Friskey...The First Heartbreak In My Life
May 19, 1968-July 5, 1975
I'm not really writing this in any particular order, but since I have already mentioned about Friskey, I thought I would relate what was to be my first heartbreak. Friskey came into my life on May 19, 1968, some six years after our very first cat Babette. He was a silver tabby cat who grew quite enormous. Uh, no, he wasn't fat...LOL. Just a gosh darn big cat. While large and maybe intimidating, he had the heart and love of a teddy bear, and one could never ask for a more gentle creature than he.
Since we didn't have that many cats at the time, when my grandmother, mother and myself would go away on vacations, usually to the Lancaster, Pa area, we took the cats with us. In fact the picture of him I have here, was taken on just such a trip and at the time we usually stayed at the Howard Johnson's that was there.
Sadly, Friskey was to only live about seven years and to this day I blame whatever happened while he was at the vet. The nearby vet we started taking our cats to, beginning with Babette, we had trusted completely, and never questioned his "professional" services. I would later, many years later find out that other people had had their own horror stories with this vet.
It was during the last week of June of 1975. At the time I was away for a few days visiting a friend, and when I came back home, Friskey wasn't there. My grandmother explained that one day, while I had been away, and my mother was working at the time, suddenly Friskey had some kind of health problem, but not knowing what was wrong, took him to our vet. The vet we trusted and had by now been going to for many years.
The vet kept Friskey there for nearly a week. When we asked if we could see him, the vet refused saying it would upset Friskey. At the time, we didn't realize how wrong this was. If you have a pet with a vet due to a health problem, one has the right to see their pet...we didn't know this, and like I said, since we trusted the vet, we thought he knew best. Finally, we had enough of it, and demanded to have our cat back as no one was telling us, what was wrong with Friskey. You have to remember, this was long before anyone thought of suing even a vet for any kind of malpractice.
He, the vet agreed to let us take Friskey home...No explanations what was wrong, no medications were given to us...nothing. Also since he was in his traveling case, we didn't notice anything suspicious until we got home. Once home and out of his carrier case, it was only then that we noticed his one leg was all bandaged up. Like what the hell was this?? Again, the vet offered no explanation when we called to find out what was what.
Friskey of course wasn't getting any better, only worse. His one leg that was bandaged up became weaker and we then took him to another veterinary place...one that was open 24/7, even holidays and had a noted good reputation. The news wasn't good. After the vet examined Friskey he told us that the leg had gangrene. Like how the hell did that happen? There had been nothing wrong with his leg when my grandmother took him to that first vet, and he certainly didn't give us any medications to combat any severe infections.
The vet gave us two options. The one was that Friskey's leg would be amputated, and he would then need physical therapy to get him used to walking on three legs...all at a cost I might add that was astronomical. The second option, as you can guess was the more difficult one...to have him put down. Neither my grandmother or mother could deal with the idea of putting him down, and left the decision solely up to me. Gee, thanks, like I really wanted to make such a lousy decision...but the two of them just couldn't give the word to have it done.
But what could we do? We just didn't have the money for the first option...it was way too expensive. I remember so vividly...being outside the exam room with my mother and grandmother...our tears were flowing uncontrollably...but it was me who had to give the final okay to put him down. That happened July 5, 1975, and Friskey is buried at the Wantaugh, Long Island Bide a Wee Cemetery. He was the first cat in my life to go to Rainbow Bridge...and one day, when it is time for me to pass from this world, I can meet him again, as I hope to meet all my "babies"
