We called her “Elephant” because she’d trumpet every time she walked into the room. Her real name was Jessie, loosely named after Jesse Owens. As kittens, she and her sister would race after one another like runners at a track meet. We named her sister, Wilma, for Ms. Rudolph. The two kittens became the second and third members of the Apuss sisters. Hubby never liked the name of my older cat, Baby, and, for reasons unknown, started calling her Catapuss. A feisty little kitten, Jessie soon earned the nickname, Batapuss. Not wanting to leave Wilma out of the sisterhood, we started calling her Patapuss, because she was the cuddly one. Move over Andrews Sisters, the Apuss Sisters have arrived.Jessie owed her life to Wilma. When we visited the local branch of the Massachusetts SPCA in search of another feline companion, a lanky and gregarious white kitten with a punk-looking tabby patch on her head drew us to her cage with her engaging ways. Skulking in the shadows behind her was her sister, a stocky, brooding tabby, who looked at us with daggers. The white kitten, soon to be named Wilma, was irresistible. Her sister was, well, her sister. Kind-hearted souls that we are, we couldn’t leave her sister behind, and the aloof little tabby soon to be named Jessie came home, nearly 18 years ago.
Besides her trumpeting and batting at everything that moved, Jessie had two other claims to fame. If there was a box, Jessie would find a way into it, no matter how big or how small. One afternoon last summer, I was drawn to our front hallway by an odd scratching sound. There was Jessie, a bundle of feline annoyance, searching for a way into the box containing the new bathtub. She never found a way into the box, but later that day I found her sprawled atop it sunning herself. I think that counted as a win inside her tiny catbrain.
Her other claim to fame concerned little furry people of the canine persuasion. As aloof as Jessie was toward us hairless beach apes, she loved dogs. She was never happier than when she could flop on the floor and groom a dog. I used to joke that I had the only cat in the world who coughed up dog-fur furballs.We lost Jessie’s sister, Wilma, in 2003 to a fast and invasive cancer at the age of 14. Nearing the end, she took matters into her own paws one night, leaving the house never to return. While I was glad she relieved me of the responsibility of making the decision to end her life, I’ve always felt bad that she died alone in uncertain circumstances. I hope her end was peaceful.
I expected Jessie to mourn her sister, but we saw no outward signs that she was even aware that her sister had vanished. Several months later, however, Jessie developed some strange symptoms that our regular vet could not diagnose. With our vet coming up empty, I requested a referral to Dr. Alan Stewart at San Francisco Veterinary Specialists. After bringing to bear all of the high-tech techniques and equipment that money could buy, we had a diagnosis: irritable bowel disease and low grade lymphosarcoma. With some diet changes and a regimen of prednisolone and lukeran, Jessie’s symptoms abated and the Elephant was back to her old trumpeting self. I’ve always wondered if the stress of losing her sister was a factor in Jessie’s illnesses.
Long story short, Jessie the Elephant, a.k.a. Batapuss, Box-Cat, J.P. and Groomer of Dogs, reached the end of her road today. We had three good years more together thanks to Dr. Stewart and the wonderful folks at SFVS. I’ve had to make this decision for my little furry companions more than a couple of times in the past twenty-odd years. It seems to be getting harder. Perhaps it’s my own increasing sense of mortality —I don’t really know. I know I’ll miss that little puddy for the rest of my life and I hope, when my time comes, that someone will love me enough to help me go. Rest in peace, little elephant.
