A Parting Gift from Tucker

As readers may recall, I purchased a small, plastic stool for Tucker to use in what turned out to be his last months. It was to help him ascend to his favourite chair at the dining table, and very useful it was, too. But it is strictly utilitarian, and not very attractive. I have, since Tucker’s death, placed it against the ottoman in the library. Because Renn uses the stairs to the bed and those to the sitting room couch, I thought he might benefit from an easier access to the library sofa. He did not used it.

At the back of my apartment building’s ground floor, on the landing of the rear staircase, is a spot where tenants may place items which are usable but no longer wanted by the owner. These include non-perishable food, slightly used clothes, dishes and even small pieces of furniture. I have left objects myself and have, in turn, taken in items. Yesterday, I found this tiny stool – a tuffet, as I prefer to term it - at the recycling spot in my building.

With its heavy wood construction and upholstered seat, it looks much more attractive than the plastic item; I replaced the plastic stool with this new (to me) tuffet. Remarkable to relate, both Renn and Hector have used it already. Sort of. I caught them not stepping on it to reach the ottoman, but sitting and lying on it, as if it were another chair. Well, whatever they see its purpose as, at least they have given it one.

I wish Tucker had had the opportunity to use it. I think he would have liked it. But in his honour, I will call it Tucker’s Tuffet, since I would not have bought the first, utilitarian, stool if not for him, and I would not have replaced it with this. I like to think of it as his going-away present to his roommates. A final gift from my roly poly.

How Fostering Works

I have spoken with Portia’s new human and have learned that my former foster-cat is settling very well in her new environment. Po appears to enjoy having her person to herself, but also having a whole house to herself. She has explored it and found a number of favoured spots already. This made me think about how - and when - fostering a cat works.

There have been a number of cats I have fostered and chosen to adopt. Tucker and Renn were the first; The former I felt was too sensitive a cat upon him to inflict a change of home. Renn, I can’t really remember why I decided to keep him. Cammie took so long to adjust to a new world that it seemed counter-productive to hand her over to others, especially after her abortive adoption in the summer of 2014. Her later allergies, severe enough sometimes to warrant emergency hospital visits, confirmed the correctness of my decision.

Why I chose to adopt a foster cat rarely is a mystery. Why I chose to let others go when adoption by others presented itself requires more thinking.

Sometimes, as in the case of my first foster-cat, Lincoln, the cat is with me too short a time to form an attachment. In other cases, there is too much abrasion in their relationships with my own beasts. But what of a cat such as Portia? She did not fight with the resident cats, though she clearly would have preferred them to be absent; she was relatively easy-going, at least once I got to know her habits, and she had carved a little niche for herself in my home and routines. So why did I let her go, when I had the option of adopting her?

What it comes down to is the good of the cat. Po was content in the Cosy Apartment; I am sure of that. But she was not happy. She had access to the whole apartment, but rarely ventured into the bedroom, where the other cats were often found. She did not spend much time in the sitting room or on its cat-trees until forced by the temporary closure of her ‘safe room’ - the library - by Hector’s arrival and seclusion there. She was, to tell the truth, inhibited here.

I gave her all the time I could, which was not a great deal, really. The others each had their special times with me; these moments evolved over the years and were nearly incidental to what else I was doing. Po’s time I had almost to schedule. I know I didn’t give her as much attention as she would have liked. Portia wanted to sleep on the bed with me but, the few times she seemed to try, was disgusted by the fact that boy-cats were already there, and left again.

Portly Po was gaining weight; there was little I could do to battle that in a multi-cat household. Physically, her time with me bordered on the unhealthy.

When S inquired after Portia, I was the one who initially conversed with her. I knew immediately that not only was this an excellent chance for Po, but possibly the best one she would have. I could have chosen then to adopt Portia. I had rather more than half a mind to do so. I liked Portia very much; she would have lived the rest of her life comfortably and contentedly - but would she have been happy?

A longer talk with S by the PAW Society’s member responsible for adoptions confirmed my belief that S was, ‘on paper’, perfect for Po. After that, confirmation came upon her introduction to S. Now, I know I made the right decision. As an only-cat, she would be happy. As the sole recipient of her person’s attention, she would be happy. With a whole house to explore and live in, free of feline siblings, she would be happy. And having no other animals’ food to worry about, S can turn her mind to Portia’s weight: in addition to food moderation, there is exercise; Portia has been going up and down stairs, finding a snug spot in a basement bedroom, but living principally upstairs, and she has to exert herself, just a little, to get up on the bed. She would be healthy.

This then is the reason for fostering. It’s not just to keep an animal safe and satisfied, but to keep her safe and satisfied until she can be healthy and happy. If she can achieve that in her foster-home, then adopting a foster-cat may be considered. If she will be better off, healthier and happier, elsewhere - as good as things may be in her foster-home - then she should be released to a new life. There are, of course, many variables that can influence a situation, but, in general, these are the rules that apply.

It’s not easy letting go of a foster-cat. There is often an amount of ego involved: one asks oneself, ‘Who can care for this cat better than I?’ But if the answer to that question is, honestly, ‘This new person can,’ then the fostership must end. Like that horrible moment at the end of a cat’s life when her human wants to keep her alive, despite the fact that she would be better released, the human must demand of himself, ‘What is best for the cat?’

Portia has started her new life. I have no doubt that she will be closer to S than she has been to anyone else since her birth. She will be treated very well, and she will be happy. That, I believe, is how - and when - fostering works.

Portia: A Home for Christmas

In the time since Portia went on a trial-adoption almost three weeks ago, I have received two updates on her situation, but I did not want to publish any news about her until there was certainty. Yesterday, I was told that her adoption has been finalised. Portia has found her home.

Po had little trouble adjusting to her new surroundings when she arrived. She lies on her new person’s lap and sleeps on the bed with her at night; this latter information made me especially pleased. The portly girlcat seems to have put her anxiety into her first change - coming to my place - leaving her free of much concern and worry in her second big move. I like to think that she was able to see in the Cosy Apartment that different humans could be quite nice, after all.

It helps tremendously, I think, that Portia is an only-cat. She must have realised that quite swiftly when she arrived in her permanent home. The lady who is her family now has had cats, but the most recent one died some time ago; any scent of other animals would have greeted Portia as stale; she would have known that she had the place to herself - and her human to herself, too. Being able to demand attention whenever she wants it will be a great treat to her.

I will be interviewing the lady in question soon for the December issue of the PAW Society’s newsletter, so I will learn more about Po’s new world, but I wanted to present this glad news to all those abroad who know of Portia, and who had wished her well in her new adventure. She has a home for Christmas - and ever after.

Things To Do

Most people write up lists of chores to do, things to remember. I think cat-people sometimes have different lists - or at least different priorities - than others…

Moments to Celebrate

Life without Tucker will be different, but it goes on. I will be thanking each person who was kind enough to leave words on Tucker’s passing; some will be thanked via comments on their blogs, others through replies to comments they have left me. It will take some time, but I hope not to miss anyone.

In the meantime, the Cosy Apartment is growing accustomed to Hector, and he is growing more accustomed to roommates and routine. He is less ravenous when it comes to food, no longer thinking, or, perhaps, hoping, that each bowl or each movement toward putting something on the floor means food for him. He is splashing water from the water-bowls less. This is the result of a combination of advice from readers and Hec simply changing his drinking habits, maybe seeing that what was necessary outside is not inside.

Most importantly, he is less of a bother to his foster-siblings. Hector still chases Neville at times, and now and then pounces on Renn, but it’s nothing like it was. On the weekend, I watched my big boy - who is now less daunted by the newcomer’s presence - walk past Hector. The latter waited a moment, then ran up to Renn and slapped him almost gently on the bum. Renn gave a jump, but that was it. This is a more typical incident now than the earlier assaults. Neither Neville nor Renn are concerned at Hector’s proximity when all want a snooze.

And, for the first time, Hector, of his own volition, climbed onto my lap. I have been placing him there from time to time, an action with which he has no objection, but this is the first instance of him placing himself there. He even fell asleep for several minutes.

However bad life can be - and the death of a friend is very bad indeed - there are moments to celebrate. We celebrated a little in the Cosy Apartment this weekend.

His Name Was Tucker

Tucker’s ashes came to me this week, and his place has been prepared.

With each of the others who have died, there was one picture that I had in mind for the memorial. Usually it was an image taken by a professional photographer, in most cases for the cats’ page in the PAW Society calendar. Though Tucker too had his photo session for that purpose, I chose not to use one of those photos.

Strangely, the professionally produced images are more typically Tucker than the one I selected. I prefer those which show a typical aspect of the cat, as it presents him or her ‘in general’, as it were. But this time, I chose one that demonstrated a particular feature, rather than a general one.

I sometimes called Tucker the baby of the family. He was not the youngest of the First Four - that is Renn – but, with his chubby-cheeked face - chubby until recently - and his roly poly fatness, he gave the impression of being the child. He also needed more care through the years, and certainly could never have looked after himself, if required. So I chose what I think of as the Tuxter’s ‘baby picture’ for framing.

There is a void in my world now, where Tucker had been. New routines will develop to cover that void, but they will never completely fill it. Only Tucker could do that.

He was my friend. His name was Tucker, and I will remember him.

The Last of the First Four

You may notice two new memorial badges added to the collection on my side-bar. These are in honour of my late friend, Tucker. The upper of the two was made by Ann, of Zoolatry. Her offer of this lovely memorial was very kind, and I was grateful that she took the time to make such an attractive image. The lower is from Ingrid, of Meezer’s Mews & Terrieristical Woofs. This beautiful badge was a generous thing to make for me and Tucker. I am thankful that there are such considerate people on the internet.

Inevitably, these commemorations of Tucker’s life and passing emphasize the fact that of my First Four, there is just one remaining. At the end of September, 2020, I wrote about my Old Guard. There were then three. Thirteen months later, in the last days of October this year, there were two. Now, one stands alone.

Renn, too, is aging, and, though he is but fourteen, he is starting to feel his years, I know. He has not been to the veterinary hospital as much as Tucker, but he has had his issues. Nonetheless, lean and strong, he remains constant, happily waiting with me while the tub fills for bath-time on Saturday nights, and joining me afterward for a movie. He almost always sleeps on the bed with me, and asks for chest-rubs following dinner as we relax on the sitting room couch.

My big boy carries with him memories of Tungsten and Josie and Tucker, and all the cats who came between. He is the old veteran who has seen it all and thinks nothing is remarkable enough to comment upon. He and I share a long past.

I hope he and I will share as long a future.