http://animalsreign.com/blog/2010/04/26/book-review-love-is-the-best-medicine/ animal health and welfare, pet news, pet first aid, animal communication, and dog and cat rescue by Animals Reign pet sitting Thu, 08 Dec 2011 05:55:14 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 http://animalsreign.com/blog/2010/04/26/book-review-love-is-the-best-medicine/comment-page-1/#comment-645 Vicki Fri, 30 Apr 2010 20:42:18 +0000 http://animalsreign.com/blog/?p=522#comment-645 What a wonderful love story, Jennifer. It evoked such sweet images; and a situation all cat-owners will recognize, the inability to break the spell once a cat has made his nesting place on or near you. Thank you for sharing. What a wonderful love story, Jennifer. It evoked such sweet images; and a situation all cat-owners will recognize, the inability to break the spell once a cat has made his nesting place on or near you. Thank you for sharing.

]]> http://animalsreign.com/blog/2010/04/26/book-review-love-is-the-best-medicine/comment-page-1/#comment-643 Jennifer Bundy Fri, 30 Apr 2010 19:10:51 +0000 http://animalsreign.com/blog/?p=522#comment-643 Tony the Italian Cat (also known as Gato Italiano and Dolce Bambino) was born in New York City, probably in 1984. My nephew and his partner had gone to the Manhattan ASPCA for a kitten, but when they saw a huge (20 pounds+), handsome, tuxedo cat with a rakish black mustache crammed into a small cage, looking miserable, they knew they had to take him home. Two years later, they were moving and couldn't take the cat, and he ended up coming to live with me. He was a classic stereotypical New Yorker -- brash, standoffish, suspicious. He seemed contented with his new home, and he was a funny and charismatic cat, but he always had that edge. He seldom purred, and never indicated much affection. He seldom slept on my bed. He lived with me for about ten years, and then he got cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, the vet estimated he had just weeks to live. I was devastated. Tony didn't express any particular love for me, but I was nuts about him. Early one October evening, my partner and I were sitting opposite each other at our picnic table in the back yard, chatting. I was leaning forward with my forearms resting on the table, parallel to my body, my hands together. Tony jumped up on the bench, then onto the table; and as we watched, amazed, he came over to me, stepped into my arms with all four feet, settled down with his head on my forearm, and started purring as if this was something he did every day. I stroked his head and began telling him all the things I felt about him, all my memories of him, how much I would miss him, what messages I wanted him to carry to cats and dogs I'd lost in the past. He stayed there, contented and purring, for the next two hours, as my partner brought me a coat, then some dinner, and the sun went down and it began to get dark. I was stiff and cold, but i couldn't bear to break the spell. Finally he got up and went into the house for a bite to eat. For the remainder of his life -- about three weeks -- I slept near him, wherever he was. When he was under the piano, I made a bed on the couch, six feet away; a while after lights out, he came over and got on the couch with me. When he curled up in the den, I moved some pillows onto the den rug, and settled down there; he came over to me, plastered himself against my side, and purred himself to sleep. Shortly after that, with the vet's help, he died. I have always been so grateful to have had that time with him at the end. Tony the Italian Cat (also known as Gato Italiano and Dolce Bambino) was born in New York City, probably in 1984. My nephew and his partner had gone to the Manhattan ASPCA for a kitten, but when they saw a huge (20 pounds+), handsome, tuxedo cat with a rakish black mustache crammed into a small cage, looking miserable, they knew they had to take him home. Two years later, they were moving and couldn’t take the cat, and he ended up coming to live with me.
He was a classic stereotypical New Yorker — brash, standoffish, suspicious. He seemed contented with his new home, and he was a funny and charismatic cat, but he always had that edge. He seldom purred, and never indicated much affection. He seldom slept on my bed.
He lived with me for about ten years, and then he got cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, the vet estimated he had just weeks to live. I was devastated. Tony didn’t express any particular love for me, but I was nuts about him.
Early one October evening, my partner and I were sitting opposite each other at our picnic table in the back yard, chatting. I was leaning forward with my forearms resting on the table, parallel to my body, my hands together. Tony jumped up on the bench, then onto the table; and as we watched, amazed, he came over to me, stepped into my arms with all four feet, settled down with his head on my forearm, and started purring as if this was something he did every day. I stroked his head and began telling him all the things I felt about him, all my memories of him, how much I would miss him, what messages I wanted him to carry to cats and dogs I’d lost in the past. He stayed there, contented and purring, for the next two hours, as my partner brought me a coat, then some dinner, and the sun went down and it began to get dark. I was stiff and cold, but i couldn’t bear to break the spell.
Finally he got up and went into the house for a bite to eat. For the remainder of his life — about three weeks — I slept near him, wherever he was. When he was under the piano, I made a bed on the couch, six feet away; a while after lights out, he came over and got on the couch with me. When he curled up in the den, I moved some pillows onto the den rug, and settled down there; he came over to me, plastered himself against my side, and purred himself to sleep.
Shortly after that, with the vet’s help, he died.
I have always been so grateful to have had that time with him at the end.

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