Ode to Nettle

Dear Nettle, 

You and I have sure been through some interesting times in the last 16 years, starting with how you came to me. Apparently you were born out in the wild, somewhere in Washington state. My friend Stephanie’s mom, or possibly her grandma, found you and decided to take you in. But neither really wanted a cat. So you made your way to Stephanie and Ben. But it turns out they didn’t really want a cat either. Enter me. 

I already had a pet, though: a small cockatiel, about 5 or 6 years old, named Reepicheep. But Reep and I were struggling. Birds need a lot more company and attention than I was able to give as a single woman with a full time job. He wasn’t very happy, and when he wasn’t happy, he screeched. A lot. I had to hide him under a blanket to shut him up, and then I felt guilty. Here’s the funny thing: Stephanie’s grandma wanted a cockatiel. A second cockatiel, specifically, to keep hers company. And they didn’t want this cat. So a trade was arranged: a cat for a bird. The deal was transacted sometime in May of 2004. You were estimated to be about 4 to 8 weeks old, so I split the distance and assigned you the arbitrary (but easy to recall) birthdate of April 15. 

I’d never owned a cat before. Dad was no great fan: the last cat they’d owned took off when I was born, and he was never willing to acquire another, no matter how much we begged. So this kitten thing was new and exciting to 27-year-old me. I quickly acquired the basics - litter box, food dishes, and the like - and learned that you Loved chasing and pouncing on things made from string and feathers. And of course I got to name you. Ben and Stephanie were calling you "Puma" or something like that, but I wanted an interesting, creative, maybe just a little unusual, obscure, and geeky name. I remember brainstorming lists of them during a meeting at work. Eventually I settled upon a name (of a human) from a book in the "Assassin's Apprentice" series I was currently reading. A nettle plant is prickly and hard to work with, but also has valuable healing properties. And while you never were very prickly outside of an occasional accident with your claws, you most certainly did prove to have healing properties. So I feel like I chose well.

 At the time I was living in an apartment in the slums of Lake Oswego. I was on a house hunt, thanks to Bowler’s prodding, and didn’t figure I’d be there much longer. But the apartment complex required a deposit on cats. The fact that they did not require one for birds simply shows how little they knew: birds don’t potty train, and they do chew on windowsills. Just ask my father! Cats, on the other hand, can be pretty light on a place - especially if the carpet already needs replacing. So I convinced myself that it was OK not to announce your presence to the management during the couple of months you were there. And you repaid me by not doing anything too awfully terrible to the carpets!  

We were out of there in July as I embarked on the American Dream of home ownership, signing papers for a house on Bingo Lane on my 28th birthday. I need to confess something here: buying a home on my own felt a little like admitting defeat. Homes are for families. And all I had was a cat. Well, at least I had a cat. That made it a little better anyway.

     And besides, you and I weren’t on our own there for long. There was, in fact, quite a succession of roommates. Kim was the first. But after a few months she departed to marry our mutual friend Kyle, leaving her red couch behind her in lieu of her last month’s rent. I am sure that the fact you and Simon had very efficiently shredded the left side of it didn’t figure in at all! 

Oh yes, Simon joined our household that first year too. Bowler had owned him 2 or 3 years by that time, but was beginning to suspect that he was allergic. He loaned him to me for a couple of weeks to see if his symptoms abated. Well, they did, and Simon stayed - like any number of other things Bowler loaned me over the years, I might add!  I didn’t mind. Sleek, and of that silvery-grey color they call “blue” in cats, he was reasonably affectionate in his own way, and the two of you mostly got along. Well, when you weren’t chasing each other around the house trying to kill one another, that is! Or passively aggressively objecting to the presence of a second cat sharing your litter box by refusing to go #2 in it. I’ll choose to remember the sweet times when you would cuddle up together on Kim’s red couch instead! 

At the time, you were definitely both indoor cats. I got you fixed, you poor thing, not long after your first and last experience with “heat.” You weren’t quite a year old yet, if I recall. I’m sure you wouldn’t put that high on your list of great experiences. In fact, you developed an infection within days of the procedure and had to be given antibiotics - another low point in our relationship. I suppose I cannot truly blame you for peeing on my favorite body pillow. Or my bed. We learned a lot about cleaning that first year too. 

Anyway, sometime after that but still during that first year on Bingo, you managed to slip out when the door was open. I think this was before Simon joined us. This was not in my plan, and I was very worried. I looked all through the neighborhood. I called the animal shelter, even though you were never chipped. But I turned up neither hide nor hair of you for two solid weeks. I was pretty much resigned to a new period of petlessness, when you suddenly appeared - sleek and happy - on my porch.  Eventually I chalked it up to an adolescent cat’s need for a vacation. It was a stunt you never repeated, even after you became an indoor/outdoor cat a few years later. 

Your “vacation” was hardly your only quirk, though. In fact, “quirky” is a good descriptor for you. Where shall we start? How about your insatiable love for tape? Yes, tape! The clear cellophane kind. You desperately want to eat it. Licking it is good too, but if you can get it into your mouth, that’s the best. And it’s not just Scotch tape: nothing with adhesive is safe - stickers will do in a pinch. And if there are no stickers? A printed photograph will do. Really. I have caught you numerous times licking at pictures either left carelessly on a table, or pinned on the wall. This is Weird, Nettle. None of my friends’ cats do this - although I see from the all-knowing Google that you are not the first with this strange attraction.
    Anyway, this made it harder to keep you from things you weren’t supposed to be on, like the top of the fridge. Online forums suggested putting loops of tape all over the item your cat wasn’t supposed to explore because they would not like stepping on it. Well, that solution was right out! I think we just squirted you whenever we caught you. Eventually you didn’t go up there - as much! 

Tauna was the next roommate on Bingo Lane, and like Kim, she didn’t stay long. In fact, she and Aaron tied the knot on the last day of 2005 if memory serves. (I guess It might have been 2004, but that doesn’t seem like enough time if I only moved into the house in July of that year.) Anyway, funny thing is that I don’t remember interacting much with any of the various roommates, even though we were friends. They had busy social lives - boyfriends and such! I had... well, I had plenty of friends, but I was also home most evenings, and that worked out well for you cats. 

Not long after Tauna left, Katy joined us, and she brought her pet Fido. In direct (and no doubt intentional) contradiction to his name, Fido was a tuxedo cat, not a dog of any stripe. Much older than you and Simon, he didn’t do a lot of bonding during his stay. Neither did he do a lot of fighting, so it all worked out! Unlike Kim and Tauna, Katy had no boyfriend on the horizon when she joined the household, but like them the situation was understood to be temporary from the beginning. She intended to go to Romania as a missionary within the year, but wasn’t eager to move back in with Dad in Hillsboro in the few months that remained.  Well, a lot happened in those few months, not least of which was a “chance” encounter with Zach at City’s Edge that quickly turned into something rather more than simple friendship. 

I might have been jealous. The third time was supposed to be the charm - for ME!  But after much prompting, much soul searching, and many lonely nights, I finally joined eHarmony sometime in 2005. It didn’t work right away: I had to attend that Christmas U2 concert on my own after all. But in February of 2006, I met David. By July - about the time Katy left for Romania - we were engaged. In January of 2007, we were married, and I was no longer a single-lady-with-cats. Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course! 

For 18 more months we were a “family” of four, and then - wham - James was born. I’m afraid that must have been a bit of a traumatic experience for you and Simon. But you handled it as if you were old pros: you especially almost immediately adopted James as your own. 

(Photos from October 2009 and January 2010). Oddly, I cannot find any photographic evidence that Simon adopted anyone. He simply wasn’t ever as affectionate. 

Sometime around this time we noticed evidence of rodents in the garage. Not at all pleased, we tried the sonic alarms that were supposed to discourage them, but it wasn’t perfect. And then we asked ourselves “We have cats. Why shouldn’t the cats be part of the solution? So we made the decision to let you guys out of the house. I’m sure it was just the garage at first, but then we decided that it was time to go whole hog. We installed a kitty door in the garage and let you go. And it worked out just fine. Unlike when you were an adolescent, you never felt the need to disappear on me for days at a time. You went out, you controlled the rodents, and you showed back up at home in time for meals. 

Although we did learn not to feed you out on the deck. It wasn’t just other cats (like Bella, who was firmly convinced that she belonged to us for a few months there), it was the racoons. One time we caught one all the way up on the deck in broad daylight - and it was huge! David actually grabbed his sword and rushed at it, yelling “Deus Volt!” It made itself very scarce, very quickly, and we never saw it again! 

You had a great time that first year out in the wild. Every once in a while you would bring “gifts” to our doorstep - a mouse or two, even once a vole! David typically disposed of them using a shovel, but believe me, they were appreciated. Well, perhaps not by Jackie, the next door neighbor. She - at least we assume it was she - eventually left us an anonymous note complaining about the “piles of mice” that you were leaving on her doorstep! Not seeing anything we could do about it - not sure we wanted to even if we could - we ignored her. Eventually you stopped bringing quite so many home. Not sure Jackie ever really made friends with you, though! 

Grace came along in 2010, and you adopted her too.  In September 2012 we moved out of the Bingo Lane home into our new place on Bartley Ct. Bingo was great - for a small family with kids who didn’t need a place to be outside and unsupervised. For a family of (almost) five with kids who definitely needed a place to stretch their legs and ride their bikes, the cul-de-sac of NW Bartley Ct was eminently more suitable. 

I say “we,” but unfortunately Simon was no longer with us to make that move. Photographic evidence is spotty and I don’t remember precisely when it happened, but we’d been on a trip to Florida, and when we returned we couldn’t find him. We hunted and called and posted pictures on the mailboxes - and eventually a neighbor let us know that they were pretty sure he was the one hit by a car the week we were out of town. It was a sad time, but the kids were both too young to really understand what had happened. And as much as we liked Simon, it was you who was Our cat. He had always remained comparatively aloof - more of a roommate than actual family.  

In April of 2013 Lucy joined us in a rather more dramatic fashion than her siblings. Thankfully she was fine, I was fine, and our little family was finally complete. Just like the other two, you quickly learned to accept her as your own, and were soon getting affectionate (but always very gentle) petting from yet another toddler. 

Certainly you didn’t become any less “quirky” as you aged. You stopped spending much time attacking my furniture, thank goodness, but from time to time you’d go through a phase of targeting our bath mats - with pee! That made none of us happy, least of all me who always ended up cleaning up the mess. Thankfully it was a phase that passed after a couple of months each time, because none of our interventions (stinky essential oils, cat calming “pheromones”) ever did much. We just had to keep the mats off the floor.  

If that was your worst habit, thankfully you made up for it with many good ones. By the time Grace was 4 or 5, you had pretty obviously chosen her as “yours.” All the kids loved you - and had been trained from their earliest time to be very gentle with you, never picking you up or forcing you to do anything you weren’t eager to do. But Grace was your favorite: it was her bed you would sleep on, and her you would comfort with your purring when she had trouble falling asleep. You really permitted those kids quite a few liberties. Not that they ever abused you, but you always seemed quite willing to accept their affection. You only ever really made yourself scarce when there was quite a lot of company. You made exceptions for some company, though: both “Grandmas” were very welcome guests and you usually ended up on their laps before the visit was over. 

You were also willing to play. Not always - you were no longer a young cat by the time the kids came along. But the laser pointer nearly always captured your attention, even when the strings and ribbons ceased to be very exciting. And every once in a while you’d “protect” the family from something, occasionally even something we were happy to be protected from like a daddy long legs or other bug. And there was that memorable occasion last winter when you violently attacked the glittery red Santa hat someone left in the hallway. We were sure glad you were there to keep us safe from that! 

But the best protection story of all was the time last year when the little bat got into the girls’ room while Lucy was trying to sleep. I’d barely ever seen a bat before this incident, but there it was, hiding up behind the curtains, obviously wanting to be anywhere but where it was. David and I couldn’t figure out what to do. We managed to knock or scare it down onto the floor, but it immediately got itself behind the big, heavy dresser. We were trying to figure out how to move it, or tip it, or do Something to allow us to get back there when you arrived on the scene to investigate the commotion. What was that? A rodent in Your house? This required even more investigation! You reached out a paw and batted at it. Quickly you had it flushed out into the open where David could easily finish the job with a box lid. Soon the bat was back outside where it belonged and we were safe once again from the threat of winged intruders! 

Most of the time you are just a nice ordinary cat, with most of the ordinary quirks of the feline species. There’s your extraordinary pickiness about your water, for instance. You really prefer to have it straight out of the faucet - the height of the counter was no barrier to this plan in your younger days. And often we just gave in and let you drink out of the trickle. You are not the least bit reasonable about such things, though. If you can’t find a human to let you drink from the faucet, or at Least fill your bowl right in front of you while you’re watching, other water sources will do. For instance, the toilet. (Ewww!) Or, maybe that nice fountain in the backyard that hasn’t run in years? Lots of algae and mosquito eggs. A perfect alternative to the ever-so-slightly-less-than-fresh bowl in the bathroom! One year I got the bright idea to get you a constantly recirculating fountain dish. Surely that would be as good as a faucet, right? No. Not even close. Clearly, it was trying to kill you! Eventually we gave up and turned it off. It’s still sitting there, gently mouldering, in the garage. 

Perhaps because you are such a fixture of the household, it took us a while to realize that you were getting - well - old. Not that you were showing it, much. Maybe a few more gray hairs each year, maybe a little less willingness to leap to the top of the 8 foot fence. Maybe a bit more predilection to sleep all day, maybe a few more quirks, like your increasing pickiness about your water dish. But you were always very healthy. The only real scare we had was back in winter 2018 when I suddenly noticed you limping, keeping a front leg off the floor as much as you could. I investigated and found a very scary lump on your elbow (or whatever they call the joint of the front legs in a cat.) We immediately took you to the vet, fearing the worst, but thankfully it was “just” an abscess. They wanted to do more tests - of course! - but in the end were willing to do a minimal intervention of draining and treating the wound with antibiotics. You were back to your old self in days - although you absolutely despised the “cone of shame” you had to keep on for a week to prevent you from ripping out the stitches. Poor kitty! We were so grateful to have you healthy again, though. 

For the next two years you remained very much yourself. You hid in paper bags, you demanded your water dish Just So, you clearly communicated your desire to go out to the garage for a snack - often before 5 am. You had favorite nesting places, like James’ clothing drawer, the end of our bed, a bucket of laundry - one time the inside of the dryer! You sat on papers and anything that crinkled. If a human was trying to read that paper, so much the better. You eagerly attacked your scratching post (the cardboard kind, not the custom bulky cat furniture we got for you a few years back!) You didn’t venture out into the neighborhood much (at one time you used to follow us at least a block or so on our walks), but you enjoyed hanging out on the porch swing or patrolling the backyard for squirrels. (Remember, you only have to get lucky once: they have to get lucky every time!) Every once in a while I, with my penchant for worrying, got anxious when you didn’t show up for a morning meal, but there was always some good reason, like already being out in the garage, or shut in a kid’s bedroom. 

Then came the massive disruption of The Great Pandemic of 2020. By March it felt like the whole world had shut down. David was working from the living room. The kids’ outside classes were cancelled. Parks had scary signs telling you to stay off the equipment. Going to church felt like civil disobedience. We renamed our Sunday evening gathering “The Speakeasy.” Everyone was stressed and on edge. But not you, as far as we could tell. Your humans were home a Lot more than usual, but this just made for more laps. In April we celebrated your 16th birthday and made jokes about taking you to get your driver’s license. And still everything was normal and fine - until the morning of November 23rd. 

I hadn’t seen much of you the day before, but as it had been a Sunday with the commensurate gathering in the evening, this was not unusual. But then you did not wake me up for your morning meal at 5 am. Or at 6. Or 7. I told myself there was bound to be a good explanation like the last several times, but something else told me this wasn’t the case. When James came down he mentioned that you were sitting in the hallway on his coat. Again, not too weird, but when Grace brought you downstairs it became very clear that you were ailing. You were panting, even coughing occasionally, crouching in an awkward manner, and obviously not willing to move around much. Your “meows” sounded hoarse. You didn’t want food or water. There was definitely no purring. Something was wrong. 

Our vet couldn’t see you until almost 5 pm, and I was concerned enough that I called around a couple of other places looking for an earlier appointment. That failed, so we crossed our fingers and waited for late afternoon. Grace insisted that she needed to come too, so we bundled you into your carrier and made the short drive to the Rock Creek VCA. Because of COVID we couldn’t come into the exam room with you, or even the lobby. I handed you off to a tech at the side door and waited in the car, trying to stay occupied with my book while Grace played Pokemon. 

Soon enough, though, Dr. Movius called us with the bad news. As far as she could tell, the best odds were on heart failure, leading to a build-up of fluid in the lungs. There was also a chance that you could “just” have pneumonia, but there were several arguments against it. First, pneumonia usually manifests with a fever, but you were running several degrees cool. Second, it usually comes on more slowly, and finally it is far more likely in older cats when they have a history of respiratory complaints. Expensive X-rays would possibly help nail down pneumonia vs. heart failure, but the fact of the matter is, there’s no actual treatment for the latter, just a few things they could do to make you more comfortable. It was the doctor’s opinion that it would be better just to put you down.

Well, I knew I couldn’t do that. Not on my own without consulting the rest of your family. I got David on the phone and he agreed: everyone needed an opportunity to say goodby. So after consultation with the doctor we decided that she would give you a shot of a drug to relieve the symptoms of heart failure (i.e. help the lungs drain) along with an injectable antibiotic on the outside chance it was pneumonia. She cautioned us, however, that the shot might only buy us 12 hours; there was a good chance you would not make it through the night. Really, she said, bringing you back Tuesday to be put to sleep would be the humane thing to do - assuming you made it that long. 

There were a lot of tears that evening, from all five of us.  I tried to explain that euthenasia was permitted for animals, and that it might be the right thing to do, but James especially would have none of it. So we cried and mourned and prayed and petted you and made sure you had food and water where you could reach it, and left the girls to sleep in the box room, which you’d claimed as your own that evening. Grace couldn’t do it, though: she eventually came upstairs and slept on the floor of our room. 

And on Tuesday morning, you were still with us. In fact, you were at least a tad bit better: you did a little purring when the kids petted you, and you took a little water. Clearly I could not make a euthanasia appointment when you were purring at us. I tried not to let anyone’s hopes get up, of course. This might be a very temporary improvement, and there were still plenty of symptoms. You were still crouching in an awkward manner rather than making a comfortable nest. You complained if anyone tried to lift you. You were only eating when strongly coaxed. 

But you were still with us on Wednesday, and on Thanksgiving day. We knew by then that we would be letting nature take its course - or more properly, that we would be leaving you in God’s hands rather than taking matters into our own. 

It is now the 6th of December, just about 2 weeks after your initial symptoms. You’re definitely not your normal self, but you have stabilized. You’re sounding pretty normal when you meow, and don’t seem to be breathing with much difficulty. After spending those first few days in make-shift nests in corners behind doors or in a bathroom, you’ve taken up residence behind the futon in the box room - in a proper nest, and quite near a heating vent. Every once in a while you rouse yourself to use the litter box, although our noses tell us you’re often dispensing with that formality. Really, you aren’t stirring much, but you are accepting visitors. The kids check in several times a day with tempting tidbits of chicken, a bowl of milk, or just some petting. Sometimes you follow me to the attached bathroom for a fresh bowl of water, and I even see you grooming a bit. You continue to purr, and you are even permitting yourself to be picked up for a little lap time when Grace insists. 

(Photo: Dec 6) 

We don’t know how long you’ll be with us. We’re grateful the vet was wrong about the 12 hours, although we still don’t know if you are recovering from pneumonia, or rallying from incipient heart failure. You’re skinny and a little ragged, and it’s winter.

I don’t know, but God does. He gifted me 16 years ago with about the best pet I could have hoped for, and I could not have guessed at the time that you were also the perfect pet for the family that I didn’t even have yet. That I had nearly given up hope would even exist. And I hadn’t even been looking for a cat! But you’ve been Exactly what we wanted and needed: affectionate, soothing, fun, quirky but largely predictable, and low drama. A companion and honorary family member. We continue to pray for you daily - David jokes that you are probably benefiting from more prayers than the average human in your age bracket - and are actively thankful for each day that we get with you. 

And really, who’s to say that we won’t get more days with you in Heaven - that you, too, might receive some sort of reward? George MacDonald thought so. In “Castle Warlock,” Mr. Simon finds his student Cosmo in deep distress over the death of his horse Linty. After comforting him for some time, he ends by saying

 “...If I have any power to read the truth of things, the life that’s given is not taken; and whatever come of the creature, the love it wakened in a human breast will be no more lost than the object of the same. That a thing can love and be loved - and that’s your bonnie mare, Cosmo - is just all one to saying that it’s immortal, for God is love, and whatever partakes of the essence of God can’t die, but must go on loving til it please him to say hold, and that he’ll never say.” (Chapter 11) 

I hope “Mr. Simon” is right. It’s all a bit extra-Biblical. But I do know that you are loved, and that you seem to love us about as much as a feline can be said to love anyone. So ‘though we don’t know when you’ll leave us, or if we’ll meet again, we’ll leave you right where you always have been - where we all are: in the hands of he who made us, and loves us, and sees the sparrow fall. 

Epilogue

(Photo: Dec 29) 

Nettle, you passed along with 2020. You enjoyed 38 more days with our family after your initial symptoms, which was exactly 37 more than we were given any hope for. For much of that time you seemed to be nearly your old self, affectionate and cuddly. You’d given up hiding in dark corners and had recovered much of your appetite. 

By the time you left, we had adopted Darth Vader and Bartholomew. Mew is just 3 months old, an active, affectionate silver tabby. Darth, like you, is all black. At 10 months of age, he reminds us a lot of you in your younger days: sleek, confident, and curious. Unlike you, he’s just a little surly at times. But while you and he were never terribly friendly, you made a peace of sorts within the first week or so, sharing food dishes without drama and failing to make a fuss when you passed each other in the halls. On your last evening with our family you and Mew shared a blanket on Grace’s lap, Mew cuddling your tail, and both Lucy and James offering affection from time to time. 

On your last day, Grace noticed that you had not cleaned yourself after your last poo, and I suspected things were heading south quickly, despite the lack of the acute respiratory difficulties you’d had a month ago. I gave you what I am sure was a very unwelcome bath, but then made you as comfortable as possible in the warm den you’d made in the garage, next to the furnace. We checked in on you from time to time during the afternoon, and you roused yourself to purr when Grace petted you. But all things considered, I was not surprised when we found you had left us some time before our return from a small and subdued Hogmanay at my parents’ place. Not surprised, but definitely very saddened. All five of us cried. I’m sure there will be interrupted sleep tonight and more tears tomorrow when we lay you to rest. 

But there will also be much thankfulness for your life and legacy, and the extra 5 weeks we were given to enjoy your company and get ready to say goodbye. Goodbye sweet kitty. You are very, very loved.