My husband, Joe Hample was ordained a rabbi at Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles in May of 2009. There was a recession, he was already fifty-two and gay with what some would say was a leftist husband. Finding a job was not going to be easy.
He finally landed a full-time chaplaincy at Pelican Bay State Prison, a maximum security facility on the far north coast of California, in Del Norte County, outside of Crescent City. We went up to look for housing, and found a development of semi-detached modern townhouses, and rented the largest model, a split level with two large bedrooms and one smaller, and a two-car garage at half the price of our West Hollywood apartment. At that point, I suggested we get a pet.
We lived near the coast, which I thought was great, only I found out there is no real summer there. It's always cool and rains most days, although it almost never freezes. Inland, in the redwoods is sunnier and warmer in summer.
The county dog pound was down the street, and I went one day to see what dogs were available. There was a black and white dog that looked like one of the dogs in the "Mutts" comic strip. I still think about him, and how our life would have been different if we had adopted him.
But after talking it over with Joe, we decided a cat might be better. We visited the county shelter at the south end of the city. They had three kittens and a female orange tabby one of the workers called "April" and one of the other workers called "Mamie." She was full-grown, maybe two years old. We didn't get the full story of why she was there. When we seemed to show an interest in her, she walked away and tried to hide. We were charmed,
That's how we came to own a cat. We thought of calling her "Gluekel of Hamelin," "Glekel" being the maiden name of one of my grandmothers, and "Hamelin" sounding a little like "Hample." Gluekel was a prophetess of sorts in the Middle Ages. My sister demanded we find something much simpler. We called her Tappuz Katom in Hebrew, the first name meaning orange, the fruit, and the last name meaning orange the color.
She always had a mind of her own, always wanted to be outside, always used her litter box when indoors. She liked to sleep with us.
When Joe was offered the rabbi job at Tree of Life in Morgantown, of course we brought her with us. That meant over five days in the car, unhappy unless I let her out of her carrier, although then she wanted to be in my lap or on the floor by my feet, both impossible while I was driving. The rest stops on the Interstates had signs saying "No pets in the rest rooms," and since it was summer, I took her outside in her carrier up to the rest room entrance. Kindly women would coo at her and show her all their teeth, which she took as a threat and howled.
Our first home in Morgantown had two outdoor balconies, and she liked to hang there. They were not covered, so she stayed in when it rained, although she seemed intrigued by snow. Outside was more complicated because the living area was on the second and third floor while most of the first floor was a garage. One time, when we left the front door open, the next door dog got loose and followed her up the stairs, scaring her.
She didn't immediately figure out our second house, although it also had stairs leading outside, but this time the porch was covered so she could sit outside and watch the rain and snow.We are on a dead end street that one can walk through, and many people do, especially when they are out with their dogs. Tappuz loved to watch the dogs go by. She wasn't afraid of them.
We had noticed her getting weaker this year. She asked us to lift her on the bed because she couldn't jump up. Her paws didn't always seem to hold her up. She lost weight. I took her to the vet in early April. She had lost the use of one paw completely and although she could still climb the stairs, it was hard. I moved her food upstairs to my office in what would normally be the second bedroom. The vet offered to put her out right there, but I strongly objected. She could barely see, her one paw was useless, she had almost no feeling in her three working paws, and she had lost more weight. The vet said "You can take her home, but understand that it will be hospice care." The last week of her life she came downstairs one day and wanted to go out on her own. We let her, and she came back up the stairs by herself. She also came over to me while I was sitting on the couch in my office. She didn't want to sit on my lap, because she couldn't balance, but she cuddled up next to me.
The night before our cleaning woman came four weeks ago, I was wondering where I could put her so the room could be cleaned. It was cool out, and I didn't think I could leave her outside, as I had done in the past. Joe said "She's done." Of course, I objected, but I called my sister in Maryland, who has had many cats over the years, and told her the situation. She said "Your cat's life is over." Still, I objected.
The next morning, she had gone on the pad we left in the bedroom closet for her (she couldn't climb in the litter box), but it went over the boundaries of the pad and onto the carpet. I cleaned it up, and assured Tappuz it was not a problem. While I was brushing my teeth, I heard a yowl from her. I ran out, picked her up, and placed her in the litter box. She tried to dig a spot in the litter, but couldn't. She went in the box, but it was mostly black liquid. She crawled out and tried to go under our bed, where she always hid when she was embarrassed about something. I followed her, and I caught her vomit in a tissue before she could get to the bed. She went back to her blanket in the office. I came in and petted her, which would usually make her purr. This time it didn't, and she gave me a look that said "I'm done." We took her to the vet that morning, before the cleaning woman came, and we sat with her while she was tranquilized and petted her. They took her away from us because they couldn't find an uncollapsed vein to give her the final drug and they didn't want us to see her stabbed in the heart. We didn't take any mementos, didn't want any of her hair or her ashes. We only kept our memories and pictures.
I know I gave Tappuz human qualities, but she and I became close during the early time of the pandemic, when neither Joe nor I were going out much. I felt that she and I really understood each other, and most of the time I could tell what she wanted, or at least that she wanted something from me. I know this story isn't different from the stories of many people with pets, but I wanted to share my love for this animal and my grief at her passing. I still look for her under my desk, still wish she were sleeping with me or between me and Joe. I still wonder if I should leave the door open for her to come in or go out.
We've talked about getting another cat, or maybe a dog this time. We decided to wait until after the election in November.
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