Alas, Cancer has claimed another victim. I’m not going to go in-depth about how cancer took my baby and how it should be eradicated from space and time. We all know it should be by now. I am simply writing a memoir devoted to my sweet friend.
How I will miss Furby, I cannot even begin to describe. It has been ten days since his soul left this earth, and my mind just cannot reconcile the loss. The fact that he will never meow across the house when I call for him, fall asleep on my arm when I sing to him, or force Paws to beg for food [by jumping onto my head and pawing at my hair until I wake up at 6am]… is too hard to believe. (I know for a fact it was Furby making Paws do that now because he hasn’t done since he passed.)
Until ten days ago, our family consisted of a 1:1 cat to person ratio. Lily is John’s, Paws is Cole’s, and Furby was mine.
Yeah, boo-hoo for me – I know, but we’ve had him and Lily since they were abandoned at about 5 weeks old – barely weaned from their mother.
Synopsis of ‘Why We Were Meant To Be’
John, my then-fiancé/now-husband, and I were talking a month before we got married about getting two kittens. We also had a POS 1966 Ford Mustang (previously black/rust, pictured below) that we made a deal over: If we found our two kittens the next day, we
would paint the car red. If not, it would be blue (my choice).
People overuse the word ‘literally’, and it drives me up a wall, but we were literally in his truck the next morning, on our way to the SPCA to look for our kittens, when John got a call from his dad, asking if we wanted two kittens. Gary, a friend from his parents’ neighborhood, had gone out on a motorcycle ride to Hernando Beach that morning and found a Bud Lite box that had been left by the side of the road with three kittens in it. A man and his son stopped and said they would hold onto the box for him to come back with his truck, but they wanted one of the kittens.
Gary and Jean had the little fluff-balls at their house when we arrived a half-hour later. Jean had named them Pansy and Lily. I was already playing with Jasmine and Lily… so I kept Lily for “my kitten.” John renamed his to Furball: Furby, for short.
Two things happened in the coming weeks that shocked us a little:
1. We took them to the vet and found out that Lily would be neutered, not spayed, as we originally thought.
2. After their surgeries, Furby came to me when his bandage came loose and his incision began to bleed.
Thus, Lily became Mr. Lily (the vet’s office loves when he comes in to visit because he’s such a sweet, feminine little guy;-) ) and Furby became my cat.
Somehow our kittens found us.
The day after Furby passed, John asked if I wanted to repaint the Mustang “a beautiful shade of blue”… but I got my deal.
If we had not gotten Paws (another random miracle), I fear Lily would be leaving us very soon as well, heartbroken from the loss of his brother. Apparently, he is supposed to stick around with us for a while. And so you know, don’t feel too badly for me not having a kitty to cuddle… John gets claustrophobic when Lily tries to sleep next to him. Every night. So he comes to me and snuggles. Every night. (Also, spoons may be a more accurate term than snuggles.)
Karma has paid me a huge advance by giving me these Fur-babies
I have a lot more to contribute until I am paid-up and can’t hope for any greater fortune than the love of Furby’s sweet little soul to remain in my heart, and the blessing of Lily and Paws to stay with us for as long as we can hold them. Sadly, even Karma cannot defeat cancer.
For Furby, I so feared that we would have to make the choice of when to take him to the vet’s office to put him to sleep, but I watched as the choice was made for us last Monday morning when he had a stroke and his body gave out over the following two hours. Whatever it is that controls us – be it fate, God, or biology – somehow knew that I would be unable to make the decision for him, and was kind to all of us in that we were able to be together when Furby passed. I had a strange feeling just before his stroke that I needed to stay with him a little longer, then John brought Cole home from school. Otherwise I would have gone on with my day and we would have lost him without realizing.
Although I will always miss Furby’s chubby “pom-poms” (his lighter-brown rear haunches) running off into another room, I will remember him until after the inevitable Alzheimer’s kicks in. His name will be the last one I’ll forget, and I know he is always in my heart. And now, a little part of his story is in your heart too.
Please rescue an animal in need. If you have the heart, they’ll provide the love.
Thank you for reading Furby’s story.