My Sweet Charlie

As I clean under the bed and behind the bureaus I'm remembering my sweet Charlie. The fur has to be pulled off the carpet and there's a few puke spots from his fur balls.

 That's what everyone said when the met Charlie.  He was a sweetie, always rubbing up against your legs, jumping in your lap and purring away.  You were instantly a member of the house when he came flying down the steps or out of another room to greet you.  The other cats ran upstairs to hide, but not Charlie.  He was the most social cat I ever had. 

I always wanted a "red" Himalayan cat.  I already had a "blue" named Andy who was a year old when I went to find Charlie.  Unfortunately he was kept in a cage by the breeder but I think that is one reason why I was compelled to buy him.  He had to get out of that cage.  The only down fall I could see is he wouldn't use the litter box for poo.  For 14 years I had to pick up the poo on the newspaper outside the litter box.  He also earned the name "Mr Pukesalot" since fur balls got the best of him on many occassions.  Never puked on the kitchen or bathroom floor where I could easily clean it up.  No way, the rug was his favorite place.  Other than that, he was the perfect kitty.

Last year I noticed Charlie was out of sorts for about two weeks.  Gee I wish animals could communicate.  He slept more than usual and wasn't fetching his ball like he used to and stumbling occasionally.  I figured it was because he was finally feeling old, he was after all going to be 14 on his next birthday.   For about a week he was really off and I was seriously considering taking him to the vet. 

We got up one morning and my husband commented that Charlie really wasn't himself. I thought he was kidding since Charlie wasn't his favorite cat and always kidded about taking him out and letting him chase some cars.  Being a long hair cat and depositing fur all over everything, more than Andy even, aggravated my husband when he had to brush off his clothes before walking out the door to go to work every morning.  Anyway, I walked over to check Charlie out and he tried to run up the steps, got about four steps up and fell all the way down.  Tears immediately came to my eyes.  We've got to get him to the vet NOW, I said through my tears.  We got an appointment, my husband called work to say he would be late and off we went.  After what seemed to be hours but was only about 15 minutes, we got to see the vet.  He examined Charlie, took some blood work and came back with the news.  Charlie's test and blood work were all fine, my heart seemed to come back into place for a moment.  So what could be wrong we asked?  It seems, the vet told us, that he may have a brain tumor and it is pressing on some nerves.  My heart sank again.  Now what to do.  Poor little Charlie is laying on the table and unable to move it seems. 

The vet said we could have more testing to confirm his suspicions but he was pretty sure this was the proper diagnosis.  There really wasn't any "cure" and he would only get worse.  He probably had the brain tumor for a long time and as it grew it was interfering with his nervous system and that is why he was not himself lately.  We could take him home and let him muddle along until the "end" or we could put him out of his misery now.  What a hard decission to make especially since he seemed fine until a few weeks ago.

Needless to say, we decided not to let Charlie suffer any longer.  We cried for days. I got home and started wondering about his birthday that was coming up only to discover that it was his birthday today.  I cried even harder.  What a terrible birthday present.

 I still miss him and wish there were other answers on that terrible day.