Chowder and Me

In 2001, when my cat, Chowder (pictured), was eleven years old, she was diagnosed with feline diabetes. I'd taken her to the vet because she'd been drinking an excessive amount of water, and urinating frequently. I was devastated when I heard the news. The vet explained that Chowder would require two insulin shots each day--two shots that I would have to give her.

I'm terrified of needles. The sight of one, even on television, is enough to make me cover my eyes and try to think of happy things like rainbows and unicorns. Yes, I was beyond upset that my cat was sick, but the thought that her survival depended upon me administering needles meant, I believed, that she was doomed.

The next day, with an orange in my pocket, my husband, daughter and I went to the vet for shot-giving lessons. Poor Chowder was also brought along so we could experiment on her, after the orange was almost bursting with saline solution. And you know, it was easy. It may have been because her long fur hid the needle as it penetrated her skin, or it could have been because I loved her so much, I'd have done anything for her.

There were ups and downs over the next five years--always having to kennel her at the vet when we vacationed because she seldom let anyone else (other than a determined vet employee) administer the shots; the introduction of a kitten, Meeko, into our home made Chowder even grouchier in her old age; and times when I thought we'd lose her because she no longer seemed to be responding to her insulin. Yet she was just a few days shy of her 17th birthday when I discovered her one morning, weak and unable to eat or drink. She'd vomited all over the kitchen floor--one of the few times she'd not done the deed on the carpets. The vet confirmed what I'd already guessed. Chowder was dying.

My husband was away, but my daughter and I were able to say goodbye to Chowder. When she finally closed her eyes, she looked peaceful, her face relaxed and almost kittenish.

For more information about feline diabetes, check this out.

Chowder is a Cover Girl

I adopted my cat, Chowder, in 1990. She was a kitten, the last of three sisters, and huddled in the back of the cage, alone and terrified. Over the next sixteen years, Chowder survived (though never quite accepted) the arrival of my daughter, the addition of another cat, and feline diabetes. She was a long-haired, green-eyed beauty who, with age, became somewhat of a crank.

But I loved her all the same.

Chowder made an appearance in both of my young adult fantasies, Key to Aten and Return to Aten. After the second book was finished, I sent my editor, Nancy Hammerslough, a picture of Chowder. I figured Nancy would like putting a furry face to the name. My editor not only liked the pic, she wanted to put Chowder on the cover of the book.

Now, as she got older (and crankier), Chowder stopped grooming herself, and she wouldn't allow me to brush her for longer than 30 seconds. Whenever she seemed in a mellow mood, I'd cut dense mats from her fur and run a damp cloth over her. I wasn't optimistic about getting a good photo.

Chowder died only one month after the book came out. She didn't know she was a cover girl, but I was pleased that she'd been immortalized (at least until the book goes out of print). And I think the picture turned out pretty good, don't you?