By Kamran Nayeri, April 17, 2025
The chemistry of the mind is different from the chemistry of love. The mind is careful, suspicious, and advances little by little. It advises, “Be careful, protect yourself.” Whereas love says, “Let go of yourself!” The mind is strong, never falls, while love hurts oneself and falls into ruins. But isn’t it in ruins that we mostly find treasures? A broken heart hides so many treasures.
---- Shams Tabrizi
At about 2:30 in the afternoon of Tuesday, March 11, I let
go of Panther as if parting with a part of my soul.
In early January, he was diagnosed with malignant mast cell
tumor. Mast cell tumor is a disease of specific white blood cells responsible
for protecting the body against the invasion of foreign agents. The side effect
is nausea. The oncologist suggested surgery or chemotherapy. However, based on
experience, I decided not to put Panther, who was about 12 years old, through such
invasive treatments with dubious results.
Instead, I opted for palliative care. Panther was put on two
medications, one to slow the growth of cancer and help with his appetite, and
another to treat nausea. I asked his veterinarian about the proper time for
euthanasia to minimize Panther’s suffering. I was told a couple of symptoms, including throwing up.
I had kept Mooshi, one of my early cats who suffered from a
neurological disease, alive for three months after she had become paralyzed in
her lower body. As I deeply loved Mooshi, I could not let go of her. After I
had to euthanize her in November 2016, I realized that she was kept alive too
long due to my selfish reasons. I decided not to hang on to my other terminally ill cats if there were reasons to believe they were suffering.
Still, the decision to take your loved one to the
veterinarian for euthanasia has been the most difficult for me.
* *
*
In the summer of 2013, I noticed a black cat traveling back
and forth across the fence that ran parallel to Atascadero Creek. As I was relatively new to the neighborhood, I
thought he might be a neighbor’s cat. However,
soon the cat approached the house, and I noticed him spraying on its four
corners to mark it as his own.
I offered him a can of Friskies Prime Turkey Filets, which he
gladly ate. It became his favorite can food for the rest of his life.
He looked as if he were no older than a year. A black cat with a white spot on his chest was dumped in the neighborhood. There is a superstition against black cats. According to a recent study, about one-third of cats in U.S. shelters are black cats. The Humane Society in Santa Rosa
offers incentives for adopting black cats.
Abandoned cats are scared, hungry, thirsty, and get into
fights with resident cats who do not welcome intruders. That is how Panther got
a permanent scar on the side of his nose. This is why a big majority of feral
cats are feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV) positive, which is transmitted
through cat bites.
I called him Panther on the suggestion of a young woman who was house-sitting for a neighbor. She thought he looked like a black panther.
On March 26, 2014, I trapped Panther and took him to Analy
Veterinarian Hospital where he was examined, tested positive for FIV, received
immunization shots, and was neutered. For three weeks, I kept him in the small
bathroom. I then allowed him to venture into the rest of the house. One day
when I was going to East Bay to visit my elderly parents, Panther found the cat
door and took off.
For three months, I did not see Panther. Until, on a long
summer evening, he suddenly appeared through the open sliding door to the patio and
ran like the wind up the stairs to the loft as Sunny, Mooshi, and I looked on
in amazement. Running up the stairs to the loft at high speed became a lifelong habit for Panther. I don't know why he did it or what prompted it at any given time. He just liked to do it.
That evening, Panther came down to eat from the “buffet” of
various dry food in dishes on the floor of the living room. After he ate, he
left the house through the same sliding door. As it turned out, Panther
preferred dry food, although he also ate canned food.
Panther returned every evening and gradually stayed inside the
house longer. One evening, I closed off the doors for the night. Panther stayed
with us in the house and became part of the family..
Panther’s attitude toward other cats depended on their power
relations. He kept a distance from Mooshi, the dominant female cat, but chased Sunny,
a gentle orange female cat when they were both in the garden. I had to put a
stop to that behavior. While he chased Aggie, the female Siamese cat who lives
across the road in my neighbor’s house, he made friends with Loui, a male cat
who lived with another neighbor. He liked to hang out with him late at night.
In 2018, Siah, who is a black male cat, was dumped in the neighborhood. After a few months, Siah began to show up in the garden despite
Panther’s attempts to keep him away and eventually made a habit of sitting atop
a flat rock in the succulent garden by the steps leading to the house.
On the evening of October 20, 2018, I trapped Siah and took
him to Pet Care East, a 24-hour veterinarian hospital. He was kept over overnight,
and the next day was neutered and vaccinated. He was also found to be FIV
positive.
By 2018, I no longer had any feral cats on Darby Road to
take care of and in the house there were only Panther and Siah. However, they had
a rough first two years getting used to each other. They occasionally fought
and bit each other, causing an infection and a trip to Analy Veterinarian Hospital. The fighting subsided as Siah
established himself as dominant. As it turned out, Siah is a very jealous cat
who wanted me as his own. He practically took over the bedroom and slept next
to me at night.
Panther slept in the loft. Fortunately, cats like to sleep
in different spots and gradually, Siah began to sleep sometimes in the loft.
This allowed Panther to sleep beside me. A compromise was reached between
the two cats. Meanwhile, I helped Panther reclaim more equality with Siah. Siah
also began to accept it. One day, I found Siah standing over Panther, who was
resting on the scratching pad. Usually, this behavior meant the start of a cat
fight. However, this time, he was licking Panther’s forehead as Panther remained
relaxed.
Panther and Siah had very different personalities.is While
Siah prefers to be in the house Panther loved venturing outdoors. Panther was
full of energy and Siah is lethargic, preferring to take naps than to go out. Panther
was an early riser. His habit was to use the box at 5 am, and he gradually nagged me to get up and let him out. Siah is a late sleeper. After eating his
breakfast, Panther demanded to be brushed. This was a quality time for the two
of us when Panther got kisses and love. He had the most beautiful shiny black
fur with a heavy undercoat. I was always amazed at how he wanted to go outside
when it was freezing cold. Siah, on the other hand, would carefully feel
the conditions outside, whether it was safe to go out, and if it was not too
cold. If it were cold, he would rush back inside.
After his breakfast and being brushed, Panther always went
for a walk. I have no idea where he went, but the neighborhood is almost car-free. Panther’s tour of the neighborhood sometimes lasted until later in the
afternoon. He probably had a spot to take a nap.
Panther especially liked being out after dark. Until the
last year of his life when he was a senior and compromised by cancer, Panther
wanted to take a walk in the neighborhood at night. This habit caused me anxiety
due to the presence of coyotes in the neighborhood. However, Panther somehow
managed to roam the neighborhood for 11 years without being taken by a coyote. Aside from due diligence, Panther was also a swift mover. This gave him an
advantage in the face of danger.
Panther was a very independent and upright cat. He walked with
his tail up in the air. He loved to play and always exhausted me without
showing any sign that he had had enough. His favorite game was lying on his side on
a step to the loft with wild eyes wanting me to tease him with a feathered
stick. This game went on until I ran out of energy or time.
Panther enjoyed being massaged. A vocal cat, he demanded it by calling me. Siah did the same initially by nipping my ankle and later when he learned I don’t like it by rubbing himself against my leg. I would put each cat on either side of me on their playground rug and massage them at the same time. Panther loved sunbathing; on warmer days, he liked to lie on his side on the patio, wanting me to massage him.
He was an excellent hunter. When he was young, despite my
best efforts to prevent it, he hunted all kinds of small animals and sometimes
brought them into the house. Once, he brought in a small jack rabbit that I
saved and released in the far corner of the garden. A month before his death,
he brought a mole into the small bathroom. Lacking fangs that were recently pulled
out due to infection, he could not eat the poor mole, so he let Siah take it.
Panther loved the night scene. As the night began to fall
upon us, he wanted to go out. I would leave the front door light on so I could
see if he returned through the glass bars on the front door. Some nights, he
did not return before my bedtime. Those nights, I had to wake up every hour or
so, calling out for him until he showed up. When he showed up, I was glad to see him safe, so I picked him up and kissed him, pleading with him not to do it again. The panther was a big cat, weighing about 16 pounds.
In the last year, burdened by old age and perhaps his cancer, Panther usually just sat on the mat I had for him outside to the left of the front door. Siah would join him, sitting on the doormat, and they enjoyed watching the night creatures go by.
Panther was a strong cat; he could jump to the top of a four-foot-tall dresser, while I had a cat bed, and Siah preferred me to pick him up and put him there. One of his favorite pastimes was to jump atop the well pump housing, which was three feet high, and then jump from there to the top of the water tank, two feet higher, and from there to the roof of the tool shed. There, he would scratch against the wooden post that serves as the nightlight
post. I have videos and photos of him in
action.
Unlike Sunny and Siah, Panther was not a lap cat. He didn't like to be held for long and tried to wiggle out of my arms. However, like Mooshi
in the last year of her life, just the past year, Panther allowed me to hold him
in my arms, pressing him against my chest, and kissing his forehead. Once, I held him in my arms, belly up, with his face facing mine. For the first time, I
fully noticed how beautiful his face and eyes were.
I also tried successfully to get the two cats to share the
bed with me for the night in his last year of life. I took Panther in my arms to
the bed. Once on the bed next to me, Panther felt it was safe. Siah is a
jealous cat. Earlier on, Siah would attempt a surprise jump on the bed towards
where Panther was, presumably to scare him off the bed. Initially, I had to protect
Panther. But after several such experiences, Panther simply stood up to Siah, forcing him to back down. Gradually, Panther learned that the right side of the
bed was his while Siah had already learned to sleep at my feet or between my
legs. When they settled in, we all slept comfortably and happily. I was able to rub my hands over their bodies while talking sweetly to them. Just as Siah likes to press against me when
he sleeps, Panther too began to press his body against mine at night. Feeling
my boys pressing against me made me sleep so much better! We were finally a
peaceful family, even though I served as the glue holding Panther and Siah together.
Panther and Siah liked
the excursion to the goats’ barn when I took them organic bananas and organic corn chips. They would follow me like
dogs. Those were really happy time as Haydee and Rocky, the two elderly female
goats, wagged their little tails at the sight of my
Panther had trained me as I had trained him. In the last
year, when we all slept in the same bed, if I got up to use the toilet, he and
then Siah would also get up and wanted me to walk with them to the food buffet
in the living room. I then had to sit by them and talk sweetly to them as they
ate. Seeing them eat with gusto made me happy, as I knew that if Panther stopped
eating, I had to put him down.
At night when I had to get up to use the toilet, both cats would get up and wanted me to accompany them to the food buffet. I would do so gladly as Panther was on medication to help his ward off nausea and eat well.
* * *
When I returned from Costa Rica in December 2024, Panther
was suffering from diarrhea. He was given medication that I had to force him to
take it, something entirely against my principles. Fortunately, it helped. Then
he found to have bacteria in his feces requiring him to take antibiotics.
The last nine months of his life, Panther was excessively
eating specific grass. He soon began licking soil and rock in specific places.
I thought that was an odd behavior and reported it to his veterinarian a few
times. She never responded to my inquiries even though I suggested that Panther
was probably self-medicating. I knew something was wrong. On night in early
January, he threw up after eating food. An ultrasound found a tumor on his
kidney that turned out to be a cancerous mast tumor.
His fate was sealed.
* * *
Panther hated the ride to the veterinarian hospital. He
would continually complain as I drove there. He still complained, but not as
much on the way back home. On the afternoon of March 11 as I drove us to the
veterinarian hospital, he did not complain as much. His voice was not the usual
voice. Tears were running down my face as I tried to comfort him: “Panther,
this would be the last ride to the hospital.”
After Panther’s demis,e I buried him next to the graves of
other cats I loved under the redwood trees. I then sank into depression that is
not quite over yet. Everywhere in this house I look, there is a memory of
Panther.
This is what Rumi taught us in a short poem: “We don’t get
to choose grief.”
“We don’t know how or
when it strikes.
Who or what we’ll
lose.
It descends upon us
all at once, and it
never quite leaves.
Whoever has
endured loss knows
that we don’t
recover from grief.”
--- Rumi
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