Dejah Thoris Burroughs Carter Hoyt, June 12 1989 – June 8 2009
She was the cutest ball of fur you ever saw. For reasons that would take too long to explain, Dan and I broke into the sun room where she was locked — away from her mom. I think she was maybe four weeks old, all fluff and meows.
We bottle raised her and her two brothers — not easy since I had a full time job as a translator at the time. I always thought it was because of that that she was a little shy. Not socialized enough. Didn’t like being held. However when Dan lay down on the floor to read, she would climb between his shoulder blades and fall asleep.
When we put wood down in the hallway of the house in Charlotte, she escaped from where we had her locked up and hid under the neighbor’s porch for two days, refusing to come out. Dan had to go under there to get her. The fit was so tight, he had to strip to his underwear to get her.
As she became tamer with time, Dan was her special person. She used to sit on the bed, on my side, and give me dirty looks when I came to bed, because I was clearly a third wheel.
When we moved from Charlotte, for various reasons, (mostly renting) the cats ended up outdoors. DT took up hunting. She could bring down anything, from rabbits to birds. In Columbia, SC she got me involved with raptor rescue by bringing down a hawk (I think) that we then nursed to health. This while she had a bell on.
When we lived in Manitou Springs and traveled a lot, we boarded the cats while we were gone. If DT got wind she was going to be boarded, she’d run all over the neighborhood to avoid us. More than once we left on vacation and left instructions with our friend Charles to the tune of "When she comes to eat, grab her and take her to the vet for boarding." By this time, we’d have had them indoors only, but her friends, Pete and Randy liked being outdoors and so she did too. If we tried to bring her in she’d cry her heart out to join them.
She was the youngest of the first batch of our cats and answered to ‘baby girl" as readilly as to "DT". She always answerd to Dan, no matter what he called her, though.
When first Randy then Pete died, we brought DT and Pixie inside. She was Pixie’s best friend, comforter and nurse as he declined and died, four years ago. I don’t care what animal experts say, she missed him till today.
If she loved you, she groomed you — usually wildly. We called it "hair by DT" when she licked your hair so it was all at odd angles. If you weren’t feeling well, she crawled in bed with you and did this. Lately she was afraid one of us would think she didn’t love us. She’d walk between us, licking one and then the next.
She’s had diabetes for six months, and we’ve been giving her insulin morning and night. When she seized twice last week while I was away, we thought it was the diabetes. But when I came home on Friday she couldn’t close her mouth and had bloody drool. I thought "tooth. It has to be tooth." But we took her in today, and it turned out she had cancer of the jaw which mestatized all over her lungs and spine. She was in pain and she was only going to get worse. This cancer was very aggressive. It couldn’t have been there more than two weeks.
We did what we had to do.
At times like this, I wish I had more faith in a life after this. I believe there is a G-d, but that doesn’t necessarily imply a belief in the after life.
Heinlein said it’s entirely possible normal people die and disappear forever, but not "saints". Well, I don’t know about saints. And I know every theology is fuzzy on the afterlife of cats.
But tonight I want to believe there is a rainbow bridge and that she’s there, with Pete and Pixel, all of them young and hale again, waiting for us. Until we meet again.
