Memories of Ivan

Ivan the Terrible
(so named by Brian, because of Ivan's Russian Blue appearance)

I'm not sure there are words that can express how much I loved Ivan, how completely special he was to me. How do you put down on paper the deepest perceptions of your heart and soul? How do you illustrate in sentences and paragraphs his devotion? His sweet, zany nature? His zest for life? Well, here goes...

He was my Mr. Squeak (because his voice was always a tiny little squeak of a meow), my Shadow (because he followed me everywhere and had to be in the midst of whatever I was doing), my sweet grey angel (because he had such a sweet temperament). I'd be sitting reading a book or watching tv, and next thing you know, there he would be, on my lap, snoozing peacefully. I never quite figured out how he managed to insinuate himself without my noticing, but he was very good at it! He faithfully slept next to me or between my feet every single night from the time I first brought him home to the night he died. He would cry pitifully when I went outside and he wasn't allowed to join me. A true little mama's boy, in the very best sense of the word. He just HAD to be wherever Mama was!

Ivan came to me through a friend of a friend, when he was about three months old. Those of us who love cats have a network whenever a stray is found and needs a home – and that was the case with Ivan. Dee found him wandering around her yard one Saturday night, and after checking with her neighbors (and no one claiming him), she sent a "home needed" email out to my friend Linda, who in turned forwarded it through the "network." I took one look at Hemi, as Dee called him (because his purr was outrageously loud), and fell immediately head over heels in love with his sweet little face and his gorgeous, soft grey coat. My sweet Hobbes-kitty had passed away shortly before, and my heart was open to take in another kitty. I'd always wanted a Russian Blue, too, after learning of their invariably sweet dispositions – so all this was factored into my decision to take him (although it was mostly that adorable little face!). I drove to Dee's house to meet him, and when I picked him up, he immediately began to purr and to fall asleep in the crook of my arm.

And so, he came home with me to meet all the other cats. I was hoping that he and Jack would become friends, since Jack was fairly young, too, and needed a playmate. Happily, they did play together quite a bit, once they got used to each other, and what amused me so much was that even though Jack was twice Ivan's size, Ivan never hesitated to throw himself on Jack and start a tussle. So, so funny! And even though Ivan was a very young, slender & small kitten, he became, in the eyes of the other cats, a holy terror (living up to his name!): he would not let any of them up on my bed when I was sitting there with him. Uh-uh, no WAY was he going to share Mama with those OTHER cats! Poor Freddy in particular was dismayed by this: Freddy had always been the Mama-snuggler, the pillow-sharer, who slept right up near my head, and he was VERY upset that this upstart newcomer had taken over HIS territory! But Ivan somehow managed, without ever actually growling, snarling, or hissing, to make the other cats leave the area. All it took was a few well-placed bats with a little grey paw...

Ivan brought more laughter into my life than any other cat I've ever had. Anything and everything that moved was a target for a pounce. He particularly loved "helping" me with folding the laundry: every item I tried to remove from the basket was a potential plaything and merited his full attention and a reaching claw. I could not get dressed in the morning without his assistance: he'd have to attack each piece of clothing as I tried to lift it off the bed to put it on. Frustrating for me, but so much fun for him!

The food thing... Ivan was a true "foodie": every time I'd sit down with some food (didn't matter WHAT it was), there Ivan would be, waiting patiently for me to either share with him willingly, or for me to walk away so that he could snitch something (I tried valiantly to teach him the meaning of "no" but I don't think he wanted to learn; he was one stubborn little guy). The funniest instance of this was one evening when I had a few pieces of American cheese on a plate to eat with some crackers. Setting the plate on the table next to my bed, I proceeded to the bathroom before sitting down to enjoy my snack. Upon my return - only a minute or so later - I discovered Ivan up on the table, busily and efficiently chowing down as much cheese as he could stuff into his mouth, the little cheese thief! I laughed so hard I had tears coming down my face... and let him have his cheese. And he was one smart cookie: it didn't take him long to figure out that that big box in the kitchen held all sorts of tasty goodies, and you never knew what Mama was going to pull out and share! So thereafter, any time I'd open the refrigerator, there Ivan would be: waiting patiently for the cheese (or whatever) to appear. And I usually gave in and let him have a piece or two. Oh, yes, he also absolutely adored milk, too. I found this out one evening when, upon pouring myself a glass of the stuff, he squeaked and squeaked and squeaked at me until I figured out that he WANTED SOME! After setting some down for him, he proceeded to polish off the entire bowl at warp speed. (Unfortunately for Ivan, Jack likes milk, too – and every time it was set down, the two of them would get into a bit of a scuffle over who was going to drink first!)

The ambush thing... Linda gave me a sort of "cat house" with three hammocks inside, covered with netting, which I placed on the porch for Ivan. He adored scampering from level to level, poking his little paws out and trying to ambush not only the other cats, but me! A favorite time to get me was when I'd be cleaning the cat boxes. It was difficult to see him, grey as he was, lurking in the shadows on the topmost hammock. Then – suddenly – the CLAW would appear through one of the holes in the netting!

The tent thing... Another favorite in the ambush department was hiding out in the little kitty tents I'd sewn for Hobbes and Baba (which they never even used) and waiting patiently for one of the older cats to stroll by, unaware that they were about to have several pounds of frisky grey kitten leap out at them. It was hilarious to watch... Ivan hiding in the tent, peeking out a bit to see who was coming, and then... the POUNCE! He loved both the tents, and would dive into them and scramble around so energetically inside that the tent would often tip over and collapse on him. Of course then there would be those sparkling, mischievous golden eyes peeking out from the ruins... and Brian or I would patiently right the tent (with Ivan still inside) only to have him topple it again moments later. But the thing that always made me laugh the hardest was when I would pick up the tent to move it, and Ivan would try (almost always successfully) to jump inside – AS IT WAS MOVING! I wish I had gotten that on videotape. I kept saying I would have to do that, but I never did, and am now bitterly regretting my procrastination.

The bamboo thing... Then there was the incident with the bamboo. Linda had given me a fair-size "lucky bamboo" plant she no longer wanted. I brought it home and placed it on a stand in the living room. Ivan promptly decided that this was a tree he NEEDED to climb. I walked into the room only to see him charging across the sofa and jumping onto the plant, proceeding to chivvy up as far as he could go. Of course, I doubled over with laughter, especially when he kept repeating this run-&-jump move over and over. And when he finally figured out that there was only so much tree to climb, he began to eat the leaves instead! So, the bamboo plant ended up out on the patio...

The nursing thing... I suspect that this little fellow was taken away from his mother too soon. My reason for thinking this? On my bed was a purple shag pillow. Ivan took to nursing on it whenever he felt the need to soothe himself. He would walk over to the pillow, sniff around a bit, and select a spot. His long, lean little body would stretch out and relax as he closed his eyes, kneading with his front feet, his little pink tongue working... and it would always squeeze my heart a little to think of his being abandoned, and feel happy that he was able to find comfort in this way.

So many good memories for such a short, sweet life... I'm just so, so glad that whenever he wanted to cuddle with me, or needed attention, I was there for him. I always made a point of stopping whatever I was doing to spend time petting and caressing his sleek little grey self, because I knew that once he grew up, he wouldn't need me quite so much, so I'd better enjoy his attention & affection while I could. Had I known I would only be allowed to have him for a year, I would have spent much, much more time with him. I know I was impatient with him occasionally, when I would be trying to get something done (like folding the laundry or sweeping the floor; he loved to chase the Swiffer around!), but I'm happy to say that those times were very few, and usually only when I wasn't feeling well myself.

I still cannot believe he's gone... Last week I noticed that he was not eating very much and not being his usual rambunctious self, so to the vet he went. He was dehydrated, with a fever, so was given subcutaneous fluids and started on antibiotics. Over the weekend he showed no improvement and ate very, very little – and drank even less – so on Monday I took him in again for more fluids. He was given an additional antibiotic as well, and was x-rayed to see if there was a blockage in his bowel. Tuesday, I thought perhaps there might be fur blocking him up, since he brought up a massive amount of it, and his elimination also contained a moderate amount. So I brought home some Laxatone, which he seemed to enjoy licking off his paws.

That certainly did the trick as far as helping any constipation, and he seemed better Wednesday even though he was becoming dehydrated anew. So I took him in to the vet again, where he was given fluids and blood was drawn for analysis. Back at home, he seemed almost his old self early in the evening, no longer lethargic and distant: following me around from room to room, getting on my lap for a short while as I watched a movie, rolling around on the porch, rubbing around my and Brian's ankles, and generally responding to being petted and loved on, which he had avoided earlier in the week.

I was ecstatic: my baby was getting better! My little Ivan was back! He even ate a bit of food and drank some milk...

But then... the horror came. About 11 p.m., as I sat in my room reading, Brian began yelling for me to come out to the living room. I could hear the fear in his voice, and when I got there, he was holding Ivan down – and Ivan was seizing violently. I frantically called Linda for advice (waking her and Bob up; I felt awful). She said to try to get him to lie down, talk softly to him, and let him know he would be alright. I tried to do that, but he was so agitated that he bit my finger (of course, he didn't realize what he was doing at that point). So I wrapped him in a towel and brought him in on my bed, talking soothingly to him all the time and trying to pet him to calm him down. He seemed to come around for a few minutes, but then the seizures began again. He couldn't walk, his legs were going out from under him and he kept falling over, rolling around, and his head began to arch back over his shoulders. His eyes were bulging, glassy, and uncomprehending. His tail was puffed out as if frightened or angry, and he began to drool and choke, making guttural breathing and gagging noises. I had Brian hold him while I dressed, and we quickly made our way to the emergency clinic.

They tried to give him Valium to stop the seizing, and it worked – for a few seconds. A second dose did nothing to help. So... I told them to please, please stop his suffering and euthanize him. When they asked whether I wanted to hold him while they administered the shot, I sadly shook my head and said that he wouldn't recognize me anyway at this point, he was too far gone. They brought his dear, limp little body in to me a few moments later... and we returned home.

Once we arrived, I cleaned him up (he'd lost control of his bowels, the poor dear baby), wrapped him in a clean towel, and brought him into my room. I wanted to have him near me one last night before I had to put him in the ground. I fell asleep with my arms around him, his dear little whiskers touching my cheek.

This morning, I found a box, placed his nursy-pillow inside, and laid him gently on top. I put in some of his favorite toys, as well: the red mousie, the grey fur mousie, and a couple of the pompoms he so loved to carry around and then drop into the food and water bowls (how I will miss that funny little quirk!). I traversed my garden and cut flowers from everything that was blooming to place in a green glass vase next to him. I will bury him next to TigTig, Rogie, Baba & Hobbes, out in the garden they all loved so much.

I wanted to write all my memories of him down so that I will NEVER forget the sweetest, dearest, best-behaved, most beloved kitten in all my life: Ivan the Terrible, Mr. Squeak, my cheese nommer, my little pookah.

Oh, Ivan, Ivan, my sweet little boy... what will I do without you? I miss you so... my heart is full, full of grief, tears, and longing to hear your little squeak and feel your soft silver paw brush my skin...