Ranger

This past week, our good friend, Ranger, died, and as I begin to write this post, I realize that there is really no adequate way to send him off.  He was too much a part of our lives to be contained in a few words.

It's funny looking back on things.  Sometimes we realize that certain things were meant to happen so that a certain amount of goodness can come into our lives.  Once, and only once, did I send Ethan to the Metzger's (the butcher's) in our local village of Preist.  I was hoping for something good for dinner.  I had never done this before, and I would never do it again.  On that one and only trip, a thin little cat followed Ethan home.  We wondered if he belonged to anyone, because he was way too friendly to be a stray.  We let him in, and he made himself right at home, falling instantly asleep on one of our couch pillows.  When he woke up, I told the kids that we would feed him and send him on his way.  Here is a picture from that moment:

I can see now that three of those kids were really about the picture, and one of those kids was all about the cat.  And nothing changed for the next thirteen years.

I kept trying to put the cat outside, but as it turns out, he had adopted us.  While he would go outside to do his business, he always came back home.  So it was time for a name.  I chose Ranger.

As it turned out, he was quite the lover, and it didn't take long for him to be a part of our family.

Look at what BABIES they ALL are!

Ranger quickly discovered that the softest, warmest place to sleep was on Johannah's bed.  She had "green blankie", and even now, thirteen years later, green blankie resides on her bed, always ready for Hannah's best cat friend.

When we left Germany and moved to Pennsylvania, Ranger came with us (along with Jake and Kiki).    He quickly discovered the "Battle Barn" across the street, and when he had been gone from home too long, we knew to look for him over there.  When he DID come home on his own, he would let us know by jumping on the outside screened window right next to wherever we were sitting.  He would hang there, meowing at us.  Most of the time, he did it at night, and I think John and I might have pooped our pants a couple of times :-)

He actually managed here to wedge himself between the back door and the screen door.
He had climbed up the inside of the screen.  Crazy cat!

He would come home with scratches and scars and more ticks than I want to think about, but he knew that if he crawled into Hannah's lap, she would pat him down and take care of everything.  Range knew too that Hannah would protect him from the other cats in the house.  After eating just three bites of cat food on his way in (because that's all he EVER ate), he would head directly to her, or to her room to sleep.

Hannie probably has a thousand pictures of herself and Range, many of which look like this:

Like I said, he could never be close enough to her.  And although I don't have a picture of it myself, he would either sleep draped over the top of her head in the bed, or he would stretch across her neck. Of course, she wouldn't move all night just to keep him there.

If she happened to not be home when he came home, I was his second choice for protection and love.  I would frequently find him in the office with me :-)

Once I started teaching the girls seminary, he would join those lessons.  We like to think that he's one of the few Europeans who embraced the gospel and joined the church :-)

We loved his "target" bootie, and his pigeon-toed back legs.  We loved his front paws that were little more than sticks.  While we didn't love his hoarse meow crying at us until we let him outside, it was part of him.

This summer, when I came home from Interlochen, I noticed that he was skinnier than usual.   That's saying a lot, because he was never more than eight pounds at his healthiest.  I figured it was just from spending the summer outside, eating mice...less than optimal nutrition.  I treated him for worms just in case that was the problem, but there was no improvement.  It's funny, but as I now post the healthy, vibrant pictures of him, I can see how sick he was.  He wasn't the cat that he had been.

For all of Hannah's life, I had tried to prepare her for Range's death.  I know that sounds horribly macabre, but I myself know what it's like to lose a childhood cat.  Every moment of growing up is intertwined with them, and when they leave us, it feels like you've lost your childhood too.  As he aged, I would remind her that he probably didn't have much time left on earth, and every time, she would break down in tears.  I do believe that when Hannah felt friendless, or lonely, or sad, Range was her soul's salve.  He was always there for her, loving her like nobody else could or would.

When I took Range to the vet shortly after we moved here, the vet told me that I shouldn't expect Range to live very long, considering he was an indoor/outdoor cat.  I guess the average life expectancy for a cat that goes outdoors is four years old.  Since he has lived long past four years, we have considered all of the extra years a gift.  In fact, when you think about it, he had exactly nine extra years with us.  Or in a cat's world, he had nine lives :-)

The funny thing is, two summers ago we thought we actually had lost Range.  He hadn't been home in weeks, and we couldn't find him anywhere.  In some ways, it was easier to think that he had just died somewhere in the forest, doing his wild cat thing.  We were so sure that he was gone that John took Hannah over to the Battle Barn to pick out another cat.  Hoot was a most excellent replacement for Range.  Just a few weeks later, Hannie spotted Range as she was driving home from school.  She somehow managed to catch him which was a feat unto itself considering he was a little crazy in the head after being outside for so long.  He was covered in ticks, and skinny as ever, but she reset his "home" button, and he didn't leave again.

It was incredibly sad to me to think that this might be it (for the second time around).  So I took him into the vet.  I jokingly told the vet that no matter the diagnosis, I just needed to keep him alive until Thanksgiving so that Hannah could say goodbye.

An hour later, the diagnosis was in.  He had stomach cancer, and it had already spread to his liver.  His stomach was basically full of cancer, and the reason he had been losing weight (he was down to five pounds) was because the stomach couldn't absorb any of the food.  So all of the hamburger and chicken and canned cat food I had been feeding him for the previous weeks was doing no good.  The vet told me he might have six months to live, and she sent me home with steroid injections to give him.

This was Range's last time outside.  He had spent the majority of his life out in the fields, catching mice, but it got to the point that he just couldn't make it out there anymore.

Within a week, he had lost more weight, he was losing his balance, and he wouldn't go outside anymore.  He was literally starving in front of us.  So last Sunday I made the call.  I got Hannie on FaceTime, and I gave them a chance to say goodbye to each other.  I felt bad because he didn't look like the cat that she had grown up with.  He was just skin and bones, and he was constantly meowing for food.  In all honesty, I wish she could have come home to take care of him, but then I would realize that there was nothing any of us could do.

This was taken his last morning on earth.  He looked so at peace, sitting in the sun on a warm blanket.

John and I took him into the vet's the next day.  He was as sprightly as ever despite having trouble breathing and walking.  He was talking up the assistants and almost seemed his old self.  Even up to the last minute, I asked the vet if there was any last ditch effort we could make, but he assured us that there was nothing more to do.

We brought his body home, and John buried him in the woods beside our house.  He would always emerge from these woods, meowing at us that he wanted to come in.  He can see the fields where he would hunt mice, and the Battle Barn from here.

Ranger's death has been horribly hard on me, not only because he's been a part of our lives for so long, but because I have worried for Hannie.  I imagine she wanted to curl up and remove herself from the world for a couple of days, but life goes on.  She has gone on.  There is no peace in losing a friend, and as I always tell people, I do believe death is the biggest cheat of this life.

I don't know how Heavenly Father stands it.  I would have given my right arm to take away the sadness Hannie felt.  I couldn't pray hard enough or frequently enough to comfort her.  I just wanted her to forget everything and go on living happy.  Can you imagine what our father in Heaven feels, seeing all of us suffering?  I don't know how he can't just come down and fix everything.

All I can think is that the suffering now is part of the happiness then.  If we hadn't allowed Range into our house so many years ago, we would have saved ourselves from so much sadness at his death, but think of all the fun and love we would have missed.  We will miss him terribly, but I find some comfort in remembering the ways that he enriched our lives.

We love you, Range.  We'll see you on the other side.