The most difficult thing to determine when a pet dies and leaves the household is the effect it will have on the other animals still alive. Ellipse and Ruby were quite close to each other. In this photo, taken in September 2009, Ellipse is grooming Ruby’s muzzle. Ruby is just a little over one year old in this photo. We got Ruby as a replacement for another Lab we’d lost Christmas 2007, a big beautiful chocolate named Babe. Max the yellow was still with us and we felt he was getting lonesome. We’d waited so long to replace Babe because Babe’s lose was sudden and traumatic to the humans in the household, and we were looking for a breeder close enough that we could go and pick out a pup (or more precisely, so the right pup would pick us out). When eight-week-old Ruby finally arrived the prior October, Ellipse took an immediate interest in Ruby.

Ruby at first didn’t know quite what to make of Ellipse, and would bark at her and then hide in a corner or in back of me if I was around. Ellipse was bright enough not to push it, such that by the time Ruby was six or so months the two of them would be found snuggling next to each other on the sofa. Once that bond was forged, it remained unbroken until the end.

This wasn’t the first time one of my cats bonded with one of my dogs. Max and Lucy had a very strong bond, so strong that they both left this Earth together at the same date, same time, at our vets.

So far Ruby hasn’t shown any particular agitation on Ellipse not being around. She’s got Annie, her canine BFF. The two of them are tight as can be, and still play hard with one another. I’m sure that helped soften the (possible) loss Ruby might have felt over Ellipse.

And then, of course, there was the gradual decline and change of behavior in Ellipse. Ellipse did slow down as she got older, especially over the last three years of her life. Ellipse slowly began to keep more to herself, keeping to the kitchen area most of the time. In hindsight this was right at the same time I lost both Max and Lucy. I doubt it was purely coincidental. A quick autopsy after Ellipses’ death revealed what we had suspected, that Ellipses’ spine was filled with arthritis. That would have made flexible movements, such as climbing and jumping, both difficult and painful. But she kept up that kind of movement until the very last. The week before Ellipses’ death, she had climbed up the cat tree into one of the crows’ nests for what would be her last time.

Ellipse was also suffering from a feline heart condition. For several years I’d been giving her half of a Enalapril 2.5mg tablet every evening. I’d pull out a pill, break it in half, and then grind it into powder in the bottom of her food dish. Then I’d put her evening meal on top. No matter what, when I’d check in the dish the next morning the powder was gone, licked up by Ellipse. She might not eat all her meal, but she always took her medication.

She’s gone, and I’ve managed (so far) to not let it hit me like the others have. Lucy, being my first real cat (she picked me one day by walking in my front door and then rubbing up against me) was also my first experience with feline sickness and eventual death. It hurt so much because we were closely bonded. Lucy would come to teach me a lot about cats, both how they lived and died. Lucy always wanted to be with me, no matter how ill she got. Her trust and love were rock solid. I came to believe over time that she knew I’d always take care of her and do the right thing by her, no matter what.

All the animals I believe have felt that way, and still feel that way.

In a world that seems to be increasingly overwhelmed by human cruelty, it’s one of the few ways I can be kind, and have that kindness be both effective and appreciated. That’s one reason, among so many, to care for a pet.

I’m still dealing with Ellipses’ final exit, but as I was sitting and talking with my wife, she noticed the beautiful sunset just outside our back door. In a metaphorical sense it is a fitting reminder that ends are not all dark, but like a beautiful sunset, herald the end of one day and the start of the next. It seems fitting that this is a fine way to think of Ellipse leaving us. She has left us a rich history of mutual memories, and plenty of photos I’ve taken over the years of her and all the other creatures who’ve lived with us. Those that are still with us are moving around the house as they are wont to do. The girls still come up to ask for rubs and to remind me when it’s time to be fed or to go out for their walks. The boys come up for their rubs and to remind me when they need to be fed.

Ruby just turned 10, and with a lifespan in our house of around 15 years, that means five more years of spending my life with Ruby. When it’s her time to leave I’ll deal with it accordingly. Now’s the time to make sure I gather enough photos and memories of her while she’s still with us, still hale and hearty. Annie, her constant companion, turned 3 this past St. Valentine’s Day. If the Lab lifespan is any indication she’s here for quite a long time. And the boys will turn three in early October. Again, if Ellipses’ life span is any indication, they’ll be around for quite a long time as well.

It has taken me at least a decade to be taught by Ellipse, Lulu, and Lucy how to live with cats. They’ve all taught me well, and the Gingersnaps and I benefit from the training. I look forward to many more good times with the four footers.

Ellipses isn’t the first pet I’ve had to let go due to death. These loses go back to the mid-1990s when I was with my wife and Rhett, the big mail yellow Lab. He was in the back of our old Volvo 240 with Judy and I when the vet came out and put him to sleep for us. He had lived to be 16, but he didn’t live forever. None of them do, as we won’t either. The issue with me, at least, is that each death has an impact in and of themselves, and then they go on to remind me of all the other little ones who have passed on. At some point you have to wonder when you’ll stop having little ones around you, until (again, for me) the idea of being alone of pets is more terrifying then the reality that they’ll eventually die.

While they’re alive they’re unequivocally loving creatures who enlighten each day just by being there. They are a part of the oasis of calm I can come back to every day after work, that special place called home.

In the case of Ellipse, I was reminded this morning how much she’d become a part of the morning routine. She quickly learned what the routine was and helped to reinforce it in her own sweet way. Every morning she sat on the edge of the kitchen table, looking and then vocalizing at me, to get out her food and the other cats. Then she’d jump down to the floor and look over the large water bowls and then back up at me if I hadn’t washed them out and refilled them with fresh water. They she’d walk over and delicately drink her fill. She learned from me, and in turn reinforced/trained me to do the little morning tasks.

Her not being at all her spots was all the more notable this morning. And it’s going to be that way from now on. The Gingersnaps are notably different and have their own personalities and activities. All of this will smooth out over time, but it’ll be like the lose of Lucy and so many others. They all had their unique qualities and their specific routines that wove themselves into your life to the point you never realized they were there, until they suddenly weren’t. It’s not so much I’ll get over this as I’ll learn to push this to the back of my mind, until the next time another one leaves.

Ellipses, a.k.a. Lipsey, left us today. She was the last of the original “generation” of cats that first came to live with us starting in 2007. Before then were we just dog owners, with a string of Labs going back to 1979 with Rhett, Judy’s first yellow Lab. It was Ellipse and Lulu who came to first stay with us when my oldest daughter came back as well from FSU in Tallahassee, followed by Lucy walking in the front door during a very hot summer day in 2008. Ellipses was adopted out of a no-kill shelter in Tallahassee. We suspect that she was first owned by a math grad student (hence the name), and was left in Tallahassee when the grad student had to leave. She was definitely an indoor lap cat and used to living a quiet pampered life.

She was technically a calico-marked long-haired Norwegian forest cat. But should would never have survived the land of her ancestors. She was too much a human companion, quite bright, and at times quite vocal. He bright and intelligent eyes were everywhere. She never missed anything. And when she felt like it (and she did a lot of times) she was everywhere in the house checking out every little nook and cranny. But her primary location in the house was in the kitchen.

I don’t know why she choose the kitchen, and specifically the kitchen table. But if she wasn’t out roaming she was there, resting, watching. Sometimes she’d leap up on the folded towels I’d leave next to her on the edge of the table. But if she was anything, she wasn’t a pest. She never went after any of the food we had out in the kitchen. She just watched and on occasion would lift up her nose and sniff.

She is survived by Ruby the yellow Lab and Annie the Doodle, and the two Gingersnaps, Bo and Luke. It’s a good thing we have them all. We’re down now to the number of animals we had back in late 2007. My wife and I have already asked one another if we’re going to get a replacement for Ellipse, but I think we’re going to put that decision off for a little while.

My last hours with Ellipse were last night, when I slept out in my lounger in the TV room. I wanted to make sure I was near in case Ellipse might need me. I fed her her last meal, and she bumped my hand for some rubs, which I gladly gave. In hind sight it was almost like a simple silent goodbye.

This last photo is where she was resting the night before, and many nights before that. It’s full of her hair, but I don’t care. I don’t know what I’ll do with it; probably clean it and wash it and put it back out in a corner for one of the boys to snooze in. But it’s empty of her outsized presence, like the house at the moment. A reminder that time marches on and all thing, cats and humans included, reach their end.

Ellipse (above) still considers herself queen of the household. Lulu just hangs out. And Annie the Wooly Doodle is growing by leaps and bounds.

All photos taken with the Sony NEX-5N and Sigma 30mm f/2.8. Post processed in Lightroom 5.7 and Analog Effex Pro 2.

Lucy has also been coming over more often to look for comfort and rubs from me, her Person. The photo above is typical of Lucy putting her head down on my midriff and looking up for rubs. She purrs like a motor boat while I rub her. Her favorite rub spots are around her ears. Note that these are slow, gentle rubs. Cats are not dogs, such as our two Labs.

Today I took her to the vets for her annual shots. I also took Ellipse to check the weight. Surprise, surprise, both cats showed noticeable weight gains, even Lucy. So while Lucy might be throwing up occassionally she’s keeping enough down that she’s gained about a pound and a half, which is a lot for a little cat.

As is so typical both of them meowed all the way over to the vet. Once there, they stayed quiet and in their carriers (or very close by). Cats are smart and have long memories. The vet is very good and gentle, but cats don’t like to travel and they are supper cautious around the vet and his assistants.

I came home with a new cat food (Royal Canin vet diet) formulated to be easier to digest as well as having less odd-ball ingredients. We’ll try this out for the rest of November and see how Lucy reacts. So far she seems to like it. But I know one thing, no more Purina Fancy Feast. It seems to cause more upsets with Lucy and Ellipse than I want to clean up.

That stuffed chair was something we’d had for over 20 years, a piece from her mother (long since passed away) that had been re-covered more than once. It wound up sitting back in the rear room of our house. I have no idea what happened to the seat cushion, but the chair gradually filled full of stuff, some of it in the trash bags sitting next to the chair. Before we got cat trees the cats had turned the top into their personal scratching area. The rest of those bags are full of things that were so old we couldn’t use them and couldn’t give them away in good conscious.

What’s not in this photo are the five very large bags of clothing that went to the Salvation Army facility on West Colonial.

What’s also not shown are the cardboard boxes holding books that the girls read as middle schoolers. Those filled the back of my wife’s black Prius and were driven up today to my oldest daughter for her to disburse to the Friends of the Library up in Gainesville.

I wanted this photo to act as a point in time, and to act as a personal motivation to get the rest of the house cleaned up. Next year marks the 30th year we’ve been living in that house, and I want 2015 to be the Year of the Great House Renewal. We’re not hoarders, but we’ve got stuff that spans the full 30 years (and even earlier when we were dating, and then before that when we were just regular singles). And it’s time to let it all go. We need to fix the place up, either to retire to, or else to sell it and find another place to retire to. Whichever way it turns we need to get the place fixed up.

And, of course, the cats were effected by all the cleaning and moving of stuff around. The labs were all cool, but the cats were very curious and liked having new pathways open up in the back room. Ellipse (below) wanted to observe in a convenient hidden spot. Lulu didn’t care. She was in her fish sitting in the other stuffed chair (which we’ll keep for a while longer) as things were moved out of the house.

We’re on a solid roll now. We’ve broken through the barrier that’s basically kept everything in the house because the question was always coming up “what if the girls want this stuff?” We’re now aggressively asking the girls about all of this, and handling it accordingly. A lot of it needs to go to, either out as trash or out to folks who can use this stuff.

It feels good. The house is opening up, and so are we.