Tiji

I wasn't particularly looking to adopt a cat (you know where this is going, right?) but when I saw the little face on Facebook, around three years ago, I thought: "Why not go take a look?” I love the way life feels with both a dog and a cat in the house.

I asked a friend if she would walk across the village with me and meet the young kitty that someone had found hungry in the street - and off we went.

The directions to the house were creative and it took us a while to find the right door. On the way there, my friend asked me how I would know if this was the right cat for me. My answer was that I would take my time before deciding.

Through a courtyard, up rickety steps, we went. We knocked, ready to come in and have a visit. An audition. The door opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared, holding a small cat whom I remember thinking looked a bit like Audrey Hepburn. I smiled, looking forward to the visit, trying to muster my best Spanish for the occasion.

She handed me the cat, sweetly wished us well, and closed the door.

I looked at my friend. I looked at the cat, seeming comfortable in my arms. My friend laughed her beautiful laugh, I looked at the cat again and well, the only option we seemed to have was to start down the steps and so that’s what we did.

I did not know if this cat was a boy or a girl. I did know that we needed to stop at an ATM to get pesos for litter and cat food.

Holding the cat, I handed my friend my debit card and she punched in a few numbers, asking for 400 pesos. 600 pesos emerged within seconds, along with a receipt stating that we had received 400. We named the cat “Luck” in Greek and then we walked to the store and through the whole village with Tiji in my arms. Note: she has never let me hold her this long since.

Lila loved her right away and the months passed. Tiji is a girl kitty and she is lovely.

Just right for us. Independent, sweet without being on top of me all the time, a mix of indoor cat and wild beast, life with her is great. While Lila hides under the bed, Tiji loves being outside during thunderstorms.

The following summer the three of us went to the States for three months and she adapted within minutes. When we came back, we moved to the country and this is where we have been for the last two years.

Recently sweet Marley joined us and this is a story I still need to tell.
But not today. Today is about Tiji.

A month or so ago, as a girlfriend and I were hanging out in my bathroom, Tiji uncharacteristically jumped into the sink in front of us, sat down, and left a little bloody spot on the colorful ceramic. Odd.

Then I thought I smelled pee in the sink and was confused. Did she pee in the sink and also cut her paw?

I remember not giving it much attention and this is something for which I am working on forgiving myself.

Last week, once again in the bathroom with my friend (ok, ok let me add this: I have a really big bathroom and it is pretty and pink and comfy and we often hang out in there. I even had a couch in it a few months ago. So it’s not quite as weird as it may sound) we are talking when we notice that Tiji is effectively peeing on the Mexican rug.

Right there, inside the house, on the rug, she is peeing. Not at all like her. And then, as she starts to leave, we both see it: blood. There is no doubt at all that she just peed a bright red spot of blood.

I freeze. I remember the sink.

The next day I happen to have an appointment with a vet my friend strongly recommended in Vallarta, to talk about Lila. My friend says: take her too. I WhatsApp the vet - I LOVE that we can do this - and the vet quickly answers sure, bring her in.

I’ll skip the details and just say how sweet, caring, and knowledgeable Dra Myrna is.

She did both consults at the same time, made a plan for Lila, and performed an ultrasound on Tiji. Before doing that, she told me that while the ultrasound would tell us IF there were stones in her bladder it would not tell us how big they were. An X-ray machine was needed for that and she didn’t have one. She could take her to another clinic to do it, but starting with an ultrasound was a good idea.

Yes. There was a stone. At least one.

“Let’s start with a stone-dissolving diet until you come back with Lila in a couple of weeks,” she says. She then drives to the store to get me a bag of the special urinary care food we need so I don’t have to wrangle leaving the girls in the car while I go in myself. That’s how cool she is.

As we leave she smiles and says to me: “She knew just how to tell you.”

Back home, we start on the new food. I pay attention to Tiji, I work with my guilt for not having understood the first time, the time with the sink. I am also aware that I have a trip planned next week.

The next day I decide to bring her back for X-rays. She is still bleeding and I read that the special food can take weeks to dissolve a stone, assuming it is small enough. I also personally remember the pain of having kidney stones.

We do the drive again.

Dra Myrna explains the three options:

1. we find out that the stone(s) is small enough to dissolve and pass on its own with the help of the food and we just got home
2. we find out that while the stone(s) is too big to dissolve it can be aspirated
3. we find out that surgery is the only option.
   
   

I leave Tiji with her so that she may take her to the other clinic and I drive myself straight to Starbucks, waiting for the vet’s message, and the news.

While in the States, I hardly ever go to Starbucks. Here, every six months or so, when life feels a little too intense, seeing the green logo, walking in, and sitting down to a hot chocolate is medicine for my soul. Strangely enough, I bought myself a membership to Costco for the same medicinal purpose. In the States, I will go to great lengths to avoid walking into a Costco. Humans, we are funny.

Halfway through a bite of Portuguese cheese bread, I receive a photo. The stone. It is 8.20 mm. That’s roughly a third of an inch. She has to have surgery immediately. And spend at least one night in the hospital. I call my daughter and I sob. I sob of guilt and I sob of fear and well, I sob of love.

I want to drive home. I want to book a hotel near the clinic. I don’t know what I want.

Dra Myrna tells me the surgery will be at three and that she will keep me posted right away. I ask her to please tell Tiji that we love her and I very slowly make my way home, in the other direction. It feels unnatural.

My daughter is the one who thinks of it first, the beautiful pet mama that she is. She says that I may want to postpone my trip. Six days away, I have no idea what recovery will look like. Spaying surgery I am familiar with and that’s usually fairly smooth. Surely the friend who always stays at my house when I travel could handle that. Tiji loves him. But this is different.

A couple of hours later I receive a message saying that they decided to do the surgery earlier and that all went well. Then a photo of the darn stone, out in the fresh air, out of my girl’s bladder. “This stone is huge. There were many many small ones, too and her bladder took a beating. She did well, she is resting and I will let you know whether you can pick her up tomorrow morning.”

I do a little Googly research, the one I had not wanted to do until I heard back. Research on recovery, on cost too. I read that proper, calm recovery is crucial, and that cost of the surgery can be as high as 3,000 USD.

Canceling the trip starts to become a strong possibility. I have been so very much looking forward to going. And yet.

I decide to ask the vet what she thinks about that.

The way she handled my question has been repeating in my mind. She did not hesitate. She did not try to sound neutral. She did not say “See what feels best for you.”

She said: “I think you need to cancel. She needs you.”

Bam. Just like that.

She cut through stories, questions, doubt, and the discomfort that doubt breeds.

She needs me. I need to cancel.

It immediately felt right.
So I canceled.

The next morning I picked up Tiji and brought her home. She is wearing a cone on one end and a stint to keep her bladder open on the other. I settled her into a comfy bed (in which she stayed for about twelve minutes) Marley and Tiji were so very very sweet to her as we set up her little home-hospital bed. My friend bought me a pack of pipi pads as she would be dripping for the next few days.

We are hunkering in. As the Fiestas Ferias do their happy celebration in town, we are setting up a bubble of care and healing and HUGE GRATITUDE.

I still occasionally feel the pang of wishing I had reacted sooner. And then I remember that it worked out perfectly. I remember to trust that Life’s timing is so much more accurate than mine and that Tiji, my lucky kitty, knew just what she was doing.

And the big lesson: the doctor’s straight words. She had an opinion and when asked for it, she shared it. Whether it was inconvenient or unpopular, she shared it. I am still digesting this Gift and its inspiration.