Daphne Sutherland, 1995-2011

She was a Christmas present from my college boyfriend. And while there were many times that I questioned the wisdom of giving a starving student studying to be a nomadic starving actor a small animal that would require money to maintain, I will forever be grateful for the gift of Daphne.


When it came time to choose a cat from the adoption agency, I had my heart set on an orange feline, in remembrance of a former family pet. But there were no orange kitties to be had. The agency representative said they did have a particularly special cat available. Just six months old and incredibly affectionate with a unique personality. We agreed to have them come do a home visit, so we could meet her. Her name was Misty and she was just as they described.


It was love at first purr.


The first order of business: Change her name! I had never before had exclusive naming rights to a living thing. But this long haired kitty, black with white markings, reminded me of the cat Pepé Le Pew tries to romance in the old Warner Brothers cartoons. And I mistakenly believed that cat's name to be Daphne.


(Turns out, it's not!)


Still, Daphne seemed like an elegant name for a feline that appeared to be wearing a white fur stole around her neck. So Daphne she became, despite the efforts of one of my roommates at the time, who thought Boo would be a better moniker.


Her first nickname came along pretty quickly, after a bout of loose stool that got stuck in the hair of her tail and was subsequently transferred to every wall in the apartment as she flicked said tail around: Shitty Kitty.


Subsequent nicknames evolved as time progressed and we discovered that "elegant' was in no way the proper word to describe Daph. So she became Schmaffie, The Schmaf, Schmatty, Schmaffers, etc. Much more fitting.


As a kitten she was quite playful, although had little interest in toys purchased at a pet shop. Her favourites included balled up pieces of paper, which she would pick up in her mouth and bring back to you, or a laser pointer. Laziness set in later in her life, when a bit of half-hearted ribbon chasing was the best she could muster.


She showed an early predilection for boxes of all sorts, which later inspired me to buy this book for Violet. For the past few years we've had various shoeboxes scattered throughout the house for her. Whenever we brought home new shoes, we would place the new box next to an old one and watch her try them both out and figure out which one she preferred. (Always the new one, eventually.)


She was known for lying flat on her belly, with her legs turned out behind her, or sprawled out on her back, fuzzy belly bared for the whole world to see. She also loved to prop herself up against pillows like a human being, never quite understanding why we laughed and took pictures every time. She even enjoyed some Internet celebrity when she made an appearance on this website's popular "Pets on Furniture" feature.


She was well loved by the original crew that helped me welcome her into my world and by my two amazing roommates I lived with for eight years. The Husband was initially intimidated by her - she was known to be a bit crusty and could definitely take a chunk out of you if she was so inclined - but they warmed up to each other and became the best of friends. Even my Mother-in-Law adored her. We regularly brought her with us on trips to Owen Sound. She enjoyed the ride, provided she could sit on on of our laps, and seemed to like having a different space to roam around in for a few days.


I was 20 when I adopted her. She saw me through the end of theatre school, my entire theatre career (including a couple of plane rides to spend the summer at the Charlottetown Festival with me), a few relationships, another round of schooling, the start of a new career, a few apartments (including keeping me company in a bachelor), a marriage, a house and a baby. For almost 16 years, she was the one constant in my life.


I loved her. So much.


Still do.


I will miss her. So much.

This too shall pass

We seem to have entered a new phase with Vivi. One that isn't exactly enjoyable.

She no longer wants to go to sleep.

Not that she doesn't sleep, thank goodness. She's just having major issues getting to sleep. Last night it took three hours and at least 10 failed attempts to get her down. She'll fall asleep while nursing and stay asleep as we carry her upstairs, but just try and put her down! Forget it!

We rock her, sing to her, let her pacify herself on me. If only she would take an actual pacifier! We've tried four different kinds dozens of times. At all different times of the day. She makes this face like we're giving her tree bark to suck on. And then she spits it out.

And now her getting to sleep issues have extended to nap time.

This morning she screamed for almost two hours straight, clearly exhausted. Even worse was that none of the normal soothing methods would work. She wouldn't even take the boob! And she'll always take the boob! Finally we bundled her up into the car seat, because I had every intention to drive her around to stop the crying, despite the raging snowstorm outside. While I was cleaning off the car, the Husband swung her back and forth in the seat and she suddenly gave up the fight and succumbed to slumber.

What did we do, you ask?

What any smart parent would do. We let her sleep in her car seat for about an hour and a half. There was no way we were going to move her!

Clearly this is our new normal. I'm trying to remind myself that these phases can't last forever...

If you have any thoughts or ideas, feel free to share them!

(Typed entirely with one hand while nursing!)

Almost great weekend

I spent the last week suffering with a nasty spring cold. Runny nose, runny eyes, sore throat, lots of congestion. All around blech. But by Friday I was starting to feel like myself again. So we got in some family fun time!

First, a trip to Canada Blooms.


Vivi acts like her car seat is a torture chamber, so until the car lulls her to sleep, this is as happy as she looks.


She was much more content to look around at all the action.


Until she wasn't. (These lovely girls were promoting a new Cirque du Soleil show.)


Daddy and his Violet with more violets!

I was so exhausted by the end of the evening, particularly since my symptoms would always worsen when the sun went down!

Saturday we ventured north of the city to see my surrogate Toronto family.




Vivi was a little doll for them, thank goodness!

And Sunday we took a family walk to do some brunching:




All in all, a nearly perfect weekend. Why not perfect? Well, I had to miss a dear friend's birthday party, because the Husband already had plans that included the car. (Stroller + transit = logistical nightmare!) Plus we ended the weekend with a screaming baby who was suffering from gas. Hours of screaming only fixed if I nursed her to sleep and then held her the entire time.


She's still wearing cranky pants today, refusing to nap despite her obvious exhaustion. I've typed this entire post with one hand while nursing her into submission!

Come ON!

Can you believe I get to cuddle this cute thing every day!?

Nine lives

This past weekend it didn't look like I'd have good news to share, but I'm very happy to report that Daphne is doing okay.

For the moment.

I recognize that her condition doesn't have a happy ending, but for now she's eating and keeping it down. She's pestering us for cuddles and generally acting like nothing is wrong.

We'll take it, knowing that we can't hold off our goodbyes forever.

Thanks to all of you who reached out and sent love and good thoughts. So appreciated!

Schmaf

Our kitty is not well.

Once corpulent and voracious, we noticed just over a month ago that she was suddenly far skinnier than she'd ever been. Frankly, she hadn't been getting quite as much attention as she normally got. Our focus was divided on account of the tiny human being we suddenly had hanging around. So each of us thought the other had been feeding her, which explained why her bowl was never empty. (She used to empty that bowl very, very quickly and then pester us until the next meal.) There were also several, ahem, loose bowel movements to contend with.

Off we went to the vet, who confirmed what we already knew: serious weight loss. What we didn't know was why. We wondered if she was having trouble adjusting to the new member of the family? But she'd been incredibly respectful of Vivi since we brought her home from the hospital, never showing any signs of aggression. (And those of you who know her, know she can get her growl on if she doesn't like you.)

The vet kept her overnight and ran all sorts of tests and took some x-rays. Conclusion: healthy, aging cat. The vague beginnings of kidney disease, which is apparently very common, but nothing to be concerned about yet. She suggested switching her diet to a geriatric plan.

Done and done.

And then the vomiting started. At first we chalked it up to some of the new food, so we cut that out right away. But still, every few days we'd find another mess. Our carpet was starting to look patterned. Otherwise, however, she was acting perfectly normal. Jumping up on the couch to cuddle with us. Clamoring for her nighttime treat. Meowing up a storm.

But a month later, we couldn't deny that things weren't getting better. Plus, the diarrhea was back.

So we returned to the vet, who found she'd lost even more weight and reran some tests, to see if the kidney disease had suddenly rapidly progressed. Nope. She armed us with some meds - antacids in case her stomach is upset and something to firm up her stools. We're only a couple of days in, but it's not looking good.

She'll be 15 in May. I've had her since she was six months old. If you're a fan of Pullman's Dark Materials trilogy, she's my demon. But how far do you go?

In the wee small hours

Violet is a very easy baby.

Except when she isn't.

For quite a while she struggled with really bad - wait for it! - gas. Not bad like she could clear a room. But bad like she had a lot of trouble getting it out. And we all know how it feels to have gas trapped inside us. It's not good. It makes the best of us out of sorts.

So she was wearing her cranky pants pretty much every day, until the blessed moment when she would transform into Princess Thunderbum. (That's Princess Cupcake Bumbleberry Thunderbum to you!) Then the happy baby would emerge and we'd all get along until the next bout hit.

We talked to the doctor about it and she said it was possible that it was something I was eating, but that it was most likely just her immature system trying to catch up. So we waited it out, because some days were better than others and the magical three-month-mark was quickly approaching.

And suddenly, so much better! Which is why I was surprised the other morning when she was clearly in distress after I fed her just before dawn. Normally night feedings are a cinch with her. She goes right back to sleep. But on this morning she was too busy wailing to revisit dreamland.

So I strapped on the Baby Bjorn.

Seriously, the hand-me-down carrier has been a lifesaver for us. It calms her down - and often puts her to sleep - 99% of the time. It also frees up our hands and saves our biceps.

But I was tired. And - I'm not going to lie - I had a moment of annoyance that I had to do more than just feed her, change her and swaddle her before I got to go back to my own warm bed. Until I looked down at this:


Suddenly I realized how lucky I am that I can fix her problems so easily at this point. That there will come a day when I won't be able to fix what ails her just by strapping her to my chest and walking her around the house. And that that day will come along sooner rather than later.

One of my biggest challenges as a mom is to do something I have never been good at. The very thing that made me such a bad actor.

I have to be in the moment.

I can't think about the laundry that isn't getting done because I'm too busy watching her on her play mat. I have to look past the unpacked boxes when I wheel the stroller outside to go for a walk. And when the two of us are up in the middle of the night, I have to remember that these intimate moments together, when it seems like we're the only two people in the world, are fleeting and special and worth a whole lot more than a few extra hours of sleep.