Obituary for Charlie

P1120170Sometimes you are unaware that you’ll find love when you least expect it. That goes for human relationships as much as for pet/human relationships.
They always say the cat chooses the person and you don’t choose the cat and that’s exactly what happened.
We have five mogs and I am glad my husband always pledged for us to stop and not get any more and I was actually always happy about that.
It was the 1st of December 2012 and as every year we drove to our lovely vet who is an absolute cat expert and has a lot of her own.  She also tries to find new homes for stranded cats that she has nurtured back to health. We just wanted to bring our vet a Christmas Stollen cake and Christmas cookies to say thank you for all her support with our furry fuckers during the last year.
She opened the door and there he sat, the little mite. White and black, stunning green eyes that you don’t see every day, with a very fluffy tail greeting us with a squeaking eek-eek instead of a distinct meow. I made the mistake of bending down a little to pat him and by clawing his paws into my jeans making his way up towards my jacket he had already clawed his way into my heart, too.
He kept nibbling on my jacket, licked my chin, slobbered like a dog and purred like fuck. In contrary to his meow his purr was extremely audible and extraordinary!
Eventually he crawled over me to my husband Axel whose face lit up while he was cuddling the little fluffy over- affectionate bundle of joy.
The vet was trying to find a home for him and knowing that we govern the 5* Ritz Caton Hotel asked if we’d like to have him.
My hubby said ‘no’ right away even as I was begging him to reconsider…
A few days later, Tuesday evening hubby turned to me and said: “You think our vet has already found another home for the lil’ fella?”
I knew it! The affection programme that the little skunk-impersonating rascal had worked on Axel had not gone without effect.
So, one week after having met this wonderful little creature for the first time, we picked up Charles, Charlie, and gave him a new home on December 8th. Our vet was so happy that we had taken him as he had lived with her for some time and she knew that way she would get enough occasions to see him again.
Charlie proved to be the cutest little moggy anyone could ask for. He was given the nickname ‘sticky toffee’ because everywhere we went he had to go, too. A session on the loo without Charles – no way! He sat on the mat in the middle of the bathroom no matter if you took a pee, showered or brushed your teeth.
The first week he almost didn’t let us sleep at night. He alternately licked Axel’s face or mine and if you dared to move at night he was all over you again, purring for you as loudly as he could, kneading my hair or showing some wet tongued affection.
He was a playful mog and never choosy, mouse, feathers, octopus (not a live one!), laser pointer and his beloved flying goose (also not alive!) became his everyday friends in our household.
He ate like a horse and it was like wrangling a mad bull during breakfast time when his sweet pink nose had caught the scent of something delicious and he was determined to get a bite of it. Charlie bloomed, his huge paws becoming huger and his soft fur being exceptionally wonderful to touch. I could never cook in the kitchen without him demanding his beloved ‘cat crack’ aka lacto-free milk and he would’ve drunk twenty units a day if I had let him. After that, he usually climbed up my jeans and when he reached my shoulders he always did his best scarf impression.
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Charlie was a charmer, through and through. We had expected some bad fights with our other cats and flying fur accompanied with demon growling but apart from some hissing and the occasional paw on the head he was accepted right away.
He was such a friendly little guy that everyone who met him instantly fell in love with him, my brother, my sister, our friends. He didn’t leave that to chance, though, never hesitating long to crawl all over everyone who made the ‘mistake’ to give him some attention.
Little did we know he wouldn’t even be with us for two full months…
Charlie had the very bad and unfair luck to suffer from FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis). More than 60% of all cats carry that virus in them but it mostly stays dormant. It’s only when the virus mutates that is causes a breakout of the disease for which until this day there is no cure at all…
From breakout of FIP until death it takes usually no longer than nine days.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feline_infectious_peritonitis
We noticed Charlie was looking poorly and our vet was devastated when she saw him, uttering the suspicion it could be FIP but she as well as we didn’t want to accept that and so she shot him up with everything that could be done to help him, antibiotics, pain killer, some highly effective immune booster…but FIP is goddamned fucking FIP and there was no way we could cheat it.
X-Ray showed Charlie already had gathered a lot of fluid around his organs and his muscles had practically withered away in a matter of days, his once so beautiful fur not shiny anymore and the bones of his spine protruding visibly. Even with all the medication he couldn’t bring himself to eat anymore.
The vet joined us in our fit of tears when we knew we had to face the inevitable, cursing like hell that it had to be poor Charlie who was sitting on the practice table, weak and looking at us not knowing why he was feeling so poorly and what would happen next.
He was first given the anaesthetic to fall asleep and if he had a notion of what was to happen he first crawled up onto my arms where I held him, then with last verve he climbed onto my husband that held him close until he had fallen asleep.
The drug Charlie was given to make him fall asleep permanently was called ‘Release’ and I thought that was a very fitting and gentle name for such a lethal medication. Because, even with all the pain and the rage and hate at Charlie’s unfair death we had to realise that it had actually also been a release for him. A release of pain and sickness while ultimately and unfortunately, of his life, too.
So, our little beloved Charlie (also Charles Bear, Charlesy, Charles-Charles) ventured to the great beyond last night, January the 25th, shortly after seven p.m., having lived only a very short time (about seven months) and being cheated on a long and happy life.
Charlie will never be forgotten as he embedded his wonderful self too deep into our hearts. His wonderful spirit will live on.
At least he had found a permanent home for a few weeks, being utterly loved. Charlie was spoiled rotten, could choose between a lot of toys and many cosy sleeping places. He experienced his first and alas last Christmas complete with the tree (how he loved to play with the low hanging baubles and ornaments), delicious turkey and presents. He knew how great tuna tasted and enjoyed good food and many treats and he was never short of his beloved milk.
Farewell, Charlie, our beautiful, soft and brave little fella. See you someday on the other side!
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