Sana (2000-2010)
Back in the day, Andy and I and some friends of ours (Kc, Josh, Ying) would get together every few weeks for cheesy dip, margaritas, and anime. One of our favorites was "Kodomo no Omocha," and the main character was a wacky little girl named Sana. Another one of our favorites was "Fushigi Yûgi," which had a character named Tamahome.
When we went to the humane society to pick out a new kitty in 2000, we already had one in mind. A little girl named Wheeza who had been dropped off when her people wanted to go on vacation. We'd seen her on the humane society's website and gone in to see if she was still there. She was, and so was another really cute kitten named Shadow, who was one of a little dropped off. We couldn't decide who to adopt, but luckily the humane society was having one of its BOGO sales. We took both kittens home. Wheeza became Sana, and Shadow became Tama.
We lost Tama after about two months to FIP, a disease he probably got from his mother.
Yesterday, ten years later, we lost Sana.
Around 2004, she was diagnosed with chronic kidney failure, and I thought we would lose her then, but with special food and fluids, we kept her with us for six more years. I remember when I first found out she had kidney problems. I did all sorts of research and even pondered a kidney transplant for her. And then, when I called to ask how much a set of fluids would be and the vet tech said "nine ninety-nine" and I was terrified she meant $999 and I would have to come up with that every month. Thank goodness for decimal points.
So, I learned how to give a cat subcutaneous fluids. With a needle. Yikes. It took us a while, but we finally found that hanging the bag on a bent coat hanger hung on a hook on the bathroom door was the best set up. I'd put a towel or sweater or my flannel froggie nightie on the floor for her to sit on so she wouldn't get cold. In the winter, I'd heat up the fluid bag in an old orange juice pitcher.
One of the fun things about Sana was her obsession with tissues. She loved to grab a tissue out of the trash and carry it around like a mouse. If I was in the bed reading, she'd bring one up to me and meow and meow and nudge my hand until I threw it for her to go fetch. Over and over and over. If she couldn't find a tissue out and about, she'd just go grab one or two or eight right out of the box. She even taught Anya this trick. At night sometimes we'd be upstairs and hear Sana chirping and meowing. She was hunting. She'd eventually show up with something, usually a tissue, sometimes a sock or hairband, in her teeth.
Sana also liked to bury herself under the covers. I'd try to find her and look all over only to see just her nose peeking out from a pile of blanket or sweater. She'd make a little cave and crawl in. I think the other cats were jealous because they could never figure out how to create their own kitty igloo.
Even after she grew up, Sana was still like a kitten. Tiny and playful. Treefrog adopted her, and they often snuggled and napped. When Sana was sick, Treefrog gave Sana baths and kept her warm.
At night, Sana's favorite place to sleep was on my tummy, staring at me. Goodnight my little Sanabear. I miss you.
When we went to the humane society to pick out a new kitty in 2000, we already had one in mind. A little girl named Wheeza who had been dropped off when her people wanted to go on vacation. We'd seen her on the humane society's website and gone in to see if she was still there. She was, and so was another really cute kitten named Shadow, who was one of a little dropped off. We couldn't decide who to adopt, but luckily the humane society was having one of its BOGO sales. We took both kittens home. Wheeza became Sana, and Shadow became Tama.
We lost Tama after about two months to FIP, a disease he probably got from his mother.
Yesterday, ten years later, we lost Sana.
Around 2004, she was diagnosed with chronic kidney failure, and I thought we would lose her then, but with special food and fluids, we kept her with us for six more years. I remember when I first found out she had kidney problems. I did all sorts of research and even pondered a kidney transplant for her. And then, when I called to ask how much a set of fluids would be and the vet tech said "nine ninety-nine" and I was terrified she meant $999 and I would have to come up with that every month. Thank goodness for decimal points.
So, I learned how to give a cat subcutaneous fluids. With a needle. Yikes. It took us a while, but we finally found that hanging the bag on a bent coat hanger hung on a hook on the bathroom door was the best set up. I'd put a towel or sweater or my flannel froggie nightie on the floor for her to sit on so she wouldn't get cold. In the winter, I'd heat up the fluid bag in an old orange juice pitcher.
One of the fun things about Sana was her obsession with tissues. She loved to grab a tissue out of the trash and carry it around like a mouse. If I was in the bed reading, she'd bring one up to me and meow and meow and nudge my hand until I threw it for her to go fetch. Over and over and over. If she couldn't find a tissue out and about, she'd just go grab one or two or eight right out of the box. She even taught Anya this trick. At night sometimes we'd be upstairs and hear Sana chirping and meowing. She was hunting. She'd eventually show up with something, usually a tissue, sometimes a sock or hairband, in her teeth.
Sana also liked to bury herself under the covers. I'd try to find her and look all over only to see just her nose peeking out from a pile of blanket or sweater. She'd make a little cave and crawl in. I think the other cats were jealous because they could never figure out how to create their own kitty igloo.
Even after she grew up, Sana was still like a kitten. Tiny and playful. Treefrog adopted her, and they often snuggled and napped. When Sana was sick, Treefrog gave Sana baths and kept her warm.
At night, Sana's favorite place to sleep was on my tummy, staring at me. Goodnight my little Sanabear. I miss you.
