The Passing of PITA

Thursday, June 25, 2026, started out like any other normal day. I got up, fed Kota, greeted the girls,  promising each one that I would feed them once I fed my outside kitties. With their complaints resonating in my ears, Kota and I stepped outside to greet the day.

Walking into the main enclosure, something felt off. All of the kitties (including Ashley) rushed out to greet me, wondering what kind of goodies I had in store for them. They were surrounding me with ankle bumps and meows. But wait: where was PITA in all this?

Typically, PITA would be at the back of her cage, adding her voice to the feline chorus. Walking up to the main feeding platform, I could clearly see the back of her cage. Not only was her voice missing, but so was she! Had she somehow escaped her cage in the night? Dropping everything I hurried around to the front of her cage, opening up her door.

She was lying on the cat condo, her chest rising and falling in erratic waves. I reached out to touch her. Suddenly she exploded. She became a whirling dervish, constantly in motion, head-bumping my forehead as I leaned further inside, trying in vain to count her respirations.

Finally, I gave up. I simply folded my arms around her, singing her a special lullaby, reserved just for her. Now my mind was whirling. What could’ve set her off like this?

Eventually, I could feel her settling down. She nestled deep into my arms. Her breathing was still abnormal. While she was at rest, I counted. Her respirations were up to 78 breaths per minute. I could also feel deep within her tremor which were now invading her body.

What followed that day was 34 days of an emotional roller coaster for both of us. She would have good days, she would have bad days. On her good days, she showed me in every way possible that she was grateful that I was with her. I was with her every single day. She is 17 years old. I’ve had her since she was a kitten. I did so much research, talked to so many people. But what I couldn’t do during that period of time was take her to the vet. I simply couldn’t make it happen.

She stopped eating much. I ended up getting her Delectables. It was the only thing she had any interest to eat.

Although she was barely eating - perhaps half a teaspoon a day - she did not lose weight. She wasn’t nauseated. There was no vomiting, nausea, no fevers, no black tarry stools. She had a few petit mal seizures. There was very little activity in her litter boxes. I wanted to take her in so badly. But due to circumstances beyond my control, I couldn’t manage it.

Last night I had a dream. I was in the cat enclosure. I was spending time with her. She was having a good day. She tolerated the love and pets that I was giving her for just a tiny bit. Then her eyes grew glassy she turned her back to me. This was a posture I had grown to accept. It was her way of telling me that she was not going to have a good day any longer. Then she escaped to the back of her cage.

I closed her cage door, started cleaning litter boxes and straightening up, talking to the kitties as I worked. I felt this strange feeling; I looked around and there was Mike!

He didn’t look like a ghost, he didn’t look like a vision. He wasn’t sprouting angel wings. He was solid. I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. At first, he didn’t speak to me. He just smiled his special smile that he reserved just for me.

He was by her cage. Without even opening the door, he reached inside and picked her up. He snuggled her deep into his arms. Then he turned to me and he said: “Now, it’s my turn.”

Then they both vanished. I woke up, my face was wet. I knew deep in my heart that this was her last day with us.

The stars aligned, I called the vet. A friend was at the ready all day waiting for a call back to see what time they could get me in to get PITA euthanized. Thanks to a giving heart from a caring friend, I had the money finally.

My appointment was at 4:40. My friend who was doing errands at the time picked me up at 4 o’clock. Before we left the driveway I asked her to pray with me. I asked God to please give PITA a peaceful end. Please give Dr. Steve the skill that he needs to help her exit this life quickly.

On the way to the vet, just a block away, PITA’s cries of distress turned into three quick death howls - then,  silence. My friend quickly pulled over to the side of the road and I jumped out. Opening the back end I found her in full seizure mode. I’ll spare you all the details. I called the vet as we sped down the road.

I’m surprised my friend didn’t get a ticket. They rushed me into a room. When they went to pick her up to weigh her, she screamed bloody murder. I looked at her and I knew she was already gone. God had taken her to the point where there was nothing left. Her soul was departing. It was over so quick. Now she is at peace. Now she is with Mike and Jeremy.

I kept apologizing to the vet telling him that I tried to get her in quicker, but under the circumstances I couldn’t. He finally stopped me and told me that he knows how much I care for my animals and how good I am with them. I didn’t even see any change in her until that fateful day, June 25, 2026. In the time before her passage, we connected on such a deep level. I am sure that Mike is holding her as fiercely as I would be right now if I was up there instead of him.

Godspeed my sweet girl. We called you, PITA with love in our hearts. Yes, you were a Pain In The A--, but you were also a cat like no other. I know my son and my husband are getting hundreds of head-bumps now.

Bath-time for Ashley

Ashley’s fur had become so matted over the two-year period of my healing process, when I lost the ability to perform the simplest of tasks, such as taking care of her basic grooming needs.

Through my kitchen window during the day, I would watch her on her favorite perch, tear out chunks of her hair, dropping the excess on the ground.

Soon, the floor of the cat enclosure became carpeted with her hair, as if a giant spider had landed and woven a giant web in an attempt to capture an alien being. Daily sweeping became fruitless. The next day, more hair would appear in its place. This spectacle was quite concerning, motivating me to push harder in physical therapy both at home and in the clinic. I needed my right hand back.

Finally, on June 22nd, after months of Ashley successfully eluding me, I was able to pick her up, place her inside of her carrier and bring her into the house.

That fateful morning, I had a feeling that my efforts to help her would pay off. Previously that day, I prepared the bathroom for her arrival: everything off the floor, countertops, top of the toilet lid, rugs removed, even the shower curtain flung up out of the way of her sharp claws; piles of fresh towels in the corner, square bucket waiting in the shower stall; grooming tools, including a new set of cat clippers at the ready.

My question to myself as I closed the bathroom door behind us: “I was ready for battle, but would my right hand cooperate?” The deeper question: “Would Ashley?”

The answer came suddenly wafting through the air. She was crouched in her carrier. I could smell the unmistakable odor of what I learned over time to call her ”PTSD poop.”

I’m unsure what brings this on every time I try to groom her or brush her or, God forbid, remove her mats. More than likely it’s a combination of her tumultuous introduction into a fiery world where she lost not only her mom, but also most of her siblings.

Her attempts to find mom’s milk bar led to her and her brother to ingesting large amounts of dirt, toxic ashes, small bits of gravel, and culminated in a 45-day stay at the vet’s in order to save the two survivors.

Taking a calming breath (wishing I had on a rubber apron), I picked her up and set to work with the shaver. I’d hoped that instead of using the brushes, combs, or the seam ripper, this might stop her rancid flow of poop. I was mistaken.

Three hours later, after multiple rest periods, her hair was now inside the trash bin. Poop was everywhere-even on the walls. The floor was slippery. The bathroom fans were running full force, all in vain. Welcome to her PTSD world.

She was back inside her top-loading carrier. This was her safe-spot where she was retreating to every time she jumped away from me down to the floor. She was growling, spitting, swearing at me, daring me to try to pick her up one more time.

Lukewarm water now filled half the bucket. I squirted some Dawn into the mix.  Picking her up carefully, avoiding her extended claws. I dunked her rear into the water. Her claws now clung tightly to the lip. Grateful that they weren’t in me, I set to work.

Four butt-baths later, I went to lift her slippery body one final time. She wouldn’t give with her claws. Carefully, I slid my right hand down by her back, cupped her rear to lift her out.

Without warning, she tensed up. She bent her back legs, digging them into my right palm, launching herself into the air and back into her carrier. I pulled my hand out of the soiled water and looked at it.  The gashes were deep. Trying to ignore the pain, I turned my attention to her, to finish the job.

An hour later, she was dry and back with her friends, while I was on my way to Urgent Care. The doctor smiled when he walked into the room. I am well-known there.

“Another cat bite?” he inquired.

“No, not this time,” I answered as I unwrapped my hand, showing him the damage. I thanked God that my tetanus shot was up-to-date. Occupational hazard. This time it only took five stitches to close the wound.

I thoroughly expected the next morning for her to completely avoid me. To my surprise, she came running up to me and head-bumped my ankles! I believe she was telling me in her way:

“Thanks, Mom, for loving me despite all my flaws.”

I bent down to gently pet her, relieved that all her mats were now gone. I could sweep the floor one final time and life could then return to normal - as if anything in my life is truly normal.

Memories

These are some of my memories of cats I’d like to share…

I think I am eight years old in this photo; I’m not sure. I am holding Goldie, and Tansy is laying in front of me. In all my childhood pictures, I am never holding dolls or stuffed toys. I am always holding cats. They’re larger than me. I’m surprised they tolerated it. LOL

This is Gulliver. We called him Gulliver because he loved to travel. In Alaska, he would hop into the UPS truck and the driver took him on his routes and then brought him back at the end of the day. He and I had such a bond that when we first moved to Oregon. One of the first things he did was run up a Heritage tree; he was way up there. Michael called me to tell me that he was up in the tree and I ran outside. I couldn’t even see him. He was so high up. Without even thinking about it, I yelled up at him “Gulliver, please come down!”

Well, he came down all right: he jumped! He landed on me with such force. I was knocked to the ground, and he landed on my face. He scratched my face so bad and then he scampered off and went into the barn. I guess to decompress.

Michael took one look at me and brought me inside and did his first aid magic to try to help me. Then he told me he was taking me to dinner. I put a hat on I wore sunglasses. I had long sleeves on even though it was summertime and hot. 

We went to the restaurant and I excused myself and went into the bathroom to see how bad it was and to try to see if I could clean it up a bit. This elderly woman, she looked like she was going to church, the way she was dressed. She came out of the stall and saw me in the mirror; her face was just priceless. I mean, she just couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She went to wash her hands and was still watching me in the mirror. Then, after she was done, she came up to me and she whispered in my ear, “If I were you, I’d leave the bastard!” And then she left the bathroom. Lol! I doubt she would’ve believe me if I told her a cat did it!

Michael kitty-sitting. In his lap are “The Trips” (Triplets):  Winkin’, Blinkin’ and Noddy.

Prowler. She lived in the rafters of our barn for a year before she decided to trust us. When she finally came down, we discovered she was a polydactyly. She was an amazing kitty. I called her my ambassador. She would take off during the day and she would always come home with an injured kitten or a cat who needed help. Completely unbelievable; she was amazing. I lost her to a cat-food recall. I even took her to a feline center and the vets tried so hard to save her. When they opened her up for the necropsy, they found all of these alien, looking tumors and bumps all over her organs. It was so sad; she was such a beautiful, wonderful cat.

Massey.

This is me. I have Kabota in my lap. We used to refer to him as Tractor Butt. He was one of Fern’s kittens. His sister, Shredder, is also tucked into my lap.

We called these girls the Triplets: Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Noddy. When they were just days old, someone left them in my mailbox. All three almost died, but they survived and went on to loving homes.

On the left is Nortie; to the right of him is Smudge, and in front is Gulliver.

Whistler.

This is Sly. She got run over by a lawnmower and lost her leg. My vet has a saying that all cats are born with an extra leg. She never missed the missing limb.

This is Fern and her babies. She has a very interesting story. We were out in the knife shop working on some knives. It was raining outside and we had the shop doors open. All of a sudden this cat who we had never seen before comes into the shop. Mike was actually relaxing in his chair and she jumped on his lap and dropped a kitten and turned and ran away! Now mind you we had never seen this cat before. She did this four times. 

Mike and I were just looking at each other baffled at what happened. I grabbed an empty cardboard box and a towel. We carried the kittens in the box to the house. The kitty followed us. We took them all upstairs. Neither Mike nor I picked up Fern. But she followed her family and we put them in the kitten room. We just let them be.

Michael had designed custom screen doors for the stairs, so there was a barrier between the new kittens or cat that arrived and the residential cats inside the house. We were sitting at the table discussing these very strange events and all of a sudden she appeared at the bottom of the stairs and she was squalling. She was desperate to get out. I asked him what he thought I should do and he said, “Let her out. If she doesn’t come home, we’ll just have to bottle feed the kittens.”

I opened the door and she ran straight past me to the back door and sat there and just screamed. I opened the door and I watched her shoot straight back to the creek. I waited for quite a while to see if she would come back, but I didn’t see her.

About 45 minutes had passed, so I went to the back door and I looked out back by the creek and I saw her coming back. But something was wrong. She was walking backward? I grabbed the binoculars and I took a look and I was amazed at what I saw. She was dragging a kitten that was bigger than any of the kittens she had upstairs. I called Mike and we both went out and rescued her. I picked up the kitten and Mike picked up Fern and we put them upstairs where they stayed. She was a great mother. We called the big kitten, Kabota and nicknamed him Tractor Butt. The reason we did that was when they were nursing, he would literally just dive onto her nipple and roll across her stomach and all the other kittens would tumble off of her. It was hysterical and we actually did have to bottle-feed so everybody got their fair share.

Smudge. When we lived in Alaska, I found her at the bottom of our hill, near our garage, and she was frozen in the snow. She was just days old. She spent 14 days at the vets and turned around and became the most awesome cat we have ever had. She traveled with us everywhere. She loved to ride in the truck, the motorhome, the boat; she just loved to travel. When we moved down here to Oregon, we had five cats and four dogs in our 35-foot motorhome. She was one of the cats.

When she acclimated to our new home, she loved to just lay out in the front yard on the driveway and catch sun. At that time we had trees that were bordering the front of our properties so the highway wasn’t as busy and active as it is now, and she never went near that road. 

Mike and I were out in the pasture building the horse-fence and we hadn’t built our regular fence around our house yet. The horses came first. I happened to glance out at the driveway and I saw this car coming in. I didn’t recognize. I started walking towards the front yard. It’s quite a distance about a football length distance where we were starting the horse-fence from the yard. As I got closer, this woman got out of the car. She was dressed like a church woman. She was immaculately dress she was elderly. She had heels on and pearls. She looked like she was going to Bible study. She started walking towards Smudge and something about this. Just really hit me, as there’s something wrong.

I started running and when I got there, I asked her what she was doing. She was bent over and she was snapping her fingers trying to get Smudge to come to her. She just said that this was a beautiful cat and wanted to see it. I told her to leave. Something about her something about this whole situation just made me feel very uneasy. I picked up Smudge and put her in the house and watch this woman leave our property.

A few days later, she came back. Again we were out in the pasture working on the fence. I noticed her I dropped everything I took off in a run by the time I got to the front driveway she was gone with Smudge.

I ran in the house, grab my keys, jumped in my truck and followed her. I could see Smudge just freaking out in her car as much as she loved to travel there was something she didn’t like about this woman. One of the windows was opened not very far. But far enough for Smudge to jump out. I saw the car in the other lane hit her and I screamed so loud. I pulled into the center lane and jumped out of my truck and by the time I got to her, she was gone.

I found out later after doing some research that there was an animal research lab in Corvallis that had targeted senior citizens retirement centers, and they were looking for calico cats specifically. They were paying good money and this woman took my cat so that she could have the money.

Smudge is buried in a place of honor underneath our walnut tree. She is loved to this day.

This is Kahuna. He is checking out our latest rescues, which were four baby skunks. Their mom was hit in front of our house. We went out and scoop the babies up so they didn’t get hit as well. They were very small. We bottle-fed them. We would put water in this pool that they had access to. They loved to take baths. Kahuna loved to join them. He was part of a litter of four. I got a call early in the morning by a very angry farmer who is ready to just stick his rifle into his wood pile and blow these kittens to smithereens. I got over there so fast. I think I was even wearing my slippers when I got there. Some people just need to take a chill pill.

This is Scatter and Bacardi, Kahuna’s brother and sister. The tuxedo kitty is Tumbles. Tums was actually thrown down the stairs by his drunk owner. He had some injuries to his back legs that made him walk funny, but he was a wonderful kitty.

Twirl. After I trapped her and let her out, and after she was spayed, she twirled around my ankles and wouldn’t stop. That’s how she got her name. She succumb to squamous cell carcinoma, which invaded the tips of her ears. They did remove her tips, but unfortunately, that pisses off the cancer and it came back with a vengeance, so I had her euthanized.

…So many cats, so much personality, so much love. Thank you for allowing me to share them with you.