Mourning Over: Fiona P. Misko

by Lesley Misko

Fiona P. Misko (aka: FiFi) left us late Saturday afternoon, March 11, 2023 after a brief struggle with pancreatitis and probable cancer. She was only 11 years old.

Discovered by a family friend at a cat rescue shelter in Philadelphia, she was supposedly a year old and was known to have suffered a terrible kitten-hood at the hands of her previous owners. We were told “they kicked her down to the basement and left her there,” and we came to believe the “kicking” part was literally true when X-rays for a possible heart murmur revealed broken ribs that had healed at some time in the past. Fiona didn’t seem to know what cat food was. But she lunged to grab deli turkey and potato chips when we brought her home. She preferred the basement to the rest of the house; it was the only way she knew to live.

Fiona’s adverse early interactions with humans left her with some sad and unusual traits. She ran if we walked past her with a broom or a yardstick. She did not want to be picked-up and held, or to be petted beyond her neck. Fiona also wouldn’t take a nap on a comfy chair. At times, we feared she was eager to kill our other cat, who was ten years her senior and often gave us a look of horror when she came romping into the room where he was snoozing.

Fiona also had a secret addiction to eating tape and plastic. The habit required two expensive, emergency stomach surgeries during our first year with her and left us worried that her time on this earth would be short.   

While all of this made Fiona something other than the ideal cat we had hoped to adopt, she also was a beautiful girl. Always well-turned out in her gray and white tuxedo, with high white stockings and a beautiful white ruff of fur around her chest, visitors admired her sleek, shiny coat.

As the years slipped by, we adjusted to one another. She learned to play ball and loved cuddling with her catnip bananas. She eventually let herself be petted from head to tail. In more recent years, she would beckon us to the family room so we could sit on the sofa and watch a bit of television while rubbing her chin. Indeed, Fiona became chatty and purred with some frequency. She ate when we ate. At night, she retired to her cat bed when we got into our bed.

Fiona was incredibly clever and intelligent. She spent many hours studying our every action, whether when cooking or cleaning or doing yard work. She knew what we would do when the phone rang and that the noise of the fancy new Ring doorbell app meant someone had arrived at the front door. And she knew how to keep everyone on a schedule – her schedule.  

As she won a place in our hearts, she trained us to dote on her day and night. If no one awakened by 8:30, she would hop in bed, stick her cold nose in our faces, breathe heavily, and chirp – immediately recognizing an open eye as a triumph. If that didn’t succeed in getting us out of bed, she resorted to leaping over our heads, tapping us with her paw, and an occasional lick of our faces. When that failed, she would eye a tall dresser and begin plotting which objects to gently nudge overboard.   

Once we were out of bed, she engaged in an extended conversation of chirps and meows, excitedly dragging us to the foot of the bed where she would receive five treats followed by an ear rub. And yes, she knew if we shortchanged her.

Next on Fiona’s schedule was a trip downstairs for breakfast. She would follow us from room to room as we opened the window blinds. Most importantly, the front door had to be opened, allowing the bright morning sun to stream into our foyer, where she would roll around on a rug, coming to rest on her back with her paws and feet in the air and her all-white tummy sparkling in the sun.  

Depending on Fiona’s mood, she then moved to lounge on a cushy towel that lined a tray located on our kitchen island, from which she supervised breakfast and other culinary pursuits. Her paws would hang over the tray edge, and she would look at us innocently, ever hopeful for an ear rub. If the toaster was turned on, she knew the butter would soon follow and demanded a handout. Her perch high atop the counter also provided a panoramic view of the birds, squirrels, woof-woofs, and other neighborhood wildlife scurrying around just outside the windows.

But Fiona was equally, if not more, interested in what was happening inside our house. When we returned upstairs, she did too, reminding us when we arrived, that it was time for her daily brushing – and of course more treats, albeit a different variety. Brushing Fiona required caution: certain parts of her body were off-limits probably owing to her trust issues from the past that we tried to help her forget.  

And so the day progressed. She made sure we met her expectations on her schedule. We did so happily, showing her great affection. Upon completing our daily routine, she retreated to the basement to sleep in a quiet environment on an old sofa, only to emerge several hours later to begin dinner and her evening schedule.

Fiona also was incredibly sensitive and quick to discern when something was not right. She helped us get through a horribly painful time that began when we lost her dad, Bob. We could see it was painful for her too; he was her favorite pet person. We never imagined we would soon lose her, too.  

Vomiting and lack of appetite took Fiona to the vet last Wednesday, and again on Thursday. X-rays and an ultrasound brought the very difficult diagnosis of pancreatitis. We struggled with the concept of emergency hospitalization, but the prognosis for her full recovery was bleak. We could not bear to have her spend her final days hooked-up to a catheter, feeding tube, and IV, lying in a strange place without her loving family.

So we took Fiona home Thursday night, after she received life-sustaining treatment and pain medicine from the caring medical team at Gilbertsville Veterinary Hospital. We hoped and prayed that she might rebound – and on Friday, she did.

We were relieved when she showed-up in the bedroom in the morning, per her normal schedule, hoping for a few treats. She ate a bit and drank from her water fountain. She scratched her scratching post and looked out the front door with interest. Following a visit from an at-home vet, she even slurped some gravy from a new, smelly type of food that we desperately hoped would whet her appetite.

We went to bed feeling hopeful, even as Fiona remained downstairs all night.

In the morning, we lay in our beds waiting for her arrival and the daily routine to begin anew. But she did not come. 

We found her uncomfortably tossing and turning in her cat bed in the family room, struggling to find a comfortable position. A jiggle of the treat bag was met with indifference. Fiona refused water, preferring to remain in bed to try to sleep. A call from the vet with a more detailed read of Fiona’s ultrasound squelched all hope: the prognosis was even bleaker than we feared, as the imaging showed probable cancer.

When the traveling vet returned on Saturday afternoon, with the sun streaming into the room, we held Fiona, trying not to cry to avoid upsetting her, and we repeatedly told her how much we loved her as we felt her life slip away. It was a life cut way too short, but we hope that in the time we had, we succeeded in persuading her that she was loved. Days later, we remain tearful and bereft at the emptiness in the house. We hope she is at peace with her human dad.

We extend heartfelt appreciation to the staff at Gilbertsville Veterinary Hospital, especially to Dr. Arms who cared for Fiona over nearly a decade. We are also grateful to Lap of Love, a county-based group of veterinarians who provide home hospice care and humane euthanasia, as well as to Dr. Stephanie Freed of Golden Years Veterinary Services, who provides home care for pets with a loving smile and helped us through our final hours with Fiona. All were accommodating, empathetic, knowledgeable, and supportive of how gut-wrenching it was to say goodbye to our beautiful Fiona.  

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