In Progress, No Deadline: Samantha a.k.a Sammy, but best known as Lalu

Lalu-jaanu, on our first day together. June 2014. PHOTO BY SI

Lalu-jaanu was a sweet and quiet cat. She had no voice, but often a purr. It sounded like the roses in my mom's backyard - a calm hush on days she wasn't feeling too old. She was 10 years old when I adopted her. On other days, she purred as if to say, things inside were out of order. Things that didn't trouble me, because I read purring was a sign of contentment. It was later that I found out it was also your cat trying to tell you that she was not ok.

She was a patient at a cat clinic. I took her there a few times, then switched to another veterinarian because the new cat was going there and I wanted both of them to get care from the same place. That vet only saw her once and told me that Lalu was suffering from pain in the mouth - gingivitis or worse, periodontal disease. The vet suggested extraction and switching to soft food. She told me to think about it and get back to her.

She never saw the vet again after that. Because after AK, there was Mini. Both AK and Mini had significant health issues that I was not equipped to handle. AK at 4, had UTI (urinary tract infection) - at least that's what I thought he had at the time. I never found out what it actually was, and still am not sure. A few days before, he was showing signs that something was amiss, but I had hoped it was the same as last time, and that soon, he'd be back to somewhat normal. Four days later, he was dead. Lalu saw it all. She was on the bed near him. I had him for exactly a year.

Then there was my Mini-munoo. She had CKD (chronic kidney disease) and it was only noticed when her tummy looked like there was a soccer ball inside it. I didn't pay it any mind, but the vet did. She took an x-ray, and then showed me what was going on with Mini. The vet said she would drain the fluid from the cyst that had formed around one of her kidneys, but the CKD couldn't be helped because of the stage Mini was at. She was only 12. I used to say that she accepted death - she stopped eating, stopped drinking water, and just sat in a chair, not responding to me. When the vet and her assistant arrived at my home to put her under, Mini-munoo's former humxn and her partner were there too, and I was grateful for that. She died in my arms.

What about Lalu-jaanu? Well, Lalu passed away about 3 months before Mini. She was really thin - eating kibble was hard on her mouth and probably causing further inflammation in the gums. She had lost a tooth a while back - one of her fangs. I wasn't prepared for what the vet at the emergency animal hospital told me about Lalu's condition. It was worse than I thought. She had fluid around her lungs, so that's why she was having trouble breathing. They put her in a small enclosure and put an oxygen pump in her mouth. I told her everything was going to be ok. She wanted to go home though. As she looked up, our eyes met.

Then the vet came back after the tests were done. Before, it seemed after they got the fluid out, Lalu would be breathing as normal again. This was not the case. They found cancerous tumours in her lung cavity and her tummy. Tooth decay and bad bacteria from the mouth may have been a factor, too. Leaving my Lalu-jaanu at the hospital, I went home to decide on what to do. I called my vet and she said it was too late to save her and putting her down would be the humane thing to do. Mini-minoo was still alive at the time, and gazed up at my tearful complexion. I cuddled her and thought I never had the chance to do this all that much for Lalu.

Just before I took Lalu to the emergency, she came over to where I was, sitting in front of my laptop. I can't remember what I was doing at the time - I was working on something. It was late - around 3 a.m. or nearly 4. I don't quite remember. She came and circled my feet like she'd always do. Then she'd go off into the other room. But after a few minutes passed, I went over to her and found her gasping and lying on her side. This was an emergency and I didn't want what happened to AK happen to Lalu. There was a momentary pause as I struggled to figure out what to do. I called the emergency animal hospital and they told me to bring her in, so I picked Lalu up as gently as I could and put her in the carrier - she was like a feather. When I held her, I felt a swelling on her tummy, but didn't have time to think about it. The taxi arrived.

The thing about Lalu's death was that I failed to be with her when they administered the first injection. That must have been terrifying for her. The first injection was to put her in a kind of peaceful daze. She was alive but barely. Then they brought her to me where I was waiting inside a room with a couch, dim lighting, and a few other things that made it a calm part of the hospital. They left me alone with her before the final injection. I said thank you to her, for the 5 years that she was with me. I said I was sorry that I let her down and didn't check with her first before bringing other cats into our home. I said I really appreciated how much she eventually accepted these cats - AK and Mini - though she took her time. She and AK became like best friends, something that I hadn't noticed until both were gone. There they were, in the pictures. In each one, they were together, sharing their food, interlocking their tails, sitting side by side, one looking at the other as they relaxed in front of the large window.

I looked at her face - her eyes were open but glazed over. She was already gone. The vet came with the second injection and in it went, inside her, to fill up her vessels with pentobarbitol, shooting its way towards the heart. It went faster than that. I was crying, so hard, and kept kissing her forehead. She had passed on. I stayed for some time with her before calling the vet to come take her. I left for home with a heavy heart, burdened by confusion, guilt, and grief. My Lalu was no longer here. She joined AK somewhere in the realm of consciousness, feeling or thought floating in the universe, maybe. Or, maybe she stopped to exist in her capacity as a cat. There was nothing left after, just her ashes.

Lalu-jaanu's ashes are in a small sealed pot like AK's and Mini's. The three petite urns are on top of the bookshelf, along with photos of each of them and their collars. Memorials. Soon, one day, I will release their ashes in Lake Ontario. This was something I had planned on doing last summer, but never got around to it. After COVID-19 is cleared, I promise to myself, to my mom, and to my two kitties who are now my biggest worry, to release the ashes, to let go of the guilt, and to be happy that I had 3 fur babies who lit up my life in the small, precious ways they did.

Lalu was my first adopted cat. I knew she had a tough life before I met her. She had a tough life even after. If I could get inside her mind (and in the minds of all my cats), I'd know what to do to help her remain calm in the face of overwhelming hardship. She was unique with a soul to call her own.

If Lalu-jaanu can hear these words, I hope they will convince her to forgive me.

Rest in Peace, Love, and Joy, Lalu-jaanu, wherever you are, as a spirit, as a star, as air, as nothingness, or whatever you dream yourself to be in death beyond the Rainbow Bridge.