my home. I have never had a declawed cat in my life, and it broke my heart every time I saw her "walk" on what are essentially amputated stumps. I soon came to the conclusion that Ollie was permanently angry about that mutilation, her spirit broken, and, combined with the unforgivable betrayal of her trust, it left her borderline feral.
The early months were not easy. She bit me several times, once so severe, my hand blew up like a baseball catcher's mitt. People asked if I was "still going to keep her." I am not the kind of person who can hurt an animal, nor can I betray their trust, so my answer was "If this cat is burned one more time, she'll have to be put down." In other words, she wasn't going anywhere.
She wasn't a cuddly cat, would never sit close to watch TV or sleep with me. I was told "Oh, she was never allowed on furniture!" so that could account for her hesitation in those areas. But, in spite of years of nothing but love and kindness, she never could overcome the terror of what had been so cavalierly inflicted upon her, and that early memory of inhuman duplicity kept her aloof and always afraid.
I should not have titled this "good-bye" but rather "so long, my little girl." It comforts me to believe that there is such a place as the Rainbow Bridge, where she is young and whole again, playing, and only waiting to look up and see the one person who truly loved her in this harsh and hateful world.
After so many good-byes to beloved and cherished pets, dating back to 1958, my heart can't take much more. I almost wished I could have asked the vet to inject me with the same solution given to Ollie, so I could have accompanied her on her journey.
So it's so long, my little girl, not good-bye. Until we meet again in a far, far better place than this one, I will love you with all my heart, and miss you every single day...
