Circe

Circe came into my life strangely, which isn't strange at all considering my life.  A drag queen friend of mine in the apartment building I lived in at the time had apparently adopted him, but then gone into the hospital for some time with health problems.  For some reason, he let a woman named Adrianna take the cat temporarily.

I had recently moved back to Ohio, and was catless.  I had been thinking about adopting one, but I was completely broke at the time and really couldn't afford it.

Adrianna lived downstairs, and had a penchant for cranking up music extremely loudly -- for hours -- all through the night.  I couldn't sleep, and it was terribly annoying.  I went down to confront her one night, and this teeny little ball of black fur crept out the door.  He was barely large enough to fit in my hands at the time (and I have small hands).  I was immediately entranced by this little kitty, but I was dealing with this horrible woman and her obnoxiously loud music.  I asked her politely to turn it down; she refused.  I called the police and complained.

The next time I saw her, I was confronting her once again for the same problem.  This time, she threatened me.  And once again, this tiny little ball of black crept out the door as she screeched "Cat!  come back here!"  I was appalled.  Again, I called the police.

I then found out that if I called them one more time to complain about her disturbing the peace, they would arrest her.  I promptly went to her apartment and told her this interesting fact.  She once again threatened me, but apparently thought better of it, as she showed up at my door a few days later, asking if I would mind if she cranked up her music for a couple of hours, as her mother was visiting the next day, and she cleaned better with music on.  I was cool to her, but told her I appreciated her asking and said yes, that would be fine with me.

She then invited me to her apartment.  The little kitten completely had stolen my heart.  Adrianna had a large dog, and was complaining that she was irritated that the dog had gone into a false pregnancy because of the kitten, while at the same time saying she was afraid the dog would hurt the kitten (go figure).  She also told me she was feeding the kitten corn flakes, and her "litter box" was a cardboard box with shredded newspapers in it.  I was utterly appalled.  As she was complaining, I opened my mouth and said "Well if you don't want the cat, I'll take it."  I had no money, I was in dire poverty, but I just knew that cat was supposed to be with me.  She said she'd think about it.

A couple of days later, she knocked on my door.  "Do you still want that cat?"  "Yes," I said.  She disappeared, and came back up with the little kitten in a huge laundry basket.  I was delighted, but had to do the same things she had done for a day (corn flakes and newspapers) until I could get cat food and a litter box.

I spent my money on those things, and ate chicken broth and peanut butter for meals.  She had named the cat Sabbath, after the band Black Sabbath.  I didn't like it, and renamed her (although he turned out to be a "him") Circe.  We had a rough go of it in the beginning.  He was a rowdy kitten, and I was in a terrible state financially and emotionally.  Finally, one day, I sat down and talked to him, and asked him for his help, explaining the situation.  He calmed down a great deal after that, and I was very happy with my little bundle of fur.

I found out my sweet little Cancerian had a major attitude one day after taking him to the vet for the first time.  I had taped my autograph collection to the wall, and had to run out immediately after bringing him home from the vet.  I came home an hour later to find neat little claw-mark tears through half my autograph collection, and a cat with a "why, whatever are you upset about?" look on his face.  Sneaky little devil, Circe was.

Circe's name got mangled, of course, as they all do.  Circle (pronounced "ser-suhl") was the main one, followed by Circle-Dude (pronounced the same way), Circle (pronounced as it looks).  When I found out she was really a he, I joked that I should change the spelling of his name to "Sir-Sea" (although I never did).

I found out she was a he one day while brushing him.  I was brushing "her" belly, when I noticed something that definitely did *not* look normal.  It took me a minute before I went "Oh, my God!  It's a boy!"  Ironically, this was after he had been spraying, and I had taken him to vet, explaining what had been happening, and asking about it, complete with a urine sample.  The vet had no idea.  Needless to say, I changed vets shortly thereafter.  A vet that doesn't understand what's going on when you say "She's been urinating all over the place, and it smells really strong, and she's been backing up to pee . . ." shouldn't be in veterinary medicine, I suspect.

Circe's first crisis came when my ex-husband and I were going out to vote.  Circe had a terrible habit of trying to run out the door in the apartment building (it was an enclosed apartment building).  He would always run up to the third floor, where, it turns out, he was born.  I think he was looking for his mother (he was, after all, a Cancerian).  My ex was making the mistake of standing in the doorway with the door open when, as was his wont, Circe started to run through the door.  I yelled at my ex to close the door, which he did -- without looking.  I sighed about having to go get Circe (we had a half-hour left to vote in a Presidential election), but when I opened the door, I saw about two inches of black furry something . . . Oh My God!  It was part of his tail!  I completely freaked, and ran upstairs to find Circe seemingly unconcerned, with bone sticking out of his tail.  In the chaos, somehow, we got a cab and ran him to the new vet, who stitched up his tail and he was perfectly fine, albeit with a shorter tail.  Given that his tail was absolutely the hugest, longest tail I'd ever seen, I suppose this could have been foreseen, but it was a terrifying experience for me at the time.  Circe came through it like a trouper, though.

Circe's second crisis came when my ex and I split up.  As he was moving things out of the apartment, he accidentally stepped on Circe's foot.  Circe seemed fine, so he went on.  Later that evening, Circe tried to jump up onto the couch, and suddenly couldn't.  My boyfriend at the time and I ran him to the emergency vet, who couldn't figure out what was going on.  Neither could the regular vet.  We took him to the wholistic vet, who actually bothered to take an x-ray, and saw that there was some bone damage.  He got a splint, but even after that walked with a limp.  Several months later, I came home one day to find him seemingly paralyzed behind the couch.  I ran him into the regular vet, who diagnosed a stroke.  I believe to this day that the paw damage was more than that, and was actually also a first stroke.

We got him on medication, but he also had a severe eye problem, which we thought was an infection at first.  It turned out to be much more.  He had a squamous cell carcinoma in his mouth and sinus cavity.

It was horrendous to watch this beautiful, sweet cat go through all of this.  He limped, his eye was filled with pus, he sneezed blood.  He still had a lust for life, but I was horrified at his quality of life.  The vet said he had maybe a month or two to live.

I decided to put him down.  The last night, I gave him turkey (his favorite), baby food (beef -- his second favorite), and catnip.  We took him back to the apartment where he was born, and he was so excited, his eyes were shining.  He ran around the building, and when I tried to pick him up to go to the vet, he growled at me.  I let him go awhile longer, and then picked him up and took him in.

It was a nightmare.  On the way to the vet, the song on the radio was "Take Me Home Tonight", which should have told me something.  The one vet I took him to for this was my usual vet at the time, but he hates euthanizing, and was clearly upset about it.  He had a hard time getting the needle in, which agitated Circe.  Circe was fighting everything.  I left with a horrible feeling I had made the wrong decision at the wrong time.

In retrospect, I think I did.  I think he needed more time.  It is so hard to know and understand when the right time is.  I know now to listen to the cat, and ask them if it is the right time.  I jumped the gun with Circe, but I know he has forgiven me.  He has been back many times, and I rejoice each time.
 

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