Ilkka and Tom
Member Since 2010
(cross-posted from the Levemir group)
Tom is gone.
Yesterday morning, Sunday August 19 2012 about 00:20 (shortly after midnight), Tom the cat, whom the "regulars" of a few years on this board know as a Levemir cat who moved rapidly into remission (just shy of 3 months on insulin) after initial diagnosis March 2009, passed away in an emergency medical clinic in his beloved Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. On the previous Thursday, about four days ago in the depth of night, he had a massive seizure, possibly accompanied by a stroke. He was rushed to the clinic at 5 AM, and briefly appeared to recover, was discharged, but he relapsed into seizures the evening of the same day, scene repeated; and repeated again the following evening, in spite of diagnoses and attempts to intervene medically by several doctors. Based on testing, it was determined that Tom was suffering from an unidentified neuropathic disease unrelated to his diabetes (into which he had relapsed a year and a half ago but which was largely under control -- in fact his doses had been decreasing significantly). Insulin-wise he had been down to .5 U and descending rapidly, showing ability to "coast" - possibly toward another remission, I thought. During his insulin therapy, when he first went into remission, I was convinced that we were in psychic communication; the second time as well, but I was unsettled by what he was telling me. In hindsight his symptoms, which had shown up over the previous 10 months, some of them mistaken for hypoglycemic episodes, were largely consistent with a brain tumor, which would have subjected him to a series of seizures of increasing severity. At time of death Tom was 14 years old (estimate). We were with him, of course.
That's the clinical overview. Personally, my wife and I are shattered, I am inconsolable, and Tom's two feline companions, civvies Wendell and Luna, are missing him already -- I don't know how to comfort them nor can I explain to anyone how it is that cats grieve profoundly; plus Sashi, our adopted shih tzu, is worried about the lot of us. We've saved and cared for many felines over the last decade -- all thanks to Tom, because he provided to us such an example. Before I met him I never thought twice about cats, and in fact there didn't need to be anything larger than life about Tom for us to be fond of him - but there was, which was in itself part of the paradox. Handsome to the last, Tom was a "common" mackerel tabby and the most quiet, unassuming and most modest of cats. He never bothered anyone, never put a paw wrong. He didn't walk through the garden, he flowed around each plant and leaf. I not only loved him deeply, I admired him -- it may sound ridiculous to say this about a "mere cat," but he was better than I am in so many ways. Even his habits were virtues. He was a hunter with a respectful and healthy honor of his environment; he loved nothing more than the garden, where he never harmed a leaf. He didn't want to be coddled and he was not a lap cat, but he let my wife groom him as he circled around and around, wanting each side to be set right. He was a bit of a gourmand, and he loved sushi -- but we could leave tuna sushi or sashimi on the coffee table and leave to go shopping, and if Tom knew it was not for him, he would not touch it. He was supremely decent. Once we lost him for hours and found that we had locked him in a garage. He had needed to go to the bathroom (No. 2) and since he was fastidious it was a dilemma where to do the deed; but he found a 7 in. high flower pot with some dry dirt in it, he knocked it over with his paw, scooped out the dirt, went in that and covered it up. My boy.
Yesterday afternoon, still the same day he passed away, we drove an hour and a half to get to a lot we own in the Valley. I had to dig and claw for two hours, through limestone and shale to get the right depth, but now Tom rests securely in a vault of his beloved soil in the Shenandoah karst. It is in the town where we originally met him in 2002. From there, in 2003, he had moved to Houston, TX, and then back to Virginia. He was great to travel with. Last October, in the middle of our move from Texas back to the east coast, we learned that my brother in law, who lived in the Northeast US, had passed away. I flew Tom in a carry bag from Texas to Virginia, then the next day drove him North to the funeral, and then flew him back to Texas, only to drive him back to Virginia, the place where he had just been! All in less than one week, and in all this time he never complained. I could let him out of his carry bag to go to the litter in the car, at speed, and he would re-take his place without a meow of protest. But it was his silent companionship, his somehow inspiring and beatiful spirit, which we appreciated so much and which moved us so deeply. Indeed, there is a peace that passeth understanding, and we know Tom is there now.
Fly free, our boy, our sweet, sweet boy. We hold you in our hearts.
Ilkka and Barbara
Tom is gone.
Yesterday morning, Sunday August 19 2012 about 00:20 (shortly after midnight), Tom the cat, whom the "regulars" of a few years on this board know as a Levemir cat who moved rapidly into remission (just shy of 3 months on insulin) after initial diagnosis March 2009, passed away in an emergency medical clinic in his beloved Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. On the previous Thursday, about four days ago in the depth of night, he had a massive seizure, possibly accompanied by a stroke. He was rushed to the clinic at 5 AM, and briefly appeared to recover, was discharged, but he relapsed into seizures the evening of the same day, scene repeated; and repeated again the following evening, in spite of diagnoses and attempts to intervene medically by several doctors. Based on testing, it was determined that Tom was suffering from an unidentified neuropathic disease unrelated to his diabetes (into which he had relapsed a year and a half ago but which was largely under control -- in fact his doses had been decreasing significantly). Insulin-wise he had been down to .5 U and descending rapidly, showing ability to "coast" - possibly toward another remission, I thought. During his insulin therapy, when he first went into remission, I was convinced that we were in psychic communication; the second time as well, but I was unsettled by what he was telling me. In hindsight his symptoms, which had shown up over the previous 10 months, some of them mistaken for hypoglycemic episodes, were largely consistent with a brain tumor, which would have subjected him to a series of seizures of increasing severity. At time of death Tom was 14 years old (estimate). We were with him, of course.
That's the clinical overview. Personally, my wife and I are shattered, I am inconsolable, and Tom's two feline companions, civvies Wendell and Luna, are missing him already -- I don't know how to comfort them nor can I explain to anyone how it is that cats grieve profoundly; plus Sashi, our adopted shih tzu, is worried about the lot of us. We've saved and cared for many felines over the last decade -- all thanks to Tom, because he provided to us such an example. Before I met him I never thought twice about cats, and in fact there didn't need to be anything larger than life about Tom for us to be fond of him - but there was, which was in itself part of the paradox. Handsome to the last, Tom was a "common" mackerel tabby and the most quiet, unassuming and most modest of cats. He never bothered anyone, never put a paw wrong. He didn't walk through the garden, he flowed around each plant and leaf. I not only loved him deeply, I admired him -- it may sound ridiculous to say this about a "mere cat," but he was better than I am in so many ways. Even his habits were virtues. He was a hunter with a respectful and healthy honor of his environment; he loved nothing more than the garden, where he never harmed a leaf. He didn't want to be coddled and he was not a lap cat, but he let my wife groom him as he circled around and around, wanting each side to be set right. He was a bit of a gourmand, and he loved sushi -- but we could leave tuna sushi or sashimi on the coffee table and leave to go shopping, and if Tom knew it was not for him, he would not touch it. He was supremely decent. Once we lost him for hours and found that we had locked him in a garage. He had needed to go to the bathroom (No. 2) and since he was fastidious it was a dilemma where to do the deed; but he found a 7 in. high flower pot with some dry dirt in it, he knocked it over with his paw, scooped out the dirt, went in that and covered it up. My boy.
Yesterday afternoon, still the same day he passed away, we drove an hour and a half to get to a lot we own in the Valley. I had to dig and claw for two hours, through limestone and shale to get the right depth, but now Tom rests securely in a vault of his beloved soil in the Shenandoah karst. It is in the town where we originally met him in 2002. From there, in 2003, he had moved to Houston, TX, and then back to Virginia. He was great to travel with. Last October, in the middle of our move from Texas back to the east coast, we learned that my brother in law, who lived in the Northeast US, had passed away. I flew Tom in a carry bag from Texas to Virginia, then the next day drove him North to the funeral, and then flew him back to Texas, only to drive him back to Virginia, the place where he had just been! All in less than one week, and in all this time he never complained. I could let him out of his carry bag to go to the litter in the car, at speed, and he would re-take his place without a meow of protest. But it was his silent companionship, his somehow inspiring and beatiful spirit, which we appreciated so much and which moved us so deeply. Indeed, there is a peace that passeth understanding, and we know Tom is there now.
Fly free, our boy, our sweet, sweet boy. We hold you in our hearts.
Ilkka and Barbara
