#Teddy Roosevelt 🧡

[orchidvioletindigo]

And! Since I'm no longer working there, that means I can finally, finally tell you all about Teddy.

Content warning for some gross medical discussion and euthanasia discussion (this is not a euthanasia story).

[ID: A photo of a small-ish, short-haired, very orange tabby cat with a round face, pink nose, and big orange eyes stepping up to the front of a cage. Part of a cage card is visible and reads, "Return from July – liquid poop." /End ID.]

This is little Teddy Roosevelt. He was one of the first animals I met on my first day at the shelter and I'm pretty sure I gasped when I saw him. He looked just like a storybook cat. He was about six months old, very playful and mischievous and eager for attention. The poor guy had been returned for some rough gastrointestinal symptoms. He was confined to this cage in intake while our vet tech tried to figure out and fix whatever was wrong with him.

[ID: A Discord message that reads, "I don't think any of the other cats like Teddy. He's basically an obnoxious teenager. There used to be a cat named Mary Shelley in the cage above his who did not like other cats messing with her. Teddy discovered that if he stuck his paws up through the cage door, she would growl and smack his paws away. So he started doing that repeatedly because he thought it was fun." /End ID.]

Teddy very much did not act sick, but it was clear that he was understimulated and not getting the quality of life he deserved while stuck in that cage. When I needed to clean his space, I had to put him in a carrier because he wouldn't stop trying to play with me.

[ID: A photo of Teddy looking out from inside a plastic pet carrier seated on the floor. /End ID.]

He pretty quickly wormed his way into my heart, enough that the vet tech took notice and kept me apprised of his condition. Enough that I spent a lot of time daydreaming about a life with Teddy, and crying because I couldn't have that in my current living situation. I tried, sometimes successfully, to pivot my daydreams to that of watching Teddy move to the adoption floor and sending him home with a new family to love him.

Weeks dragged on and Teddy wasn't getting better. His spirits were still up, but if his condition couldn't be treated, he was eventually going to waste away in that cage. We had tried everything short of steroids. The vet tech informed me, and then everyone else, that Teddy had a week and a half to improve on the steroids. And if he didn't, the only humane option was euthanasia. ("No-kill" does not mean merciful medical euthanasia is off limits.)

[ID: A photo from my perspective of Teddy sitting in my lap. I am wearing cobalt blue scrubs, and my beige hand is rubbing his cheeks. He is looking up at me and kneading my leg. /End ID.]

I started using my breaks to make sure that Teddy got time out of his cage every day that I was there. If this was possibly going to be his last week and a half of life, I didn't want it all to be spent stuck in that cage. Most days I could only manage to give him some snuggle time in my lap sitting on the floor directly in front of his enclosure, but he absolutely ate it up. One day I did get a room cleared out for him so that we could have intensive play time together with his favorite toy.

[ID: A photo of Teddy in an open room, crouched on the floor and staring intensely at a cluster of sky blue feathers at the end of a fishing line style toy. /End ID.]

I also got him a teddy bear. I figured if he didn't make it, the bear would be something for me to remember him by. And if he did make it, we could send the bear home with him when he got adopted as something to remember me by.

[ID: A photo from my perspective of me holding out a stuffed bear with a big round body and a tiny head towards Teddy. Teddy is climbing onto my lap from his open cage and looking around the room. /End ID.]

I asked to be informed if/when the decision to euthanize was made, so that I could be there with him in his final moments. My boss and coworkers readily agreed that I should be his goodbye person. I practiced what I would say in my head a lot. "No bad days for Teddy." "I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you." "I promise I'll see you again." "I love you, Teddy Bear."

He cut it pretty close to the wire, but in the final days of the steroid treatment, Teddy did get better. He was always going to have IBS-like symptoms and need extra care, but he was no longer on a decline and in danger of wasting away. And he was such a wonderful little guy that he got a home with a friend of our vet tech before he even made it out to the adoption floor. His adopter would be someone who had cared for special needs cats before, who had the money and the patience and love to give Teddy a long and happy life.

I didn't get to be there when Teddy went home, but my coworkers did make sure that I had extra time at the end of the day before to say goodbye. A much happier goodbye than I had been letting myself expect. Our feline behaviorist even volunteered to take photos of us together.

[IDs: Two photos of Teddy snuggled up in my lap. The first is taken from my perspective and the second is by another person, showing us sitting in front of Teddy's open cage. In the second photo you can see me, a thin person with beige skin, dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair worn up under a light blue bandana. I am wearing purple scrubs and a Cheshire slime mask from Slime Rancher. /End IDs.]

He went home with his bear.

A few weeks later, our vet tech shared photo updates of Teddy in his new home. She said she especially wanted to share them for me. His adopter had said that he was fitting in perfectly, happy and confident and playing with her other cat like he'd tried to do with Mary Shelley, with better results this time.

[ID: A photo of Teddy lying fast asleep on someone's lap. Text across the photo says, "Made himself right at home." /End ID.]

I still think about Teddy a lot. He's my complicated goodbye, my "what if" boy. There's a timeline where he came home with me, was the first cat that got to truly be mine after surrendering so many to my past abusers. But there's also this timeline, where I helped him get miraculously better, where he did get to leave that cage and go home with another loving adopter. And I can never stop being grateful for that.

[ID: A selfie showing Teddy climbing up over my shoulder to groom the back of my head. I am wearing a rainbow tie-dye bandana and a mask printed with Stardew Valley flowers and smiling at the camera through the mask. /End ID.]