Let Me Introduce Sumis

Traditionally, my family plants a tree, or shrub, in honor of our pets when they pass away. While I will still do the same for Sumis, I wanted to give her roots, and a voice, on the internet as well. Sumu, Finnish for “mist,” is a short-haired grey cat around 12 years old. She has been healthy all her life, full of sass and spunk, or piss (literally) and vinegar, depending on the day. We are in the final stages of getting her diagnosed with feline gastrointestinal lymphoma. Even though I have experience in the veterinary industry and my significant other is a veterinarian, I still found it necessary to get online when this diagnosis became a possibility and do my obligatory crazy-pet-owner homework. What I found was not very helpful. This blog will hopefully help fill that hole for those going through this same process with their beloved pets.

As I sit writing this, the diagnosis is not final. Yes, it still could be something else. This the optimist, the Pollyanna in me, keeps reiterating. But my trusted doctors are pretty sure. I am writing this following days of agonizing, wondering, waiting. Days of watching Sumu, or Sumis as she is called by those who know her well, waste away. In just a week she lost a pound. Her fur has lost some of its soft luster. When I call her her ears prick up, but she does not come, or even lift her head to answer. She does not steal food from our plates, particularly shrimp or chicken. Rather, she refuses even the most run-of-the-mill cat food. But, she is sitting right next to me now, in a post-anesthesia, pain-medication induced stupor. I sit waiting for her to emerge again as Sumis. I have been assured that she will and so I continue to wait. And now I write. To begin, but also to remember before the details slip too far into the gauzy haze of memory.

Let me introduce Sumis. Sumis found her way to me after being saved from sure euthanasia at a blood bank by a pseudo-heroic technician. She had been bounced between shelters before landing at the blood bank, shuttled along with her brother, Ms. And Mr. as they were known then. Once at the blood bank, it was discovered that Sumu did not regenerate her red blood cells fast enough to be a blood donor. So, she was set to be euthanized. But our hero saved the day and adopted her, bringing her to his home in Tucson. That relationship, though, was not meant to be. Sumis is a feisty kitten and when her expectations are not met, there are consequences. Especially as an adolescent, she was absurdly vengeful. Who can blame her really? Her first three to four years were spent on the street fending for herself. So, when she ended up available for adoption, I impulsively took her home, adding her to my two cat household.

Sumis' first days in my life were ... difficult to say the least. There were times I wondered about the wisdom of bringing such a feisty, precocious cat into my household. In the beginning, she would lay in the middle of the living room rug and would hiss, glare and growl at anyone who moved, in particular her two feline brothers, Phineas and Jaxon. Her stare was fiery and defiant. Because I used the wrong kind of litter for her standards, she began urinating on the couch, my bed, my pillow, my laundry. Somehow, we all hung in there through this transition. Once I discovered her preference for clay litter over silicon and once the boys agreed to let her reign supreme, peace ensued.

Over the next 9 years, she would become a creature inextricably linked to my soul. She would stay with me, sometimes forcefully, in my most difficult, crimson-tinged moments: break-ups, law school finals, homesickness. What sets her apart is that she really looked after me. She was aware of my moods, my needs. When I would come home, she would greet me. She would come when called. She slept with me nearly every night, same spot. She talked to me in her old lady smoker cackle or in her softest whisper.

Sumis is a cat full of antics. Our running joke was a list of names for her based on her bizarre activities. At its height she was: Zoomin' Sumis Loomis Lonkin, climber, pee-er, dead-grass eater. She loves hair ties, sometimes killing and mutilating them, other times treating them as if they were her own brood. She would often pick up a hair tie or a favorite ball and have lengthy conversations with it, cooing and crackling over it for half an hour or more.

Perhaps her most amusing antic is her role as the enforcer. She has a tenuous relationship with Fanny, our lab mix. Unfortunately for Fanny, Sumis tends to hold her accountable for any wrong that goes on in the house. When one of the other cats cries or Fanny gets scolded for counter surfing, Sumis puffs out her tail, raises her hackles and begins the hunt. She first does an aerial scan of the house from her high-top perches. If she doesn't see Fanny, she will take up ground reconnaissance. But if she does see Fanny, she makes eye contact and begins to close in. Fanny will flee to the safety of my legs or her favorite chair. If Sumis reaches her before Fanny is safely shielded, Fanny will get a clawless box right on the nose. Sumis, then satisfied, returns to her perch and bathes, licking the dog filth from her paw. Because Fanny is a young lab mix, she has come to see this as somewhat of a game and now taunts Sumis to chase her. Jaxon also facilitates the game by screaming that he has been stepped on when in fact he escaped with several inches to spare. Or, he will ram headfirst into my legs and squeal as if it were all my fault. All of this makes for many smiles.

Like her mom, Sumis loves the heat. If a heater is on, Sumis will join me in front of it. She will find the one sliver of sunshine showing through the windows and curl up into its fleeting warmth. She will sprawl on the patio in the heat of the Tucson summer, because, that is right – she loves the heat, the warmth.

I will continue to pepper this blog with Sumis – her pictures, her antics, her soul – so that when the time comes, she can leave knowing she has firm roots and a beautiful tree.