A new book ready for pre-orders!

Visit the shop to pre buy this lttle gem of a book today.

Pre sales are important to an indie author like me-to offset the upfront printing charges for the book. There are different levels to buy at in case you want to give a bit of extra love, or you can just buy a book. PLEASE NOTE: while production will begin now, the book will not be shipped to me until September. But by buying a pre sale book, you help.

"Walter" is the illustrated story of one of the elder cats who was adopted into Apifera. He arrived at 17 with his buddy, also 17+. They were born wild and a woman fed them for all those years but never domesticated them, and then she had to go to a elder facility and the cats were taken to the shelter. The staff contacted Apifera to see if we could try to help them. They were non adoptable and euthanasia was the next step.

When the cats came to the elder cat suite, they did not bother the other old cats, but they were wide eyed and untouchable. Upon entering the room, I was hissed at and they would retreat to hide together. This went on and on. I called them The Grumpy Old Men. But one day, there was a teeny change, and this change was followed by many other baby steps. This is the story of that evolution.

I eventually named them Walter and Lemon, in honor of the actors who played the Grumpiest Old Men.

This is a story about courage. This is a love story of sorts between a an old cat and a woman. It is about letting a creature be itself on its own timeline. It's about love and honor.

A beautifully printed full color hardcover book, with illustrated end sheets [the sheets inside the cover]. Signed by artist. 56 pages, 6" x 9". Illustrated with both art and photography.

 

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Walter's Last Song

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm)

 I wrote a lot about Walter this week. I let everyone who follows us on social media that Walter was transitioning - it became very clear on Tuesday or so that he was starting to let go. There is part of me that wonders if he knew we had the puppy–I told him, of course– and he felt he could leave. I don't know. But I did find the juxtaposition of a new pup so full of life and joy next to the dying old man such a story in and of itself, the story of the bookends of life.

I had placed Lemon in the freezer, wrapped, waiting for a better temperature to bury him. I remember thinking that maybe Walter would die soon too andI could more easily bury them together. But I didn't really envision Walter dying so soon after, a month later. He failed really fast. It's like he just ate up all the love and was relaxed and had made his strides and was ready. Maybe seeing Lemon go too helped him. He had a peaceful death, and I was there to the end. It took him about 48 hours to leave. When I sang this last song, he was still conscious, but barely. That morning he was still able to sit lie with his head up, and when I came in he called to me, a little hello-goodby meow. I knew that he was saying one final hi and bye.

So they are buried now, the important ritual the caregiver  does not only for the animal, but for themselves. Martyn often digs the larger graves but this time of year the soil is easy to move and I dug the grave, placing them near the lilacs and peonies.

There is a space after death, a space for the caregiver–'what do i do now with this time I cared for this creature?' I read some things from different native Americal tribes on their death rituals. It was really interesting. Many of the tribes believe that there is a four day period after death where the body must be left ass is, or with rituals and grieving before the spirit leaves. I do think there is a space like this where the dead have to figure out how to navigate that transition form one realm to the next, or maybe it is the final letting go of worry about what they have left.

"Okay, she got me and Lemon buried nicely, I can officially go, and she's okay," maybe that is what Walter said. "She has her puppy to help her be happy, I can leave," he thought.

I am glad I have the puppy. I was very proud of Walter, and me and how we slowly worked through the layers of fear and came to a beautiful place of trust. I plant to write about it in book form. I had been thinking of doing something about Walter, and Lemon, but when I knew Walter was really leaving, I realized just how attached I'd become to him and writing and art will help me, and maybe it will help others in time. I'm so glad I agreed tot ake them in, and so glad the shelter asked me. They knew they were non adobtable and most would not have the time or patience, or set up, to have let Walter and Lemon go on that long. I'm no hero, others could have done it too, but the shelter made the right decision. I'm glad I gave them stability of two or so years in the end. They lived long lives, almost 20 years. And for the last year or so, Walter understood the feeling of touch, companionship and trust. Carrying around all that fear...must have taken a lot of energy.

The elder cat suite is strange right now, it is just 20 year old Tommy and 19 year old Inky. Today I held Inky and got him to purr. He is a nice guy but not that interested in being held. Tommy likes to put her head into your head, as she sits on her perch. I always thought Tommy would be the next to go-she is 20, but she is still here. 

He was such a great friend...such an honor to have worked with him as a team.  When I took this photo five days ago, it was the day I noted on Instagram that he was extra attentive to me that day, as if he did not want me to put him down, and when I did, he followed me and sat at my feet. I think we both didn't want to say goodbye. I think sometimes we have relationships with certain animals and there is a bond like that. I felt that when Opie died, for one. There were others, and Walter was one.

But when I sang that song, he was ready. I drew this sketch as I sat near him sleeping a day before he died. It felt like the way to honor him, but he with him.

Yume dies a good death, but what does that mean to a human?

I often use the term 'good death", and I did again this weekend when i let my followers know that Yume, one of the first elder cats to be adopted in Maine, died at 19+. I found her, dead, in her little bed where she always sleeps, pretty much where I left her that morning. It was not unexpected. That morning she was weaker in her body and ate little, I held her and reminded her I had bought her that one way ticket, but there was no expiration date–she could leave when she wanted to. And she did. These are the picture of her as I found her and when my chores were finished I captured how Inky and Walter came to lie with her. They had said goodbye long ago.

What is a good death? As a human, i look at it differently than a cat. A cat just wants peace, comfort and to be on their own terms. They don't use the word 'struggle' but they want to be able to breathe, to not be stressed. So yes, I feel in cat terms Yume had a very good death and i was happy for her.

As a human, I see many people die, as do all of you. I often hear people say they want to die in their sleep, and there is merit to that. I recently heard a doctor on a radio interview say that while many say they want to die this way, usually the body has had a heart attack or stroke when a person dies this way. I am not sure if that matters if one is asleep. With animals, I've been able to witness many natural deaths, and other induced deaths. Generally the natural death is how I prefer to see Nature takes it course, unless their is true distress or pain or danger there will be sever trauma ahead without help. But I've also witnessed how it takes a body a long time to shit down when it is in the active process of dying.

But back to a good death. This same doctor brought up the beautiful words of Maurice Sendak in his last interview with Terry Gross. He was in his last months and was ready. But he talked about how age made him acutely aware of how much he loved life, and he talked about his beautiful trees outside his window. He didn't want to miss his trees but because he loved the beauty of Nature and the trees, each second he got was spent in awe and joy of the beauty of it. The doctor said that he felt that was the layered meaning of a 'good death'–when a person can live that moment, and every moment in the day in awe of what is around them, and also be aware they are going to die and eventually they do die. They die aware of the wonder of it all–that is a good death, to be ready, to have lived, lived, lived, lived.

"I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. ... What I dread is the isolation. ... There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready." {Maurice Sendak months before dying}

Slow stitching with the elder cats & Walter and I are in the in-between time

This week I took my threads out to the cat room and began taking a couple hours a day to slow stitch amongst the old cats. This is a very special time for me and Walter. 

Walter and I [and the other three remaining elders, all are 18-20] are in the in-between. He seems to be losing strength in his hind, which is very common when they get this old. I've seen it a million times. I've noticed that his bone structure in his face is shifting, more sunken as muscle is lost. It's been a few weeks since Lemon passed. While Walter had surely lost weight over the year like Lemon, Lemon was much thinner and clearly on his way in due time. In the past couple days I've seen something shift in Walter. He is not depressed or anxious or sad or ill. He simply seems the most content I've ever seen him, and the most bonded to me he has ever been. Our journey together has been so rewarding and we took our time to get here. 

Today he wanted to be with me, sitting on my stitching, then my lap. He got up a few times but always came back. If you had told me this would be our final part of the journey when he first arrived, feral and scared, I might not have gone along with it.

I think these moments we are having our the most beautiful and profound moments I've encountered for awhile. I had been feeling the muse provoke me over and over to take my stitching out to the cat room and kept forgetting or got busy with something else. But in the last few months there has been a shift in me too. I simply want to do the work I feel like at the moment and not feel any push to do something speciific for the shop. I still make my living this way, but these past months have felt more liberating. I don't know why.

Anyway, today I was thinking -did my muse urge me on to work in the cat room, or did Walter also urge me on, so we could be together even more in these final weeks or months that he has? Yume too is clearly transitioning and she too came and sat in my lap yesterday as I sewed-this is unheard of. She is tiny but now is very, very tiny, and pretty blind too. One can't predict the muse, but when it speaks, an artist learns to listen. If they can't follow the muse, they get all messed up and confused. And if you can't follow the muse you are probably in a part of your art career that is taking you on a certain path that you feel is necessary to make a living or grow a clientele. I'm glad I'm passed that part. I always played with the muse but it is really since I started my own shop and quit reps and galleries and focused on my writing too that things settled into what I have now. It wasn't luck. And it was a winding path. And I made some wrong turns.

I've decided that I like working out there, and I also like having fewer cats in the elder suite [we had 12 at one time and usually had around 8-10, but we are down to four, and they are all very old]. I think I will make it my slow stitch and sewing area. They get my time, I get their time. I think I'll take my sewing machine out there too.

{I post my art and stitching and creative work regularly on Instagram}