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Isis
June 18, 1988 - June 13, 2000
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Isis was born in Leesburg, Virginia and joined our family in October of that year. The runt of her litter, she was the proverbial black sheep compared to her perfectly-marked Tonkinese siblings. Her mink-soft silver gray fur and green eyes reflected her Burmese half, but her temperament was definitely Siamese. In her prime Isis weighed only seven and a half pounds, but her lungs must have taken up most of her body. She had the biggest, loudest mouth we ever heard and the most demanding, people-oriented personality. Her daddy called her “The Mouth of the South,” “Screamin’ Demon,” “Demando Commando,” and “Isis the Crisis.” There was a forcefulness in that tiny little body, a fierce spirit. This was a cat who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who was utterly fearless, who had the strongest sense of self. Isis was the smartest cat we ever knew. She, herself, knew that she was on par, if not better, than any mere human.
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Isis loved her brother Leo. They played together and chased each other. They snuggled and had lick fests which sometimes ended in “fights” which Isis usually won. After washing Leo’s face and neck and the insides of his ears, she would proceed to gnaw on his head. The objective was to evict Leo so she could have the now nicely warmed up kitty bed to herself. But Leo got even with her. Whenever Isis started caterwauling, Leo, although neutered, thought this was a mating call. He would grab her by the skin of her neck and pull her down on her side. She’d go along with him, let him think he was a big macho man, and then she’d pull away and take off. Isis’ sisters were another matter. She peacefully co-existed with most of them, but there was one, in particular, whom she really liked to get a rise from. In fact, the very first clue that something was wrong was when she stopped picking on this sister.
Isis loved warmth: sitting in sunlight, under lamps and on radiator covers; burrowing under comforters; sitting in her people’s laps. She loved to chew on shoelaces and if you left your shoes out, even briefly, you would come back to find your shoelaces slimed. She would follow her daddy around the house, screaming for attention, and when she got it, roll on the floor, stretching out like a little sausage for a tummy rub. Her daddy called her a tube with legs, but to her mom she was a little rat in a cat suit. Isis was a bird-watcher. On weekend mornings she’d ask her mom to hold her and together they would look out the window at the birdfeeder. Isis liked big birds best--doves and crows, but especially grackles. She would chatter at and sass those birds. We could just imagine the English translation. But we all thought the jay was the real Isis bird because he had a big mouth just like hers. Isis loved to lick her daddy’s forehead and face, which he stoically endured, because he knew it was an expression of her love. If you touched her face softly, she would push it into the palm of your hand and lick your fingers.
In November, 1995, Isis became constipated and extremely dehydrated. She spent several days in the hospital on IV fluids. After that, she became anemic and developed a heart murmur. A few Epogen shots and fluids given at home brought her back as if nothing had happened. For over four years she stayed well with fluids given three times a week and periodic trips to the vet for monitoring. Then, in January, 2000, she took a turn for the worse. She started losing weight and her hind legs became weak. We had to increase the fluids to once a day, adding vitamins B6, B12 and potassium and start her on medication for high blood pressure. She rallied again, but her comeback was not as strong as the first time. She now weighed less than five and a half pounds. In early June, she started to become withdrawn. She ate and drank and used her litter, she moved about and was affectionate, but she was losing her spark. She tired easily. She came to detest the fluid therapy. Finally, she began to vomit each evening. She was drawn and extremely thin. It was time to let go. Her body was poisoning her and it was time to free her from its prison. It was the hardest thing we ever did in our lives. The right thing, but the hardest.
Isis died five days short of her twelfth birthday. Dear little Po-Po Cat, your ashes are on your daddy’s bookshelf and next to them your picture in a beautiful frame of hammered silver. It was a privilege to have known you. We were blessed that you graced our lives. We love you, Isis and always will.
Willie Morris wrote about the death of his beloved dog: “They had buried him under our elm tree, they said-yet this was not totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.”
And that is where you are, Isis. In our hearts.
Ellen Rajewski and Tim Gonzales
Alexandria, Virginia