Fizzgig beaing cute

Fizzgig being cute

(This archived content from a previous blog is being added for posterity, 25Jan2011. Ed.)

Email from my wife, Sister Moon, to our friends & family

I’m sorry to have to deliver this news on my husband’s birthday, a day that should be about celebrating. Fizzi passed away this morning. We last saw her at about 1 a.m. before we went to bed; the whole family had gathered in the kitchen for the new ritual of giving Fizzi her meds, which she absolutely did not enjoy. Brother Wolf (BW) found her this morning curled up in one of her favorite spots: on the green pillows beneath our tea table.

Fizzi had been sick for going on four weeks now. She had stopped eating and drinking and was becoming increasingly grouchy. We took her to the vet on Jan. 25, and he gave us antibiotics to treat what he believed was a stomach virus. We had done this with her before successfully. This time was different. She continued her hunger strike after a full week of taking meds. She would eat erratically, but never very much.

We took her to the vet a second time on Feb. 4th. They had to administer a brief whiff of anesthesia so they could run some tests. The conclusion was that Fizzi had a mild inflammation of the liver and a backup of bile in her bloodstream. They gave us three new drugs to try (one of which was an appetite stimulant) and gave her an electrolyte bubble to hydrate her. The Dr. said this was not a dire situation. We should try the drugs for 30 days, and if things did not improve, we should bring her in to contemplate a gall bladder operation.

So my dear husband and I would wrangle with her in the evenings, administering medicine via a plastic syringe. Because she was neither eating nor drinking, and the meds were apparently horrific tasting, Fizzi would foam at the mouth, spouting white froth everywhere. This was quite the adventure. But BW managed to find a ritual that worked for her, wrapping her in a towel like a burrito and crooning her into submission.

Yesterday morning, when I went downstairs for breakfast, I found her sitting by the back patio doors observing the birds outside—one of her favorite pastimes. I felt hopeful. I got her to drink two small saucers of milk and eat several small pieces of ham. She purred and seemed to be enjoying herself. I was very excited.

Last night, we gave her meds as usual. She did not like it, of course; but BW and I believed the medicine was beginning to work. This morning when I woke, I saw my birthday boy was extremely upset, and he delivered the terrible news of what he had discovered downstairs. Fizzi was gone.

I got Fizzgig from the pound when I first moved to Arizona in 1995. (Her name comes from a furry, obnoxious character in the movie “The Dark Crystal,” by the way.) I got her in November; she was nine weeks old and weighed only 1.9 pounds! I chose Fizz from all the other kitties because every time I walked by her cage, she would run to the front and meow at me. When they opened the cage for me, she jumped into my arms and climbed up to the top of my head! She was always quite a pistol that girl. She and I lived alone together, a bitchy little duo of women, for many years. Until my love came along, that is. ;) She didn’t like BW at first; she grew very, very attached to him indeed.

I know Fizzi was not the sweetest cat. To most of you, she was cranky, cantankerous and even a little “evil.” ;) But she was our baby, and we love her, and she was a very loving cat when she wanted to be. We’re very sad that she is no longer with us. And I just hope that wherever she may be, there are pouches of wet food in all of her favorite flavors and cushions of every color for her to lounge on.

Most of you have animals in your own family … when you get home tonight, give them an extra hug and kiss and tell them that you love them. My last words to Fizzi were “You are a mess, child.” Of course, I believed there would be plenty of time for “I love you, boo boo” later. But you just never know. So love your babies a whole lot while you can.

We sure do miss our “crotchety old hag,” our bathtub girl, our magazine hog. Our Fizzi.

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