Year
2013 Tributes
Dearest furball,
I missed you last night, no warm "s'cuddling" Hope your happy
little soul finds good friends wherever you are. If you
can, let me know how it is, maybe a dream? No sloppy dog
kisses on my face today, just salty tears. I'll keep your
food in case another comes by. Love, Mama Ellie
No one can ever tell me that cats don’t forge
friendships, not after what I have seen over the last five
years, but, especially after what has transpired during the last
couple of weeks, but let’s start about 19 years ago, because
that’s when Ben Ziola was walking to work and heard a small, but
powerful voice calling out to him from a vacant lot on Chicago’s
north side. He was curious as to the source of the sound, but
didn’t have the time to find either the source or the cause that
autumn morning, but it was an eerie wailing which continued to
haunt him throughout his day.
When Ben got off the El that afternoon, his walk back to
his apartment took him past the same empty lot and the cries
were still cascading out over the background of urban noise so
he decided to investigate the cause. Between the sounds from the
traffic, the passing trains, and the fact the calls had both
grown weaker, and were no longer as frequent, this took some
time, but after several minutes he had found the source: a tiny
white kitten, with even tinier black markings on his forehead
and body, lie scared, cold, and hungry on the ground.
He had been separated from his mother. Whether she had been
removed by someone or scared out of the place she had chosen to
have her litter of kittens; whether he was a single kitten or
had litter-mates, or whether she had been killed by an animal or
run over by a car was irrelevant: this tiny little kitten was
alone, hungry, and would not survive much longer. The little
furry ball, which was small enough to fit into the palm of his
hand, was cold, shaking and scared, and the little guy’s eyes
were not even opened yet. His only survival resource had been a
powerful voice. So Ben picked him up, tucked him safely into his
shirt to keep him warm and took him home.
Over the course of the evening he cleaned him up and
gently spoon fed him warmed milk. Ben’s other cat, Pharaoh, was
curious and eyed the newcomer cautiously, but in a friendly
manner. As Pharaoh was a male cat, could not do much except
provide some much-needed body warmth to this new addition as Ben
continued to provide a slow stream of nourishment to him via his
frequent spoon feedings. During the next several days the new
cat bonded closely with Ben, accepted the warmth of Ferrell, and
continued to lap warm milk from a spoon as he gained strength
and eventually opened his eyes to discover his new world.
Ben eventually named the new cat George, a name suggested
by his friend Brian, because Ben could not decide on a name. So
now, that he was equipped with a name, the small furry creature
gained strength, and could see the world around him, George’s
adventures in life could begin in earnest.
George accepted new his feline friend Pharaoh and they
developed a close bond, sleeping together, playing together, and
even chasing a small dog around one of the apartment buildings
where they lived. Life was good and George slowly began to grow
into an adult cat who was grateful to this human called Ben;
this person who had rescued him from a cold and empty field in
Chicago’s Old Town neighborhood where he would have most
certainly become just another abandoned cat statistic, had he
survived, but more than likely would not have survived more than
another night.
Ben moved several times during the next few years. There
was an apartment in Old Town, a shared space with some
Puppeteers and other friends in an old Funeral Home, and various
apartments in Wicker Park and Montrose Park. George and Pharaoh
were best friends and George even started to go outside and
“patrol” the walkways around the apartment buildings in which he
lived. During these explorations he always remained in a small
area, and usually just walked up and down the sidewalk a few
times, immediately returning home to the safety of Ben’s
apartment and the companionship of his buddy, Pharaoh. George
and Pharaoh would help Ben survive cancer, the death of several
friends, and provide good companionship for Ben during many
difficult times.
Several years ago, when I first met Ben, Pharaoh had
already passed away, so it was George and Ben with whom I became
acquainted. George was leery of me at first, and wanted nothing
to do with me unless Ben was right there, so he would go and
hide. Eventually, and mostly after Ben moved in with me, George
decided I might be a good person to know, and warmed up to me to
the point where he would occasionally come and sit on my lap for
a few minutes at a time. He loved to sit and sleep on the
cushion in front of the door of my office because that door,
which let out to a second floor balcony, faced south and there
was always a nice warm spot in the sun, even on the coldest days
of the year. In spite of his initial standoffishness, George and
me would become good friends during the last few years of his
life.
I gave George the nickname “Buttercat” because he loved to
hustle both of us for a pat of butter each morning. I was
usually the first one up each day and as soon as I came down the
stairs George was there to greet me with several moderately loud
“meow” “meow” “meow” as he moved toward the kitchen.. He didn't
want milk, he wasn't looking for food that early, he wanted his
morning ration of butter. So, as I was preparing the coffee, I
dutifully sliced a small amount of butter from the dish and
placed it into his bowl and he promptly quieted down, went over
tested it to see if it was soft enough to slowly lap up –
waiting appropriately if it was not – and then proceeded to
slowly lap it up as he savored very mouthful. This process was,
of course, repeated when Ben came down to the kitchen each
morning. I suspect that he also hustled additional butter from
Ben throughout the day as well.
George had always been around other cats and animals, but
nothing would prepare him for the four kittens and mother cat
which were found by me and Ben under the porch of our house.
When we first located them there, on an Easter Sunday, in March,
of 2008, we made certain they were sheltered and the mother cat
was properly fed and had water and an occasional bowl of milk to
drink.
We anticipated we would eventually take them into a place
like Tree House or PAWS to get help in finding homes for them.
We also anticipated trapping, spaying and releasing the mother
cat so she could live out her life safely in our back yard,
under our care and supervision, and not be burdened with
additional litters of kittens. But, the Great Financial
Depression of 2008 would interfere with those plans, and both
the kittens and mother cat ended up living with us and becoming
part of the family.
We had delayed bringing them in as long as we could, but
we were about to do some significant work in the yard which
could have put their safety in jeopardy so they came inside.
Initially, as we weaned them off the mother cat, and taught them
how to eat canned and dried cat food, they all lived in a clean
and safe environment in our basement. During that time, they
were typical kittens and the mother cat would watch us, but not
interact at all. She was happy we were protecting her family,
but didn't quite trust us yet.
As they got larger and matured, we knew we would have to
get their shots and have them checked out, and we also wanted to
protect George and Mr Bookitty, my cat, from any diseases or
pests which might have been brought in from the outside, so we
made arrangements to take them all down to PAWS for a checkup,
neutering, shots and to have them chipped. This included George
and Mr Bookitty as well. So, over the course of the next several
weeks, we were up on Tuesday mornings at 4:30 AM to get those
who were scheduled for that date to the PAWS center no later
than 6:00 AM so we would be ensured of being part of that day’s
schedule. They were all in good health, all survived, and all
became part of our happy family. Suddenly we went from a two cat
household to a seven cat household.
Everyone got along well, for the most part. George’s
reaction to these new-found bundles of energy was not quite as
accommodating as Mr Bookitty’s, and he typically tolerated the
kittens, occasionally hissing at them when they got too
rambunctious or were overly aggressive about getting into his
private space. With some vary minor exceptions, they all lived,
played and slept together and we had a very happy household.
As happens with all of us, George recently began to slow
down. He didn't play as frequently, treasured his moments in
sunny windows, and took to sleeping on his favorite chair, on
his favorite blanket, in the living room more frequently than
the time he spent interacting with the other cats in the house.
The shoulder rides he loved as a kitten, when he would jump up
on Ben’s shoulders were no longer something he was interested
in, and he didn’t have any interest in playing with the kittens
any longer. He was content to allow us to come to him, make
certain he had his fresh cat food in the mornings and evenings,
and loved it when we would help him clean out his eyes, rub the
bridge of his nose, under his chin, or between his hears. The
last four items were certain to elicit loud purring noises as he
drifted back to sleep on his, now very private and personal,
chair.
During the past few weeks, we began to notice he slowed
down even more. He was no longer the first one to run to the
kitchen in the mornings He would no longer meet me at the bottom
of the stairs and meow for his butter, content to follow me into
the kitchen and await my, now very automated response, of
slicing a small portion off the stick of butter and placing it
into his dish.
George was no longer able to clean himself properly, so we
took turns brushing his beautiful fur coat to prevent it from
becoming matted; cleaning the discharge from around his eyes;
gently stroking the bridge and upper sides of his nose to help
keep his breathing passages opened up and gently rubbing him
between and behind his ears and under his chin – the areas he so
loved to have rubbed and which always ensured the loudest purrs
and, when he was stronger, the biggest and most repeated
head-butts requesting “more, more” when we would stop. We would
occasionally bring a warm washcloth and wipe his face off, rinse
the cloth out and then clean off the rest of his ever more frail
little body, always rinsing one final time and giving his face
one more gentle wiping as he began to purr louder which meant it
was getting close to nap time again.
Having, myself, lost several large dogs and a few cats to
natural causes, I saw the signs of George’s weakened stage and,
this past Friday, as we were planning to head out for one of my,
now annual, class reunions, communicated to Ben that I thought
George might be preparing to slip away. I wanted to give Ben the
opportunity to cancel our pans to be with his long-time cat
companion, George, at the appropriate time. Ben said, “No, I was
not there with Pharaoh when he passed . . .” and his voice
trickled off to the point where I could not hear the remainder
of what he was saying. He knew the time was near, and we had
made plans for his good friends, Tom and Tani, to cat sit for us
and take care of our furry family while we were away – knowing
they would keep us informed of any new turn of events.
George made it through the weekend, awaiting Ben’s return.
When we returned home Ben checked him, cleaned him up again and
resigned himself to the fact that his remaining time on this
side of the Rainbow Bridge was short. We continued to check on
him throughout the night, keeping him warm, wiping out his eyes,
and putting small drops of water into his mouth so he could
swallow properly. George’s responses were the usual purring
noises, now greatly reduced in volume, but still strong enough
to let us know that he knew we were there with him and his way
of telling us he was grateful for our being there and taking
care of him.
Ben was the last to check on George at approximately 3:30
AM on Monday morning.
When I awoke at 7:30 this morning, I went downstairs to
find the four kittens: Mr Steed, Max, DoriAnn, and Rebecca, now
fully grown cats, sitting quietly next to George, surrounding
him in a semi-circle, and joined by the newest cat family
member, Bela, as they paid quiet respects to their fallen
comrade and sometime former playmate George. Both Mrs Peele, the
mother of the kittens, along with Mr Bookitty, were cuddled up
on the bed, next to Ben, keeping him company as he slept.
George “Buttercat” Ziola had left our realm sometime
during the time between Ben returning to bed at around 4:00 AM
and my coming down at 7:30, but the other cats made certain that
George was not alone as they remained by his side until we
returned.
George “Buttercat” Ziola, December, 1 1993 – August 5,
2013
Gibson I remember when we brought you home and
a couple days later you almost died. You made it through that,
and we thought you'd be with us forever, but life has a way of
not doing what you expect. But we now realize that even if you
were only with us for 1 1/2 years, you will be with us forever
in our hearts. Still, I cried and cried hoping you would come
back. We love and miss you very much.
love,
Reeghan, Ryan, Mom, Dad, Luka, and Bella
Much can be said about my beloved Ginger. Ginger was a
pure breed Boxer who loved to box and had a great right hook.
She was the guardian of our family, the caretaker of our hearts,
the playful friend,the obedient follower. She was unlike any pet
I've ever seen or met. Ginger was a gentle giant that made her
way in our hearts and lived there for 10 years. She loved taking
pictures with the family, especially the kids. She loved being
with us and showed us every day, whether we were just laying
around with her or she was sneaking up behind the kids and
pulling their hair and running. She loved to give hugs and
always seemed to give them at the right time. She would bow her
head and put the top of her head on our chests as if to say "I
luf you". She brought a balance to our home that we have not
been able to find since.
It is going on 2 years since my Ginger passed and she is still
the topic of our "remember when" conversations. My heart still
aches and my tears still flow but I am eternally grateful for
the time we had with her.
My simple words do her no justice. She was simply BEAUTIFUL in
every way, in everything she did. She made us proud. She loved
everyone and was loved by everyone. She absolutely loved her car
rides, pillow fights, hide and seek, playing in the back yard
with the kids in the water hose. Wow! she really loved playing
in the water with the kids. She followed me everywhere,
sometimes I would fall over her because I would go to turn
around and she was at my feet. Always at my feet. Ginger was so
well trained she was almost human. In fact, we never really told
her she was a dog. She had more human characteristics than dog
characteristics. She was so funny. She loved to gnaw on our arms
and legs or anywhere she could get to and she loved to dress in
costumes for Halloween and tick or treat with the kids. Ginger
made us feel loved. We understood the love she had for us
because we had the same love for her.
When we received the devastating news that my healthy, strong,
Ginger had developed a heart condition that caused liquid to
drip and build in her abdomen we were shocked. We ignored her
doctors persistent demands to put her out of her misery. I could
not this. I was determined to let her pass at home, surrounded
by her family. For three months Ginger held on. Through every
abdomen drainage that made her weaker and weaker and through our
constant tears, Ginger held on. It was three months later when
my sister told me I was being selfish. She told me Ginger was
only hanging on because she knew I needed her and that I had to
tell her it was ok to go. That night, with tears in my eyes, I
sat with Ginger and asked her if she was holding on for me, I
will never forget, she licked my hand and put her head in my
lap. I knew at that moment I had to let her go. the next day I
called the vet and made an appointment. We had several more days
with her. My daughter, Victoria and I spent my birthday with
Ginger on a picnic and allowed her to eat all the foods she was
never allowed to have. Cookies, chips, ice cream, soda,
sandwiches and anything else we could think of. Although she was
weak, you could see she was enjoying herself. Me, my husband,
son and daughter took Ginger to the beach that night. This would
be the last night of Gingers life. She did not enjoy the beach
at all and would not leave our side, not even to play with the
other dogs. We took her home and everyone slept in the living
room with her. The next morning she could not move. As the
children were making their peace and saying good-bye I waited,
in tears. My baby, who never backed away from people, saw the
doctor come in the room and backed up until she was hiding
behind my legs. I told her it was ok. I would lay down with her
because I wanted my face to be the last thing she ever saw. When
it was over we stayed in the room with Giner for about 30
minutes until I could finally get the strength to leave.
Ginger's paw prints can never be filled. it has been two years
and I miss her as much today as I did when she first passed. I
will always carry you in my heart Ginger. Bye-Bye baby girl,
until we meet at Rainbow.
| Add a Name/Tribute | Go to Main Page | Go to Bridgelists |