Mojo

Born:  August 15, 1996
Died:  September 20, 1998; died at emergency vet's of heart failure
Gender:  Male
Type:  Domestic Shorthair
Coloring:  Black & White
Origin of Name:  Musician/comedian Mojo Nixon
Nicknames:  Moj, Moji, Mo-Mo, Moji-Oji-Woji-Foji, Lard-Butt
Unique Habits/Characteristics:  Stretching out completely flat on the floor; drooling in my hand; licking feet; sleeping with head in my husband's socks and/or shoes
Diseases/Illnesses:  Cystitis; FLUTD; heart murmur (probably underlying Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy)

Mojo was another of those Very Special Cats, like Sonia.  He, too, was a black-and-white short-haired cat.

Mojo showed up on the doorstep (literally) one of those odd 70-degree days in early January (odd for Ohio, that is).  He drew Internet's attention, since Internet was looking out the window at the time.  Internet got excited, meowed, looked at me like "Well, what are you waiting for?  Bring him in!"  I looked out, and there he was -- an adorable little kitten, about 5 months old.

I went out and introduced myself.  He was happy to meet me, and purred and rubbed against me.  I brought him inside, and he made himself quite at home almost immediately.  A few of the other cats were hissing, but Internet walked right up to him and they introduced themselves.  Mojo was careful around Cosmo, and did exactly the right thing by letting Cosmo check him out and sitting still, being non-threatening.  After six hours, *everybody* was getting along with Mojo.

I felt completely like he belonged with us, even though I knew he was living somewhere else, and had just temporarily escaped.  I couldn't reconcile the mixed feelings, and had no idea what would happen.

I took him up to the bedroom to wake my husband up.  I put him on the bed, and quite startled my husband when he opened his eyes to this huge strange cat face staring at him.  It was incredibly funny.  I said "You have a visitor", much as my mother did with Karma so many years earlier.

I was in love with the guy, but knew I had to do the right thing and find where he belonged.  I had knocked on a few doors, but it was Sunday, and no one was home early in the day.  I sent my husband out after dinner to try again, and he came back with a neighbor who said "Yes, that's Clovis."

The neighbor and I had a history of sorts.  I had met she and her boyfriend when they moved in, and had had no problems.  But when her sister moved in with them, there were confrontations about parking (it's limited, and she was continually parking in front of my apartment, leaving me no place to park).  That had caused bad blood between their household and ours.

The woman was guarded, but reasonably friendly.  After identifying the cat, we talked for a bit.  It turned out that her sister had adopted the cat from a local hairdresser (who had rescued him from the street).  But her sister had taken off, leaving the cat behind (and ripping her own sister off).  The woman didn't feel that she could take care of the cat (she already had a cat and a dog), and was contemplating taking him to the Humane Society.  She didn't want to do that, because she was afraid they would put him down (they would have, I'm certain of it).  I said "We'll keep him!"

We talked for a few more minutes.  She seemed a little sad that he had made himself at home so quickly (and it was completely obvious he was at home).  She agreed to let us keep him.  Thus, my conflict I didn't understand made sense and was resolved.

I hated the name Clovis, and so did he.  I knew a guy with that name who was cruel to other people, so I looked around for a name that fit.

One day, I was listening to Mojo Nixon.  "That's it," I thought.  Mojo.  He was a character, and very special besides.  He most definitely had an attitude, mixed with a deep sweetness.  He was, indeed, magical.  And very, very funny.

He was a Cosmic Clown.  He came into our lives at a time when we were again in dire poverty (my life seems to go in those sorts of cycles).  We already had three cats, and adopting a fourth was insane.  But I felt like he had been searching for us, and we needed him.  We were both depressed; into our lives pops a cat whose markings gave him a permanent smile on one side of his face.  His antics made us crack a smile at least once a day, if not more often.  It was like he was sent to lift us out of our misery.

Oddly enough, several things did change right about the time he came into our lives (one being that my husband got a job the week after he showed up).  Other things happened around the same time that set me onto a new career path, and got me out of depression.  Mojo came to us to help, I firmly believe.

Mojo was completely in love with playing.  Some cats worship food; some cats worship petting; Mojo worshipped play.  He played relentlessly with Internet (eventually, to Internet's frustration), with toys, with anything.  "Da Bird" (one of those wonderful feathers-on-a-fishing-pole toys that I favor) drove him nuts.  He would leap into the air and do *flips*!  It was amazing to see.

He played so hard (I thought) that he would start panting.  Terribly.  And have to stop for awhile.  At first, it didn't worry me too much.  It was summer, he played *hard*, I was assured by friends it was normal.

We got Trill and he and Mojo were best buddies (the other three were older, and even though they all played to some degree, Mojo was happy to have a younger cat to play with that had his stamina).  They played, they fought, they bathed, they chased.

The only cat that had a problem with Mojo (until Internet got tired of Mojo trying to "make love" with him, at least) was Sabra.  Sabra was Top Cat until Mojo came along, and since everybody adored Mojo, Sabra was in danger of losing his position.  One night, I was on the porch talking to a neighbor.  Mojo was on the back of the couch looking out the window (one of his favorite positions), and Sabra wanted up.  Sabra jumped up, gave Mojo the "death bite" (on the back of his neck), and hung on.  Mojo froze, I froze, Sabra froze.  Finally, Sabra let go, and Mojo ran away and hid for quite some time.  After that day, Mojo was more careful of Sabra, and it was as though Mojo ruled, but only because Sabra allowed him to, and he knew it.

Oddly, Mojo loved Sabra, too.  Sabra's asthmatic, and Mojo would hang close to him during his attacks, and try to distract Sabra with play.  He would sit by Sabra, with a worried look on his face.  He was turning into that Very Special Cat he became.

When Mojo hit sexual maturity, there was no doubt about it whatsoever.  We were still tight on money, but my old vet let me make payments, so we took him in to get him neutered and get his vaccinations.  It was very hot, July, and they kept him overnight, as was their policy.  Then they kept him for another night.  And a third.  I had no idea what was going on, and was terribly worried.  They said he had a "slight fever", and they just wanted to be careful.

When I got him home, he was utterly listless, as though his soul was gone.  For a week, he did nothing but sleep, eat, use the litterbox, and stare off into space.  He didn't respond to me, my husband, or the other cats (or did minimally, at best).  I had the horrible feeling something had happened, but had no idea what.

It took him six months to get back to his old self.  He came back with a vengeance, and I was so happy to have my old Mojo back.

Mojo was a foot fetishist (and I am praying this page does not show up under porn in search engines because of that statement . . .).  But seriously, he loved my husband's shoes, and socks.  He'd sleep on them (practically *in* his shoes).  And he'd lick our feet.  It was utterly hilarious.

He also drooled.  He loved to lay his head on my hand, in the crook of my thumb and first finger.  He would just purr like a loud engine, and drool all over my hand, happy as could be.  He was the *happiest* cat I've ever known.

We called him Moj, Mojie, Mojie-Ojie-Wojie-Fojie (don't ask me, I have no idea what God of Silly Nicknames whispers to me and tells me these things!), Mo-Mo.  And Lard Butt.  Yes, Mojo became a *huge* roly-poly cat.  There is still a dent in the cushion in the couch by the window he loved to look out of.

He was a terrible food hog, and would try to steal the other cats' food.  My husband and I came up with a routine that cured him of it.  We had to watch them all when they ate, and when Mojo was done (first, of course), my husband or I would block him from going to or even seeing the other cats' food dishes by standing in front of him and moving whenever he did.  It took quite awhile, but eventually, he learned to just go sit in that dent on the back of the couch when he was done with his share.

One of his other odd habits was laying flat on the ground, like one of those cats in cartoons who've been run over by a bulldozer.  I'd never seen a cat flatten out that much, and he was a *large* cat, so it was even stranger to see him do it.

I work as an astrologer and psychic.  That doesn't mean I always know everything that's going to happen to everyone at any time; that's impossible.  I did feel, strongly, that something wasn't right with Mojo.  The hard road back from his neutering only confirmed that for me.  I felt he had a heart murmur, and some sort of underlying heart problem.  I asked two different vets, on a total of four occasions, about it.  All four times, they checked, and said "No, he doesn't have a heart murmur."  Not once did either one suggest that bloodwork may reveal something, or that an ultrasound or EKG could be done (even if they thought it unnecessary).  My old vet had only seen him twice, for the neutering and follow-up booster shots.  I had started going to another vet who was closer, had better hours, and was more affordable.  They had seen him at least half a dozen times.

I asked fellow psychics (4 or 5 of them); all agreed he had a heart murmur.  But I could not get one vet to diagnose it, or even tell me what I could do.

Tiki had been diagnosed with a heart murmur during the last few years of her life; it was mild (a 2, I think, on the scale), and it's common in older cats.  But Mojo was only two years old; I didn't even know if it was possible at that age.

Mojo developed cystitis, even though I had all the cats on a diet to prevent this (due to Cosmo's problems).  He was treated, and the vet said nothing about watching him carefully after the treatment, or about bringing him back in two weeks later to check him.  That lack of information proved to be a fatal mistake.

I posted to a cat newsgroup about it, and some people there also mentioned cardiomyopathy.  I was getting suspicious that this was the problem.

A very short while later (a week or so), I woke up one morning, and heard Mojo in the litterbox.  He seemed to be there an awfully long time, so I opened my eyes.  He stayed in for quite awhile.

I immediately talked to my husband.  Neither of us had seen this before, and neither knew what was wrong.  I knew I had to have a little time to wake up before I could drive effectively, so I brought a litterbox into the living room to keep an eye on him.

He kept going in and out, and nothing.  Sitting there for a long time.  After about half an hour, I knew something was terribly wrong.

We rushed him to the emergency vet.  We sat in the waiting room for two hours before someone saw us.

The vet was good.  The first thing he told us was "Did you know this cat has a heart murmer?"  I cursed in my head, and said "Yes", although I didn't explain.  It was significant, a 3 or 4.  (I personally think it was a 5, but . . .).  He had a urinary tract blockage.  They had to unblock him.  We didn't have the money, and I was upset and went outside to smoke a cigarette and calm down.  We had to do it.  We'd figure the finances out somehow.  I went back in to say "Treat him now."

They did.  He made it through the treatment, but his little heart stopped as he was coming out of the anesthesia.

The vet said "If only you'd come in a little sooner."  I thought "If only we hadn't spent two hours waiting in the waiting room."

My husband and I cried and wailed.  We were in agony.  We cried hysterically, we laughed hysterically.  We probably terrified everyone in the waiting room that day.

They brought his sweet little body in for us to say goodbye.  There was blood on his paw from the IV.  His blank eyes were staring, and we shook and cried some more.  We held his body and wept and screamed some more.  We kissed his body, and said goodbye to our magical little Cosmic Clown.

I don't blame the emergency vet.  I know they have to go based on perceived level of emergency.  Although I would think urinary blockages would rate very high, they were very busy that day, and perhaps other animals were in more immediate danger.  It hadn't been 24 hours, I don't think.  Mojo had been chasing Trill as usual through the apartment the evening before around 7:00 pm, appearing to be perfectly normal.  I just think his underlying, undiagnosed heart problem was what killed him in the end.

I still suspect he almost didn't make it through his neutering because of that, but the vets didn't know why and couldn't find the problem.

I still also think if they had listened to me, and if they had given me information -- information freely available on the Internet, I know now -- I would at least have known what I could have and should have done, from having him re-checked after the bout with the cystitis, to knowing I could have done an ultrasound or EKG, if I could have afforded it.  If I couldn't have, it would have been squarely on my shoulders.  But I was not even given the information nor told the options.

I want to make it clear that I have the utmost respect for veterinarians; my first ambition in life was to be one.  However, after this incident, I recognize that veterinarians are much the same as M.D.s.  Some are good, some not so good.  Some are more willing to work with you, to share information; some are not.  Some are too busy for their (and their animal patients') own good; some will take all the time they need to do it right.  Some are up-to-date on the latest treatments; some are stuck in the past.  All (except a rare few) will probably treat an intuitive person saying "I feel this cat has a heart murmor" with disdain, unfortunately.  And that is part (if not all) of what cost this beautiful cat his life at far too young an age.

A few months before his death, I met the beautician I had been told had rescued him from the street.  She remembered him, and was so glad he had been adopted by someone who loved him; she had had to be talked into giving him to the woman down the street, as she intuitively didn't trust her.  She said he used to sit in the salon on the couch, happily watching her do peoples' hair.  I sometimes think he was just slowly trying to make his way to us.

I believe he came to us for a reason, and I think he left for the same, in spite of my anger and pain at losing him.  He has spoken to me a few times since he has been gone, but he is very different from the other cats that have passed over.  He doesn't come here often, and he has actually spoken to me, which none of the others ever have.  It is in a sweet little child's voice, a boy of about 4 or 5.  He tells me that it was time for him to go, and that he is helping others on the other side.  One time when I talked with him, he told me he was helping a little boy of about 7, whose parents had recently divorced, and then his cat, his last comfort, had died.  The boy could see and hear Mojo, and Mojo was helping him to cope.

*That* is a Very Special Cat, indeed.
 

***A Note About the Rainbow Bridge***

I don't want to upset anyone who believes The Rainbow Bridge story with this, or any other story, about my guys.  I work with other realms, and this is what I see.  I have asked others, and they have said that the Rainbow Bridge story is not incompatible with the things I experience, and I don't think it is, either.  It's a beautiful story, and if it gives you comfort, absolutely believe it.  I think sometimes they come back for a time to help us through the grief, and then perhaps they do move on to the Bridge.  Whatever gives you comfort in your loss is real, so please take comfort in whatever works for you.
 

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