Saying Goodbye to Livey

Right after bringing Livey home.

Nearly five years I covered a murder on the east side of Springfield, Illinois. While shooting video of the home at the center of the incident, I noticed a tortoiseshell cat in the fenced-in backyard.  Moments later that cat jumped the fence and was at my feet, in the middle of Livingston Street, talking to me with a raspy meow.  She was emaciated, her meow weak. I was told she belonged to the murder victim, who clearly had not cared for her, and that earlier in the year she gave birth to a litter of kittens, all of them died.

It was a sad story, she was a sweet and persistent cat, and after she welcomed my cradling her (I was testing to see how she would respond to my affection), I was sold. I set the flea-infested cat on the passenger seat of my station vehicle, held her in place with one hand, and drove north to the Animal Protect League.  Once there, I told them to fix her up (spay, shots, all that fun stuff) and I would be back to welcome 'Rawr Rawr' (her initial name based on her raspy meows) into my home.

Livey's first night in my home was spent on my screened-in back porch.

A few days later, after realizing her name wasn't practical and was very hard to say, I changed her name to Livey, as in Livingston, the street where we met.

That was the beginning of the next four and a half years.  Livey, the third cat my home, moved from Springfield to my mom's old house in the Chicago burbs, to an apt in Chicago, and finally here to Indianapolis with me.

The cute duo.

My potbellied kitty, who for years ate until the point of throwing up, who was known to attack our other female cat, had her flaws, but was such a gift.  She's was the type of cat who would rub her nose against you if you make a smooching sound, who would take her petite paws and set them on your face whenever given a chance, who the veterinary staff all knew as a super sweet cat, one who defied the typical temperament of tortie cats.  She eventually made up half of what Spencer and I referred to as the 'cute duo'.  She and Harriette were always idling together in the house, Harry munching on her ears, Livey calmly standing by.

Two years ago Livey started showing signs of sickness, primarily diarrhea.  The vet recommended steroids, which then caused diabetes, and which this past week got to the point that we felt it was necessary to put her down.  On top of using our home as her personal bathroom, Livey had lost 50% of her weight, her back legs were starting to give out due to diabetic neuropathy.  The decision to let her go wasn't easy and was coupled with a lot of tears and uncertainty.

At the vet we cried, we cuddled, and took lots of photos.  Spencer, wanting to give Livey a final treat, even bit a dog treat in half so it was small enough for her to tackle.  Her final moments were calm, and it was surprisingly peaceful how the initial sedative hit her and she slowly lay her head down.  They put her in a cardboard coffin, taped fresh flowers from their garden to the top of it (which they told me they don't normally do), and puffy faced and worn out, we went on our way.

That was last night.  Today, upon their suggestion, we buried Livey in our neighbors' yard.  It made sense as we rent and have a tiny green space whereas they have a big, beautiful fenced-in yard where two of their cats are already buried.

Right now there's a part of me that mourns her, a part of that says 'it's just a cat', and a part of me actually celebrating the freedom Spencer and I now have (no more cleaning up her endless messes, or taking her with us on every trip out of town because she would destroy our home if left alone for days).

That's all.  Just wanted to make note of her and what she has meant to not just me, but Spencer, the last few years.  Little Livey. We'll miss her.