Published: June 20, 2008 10:36 am         

Difficult part - Saying 'goodbye'

When I first met Tib he bit me, then he bit my husband.

"He's a biter and we don't know why," said Siri, his caretaker at the Siamese Rescue Center in Virginia where he and his half brother, Sed, had taken up residence after their owner gave them up for adoption.

Siri had her doubts about placing the two.

Tib, a lilac point Siamese with an apple face, bit for no apparent reason but was otherwise very friendly and investigative. He checked out the newcomers with questions, sniffs, headbutts and nips as he stood on a counter behind us. A click of the copy machine drew his attention and he hopped across the cabinet to focus on waiting for the paper to emerge, reaching in a declawed paw to help it along.

His brother Sed, however, never came out from the corner in which he was hiding.

"He seems to be very afraid of everything," said Siri. "But we've caught him on camera out playing at night when everyone leaves."

Sed, a chocolate point Siamese, relied on his brother to keep him safe and he didn't do anything unless Tib told him was okay.

Siri said she had thought about separating them for adoption but she was unsure how they - especially Sed - would react to that.

Besides, we were really looking for a pair of cats, who could keep each other company when we are at work.

The three cats and the Dalmatian we had for nearly 15 years had died a few months earlier.

Then my mother died in May 2005. It was not a good time.

My mother was a cat lover and rescuer all her life and she passed that on to her daughters, all of whom have shared their lives with cats and the occasional dog.

In July, a mouse showed up. In 15 years I had never seen a mouse in our house.

The mouse and I had a major go 'round for a day. I chased it, it chased me ... all through the house and when I caught it and took it outside, it climbed up the side of the house and came back in and the game began again.

I think the mouse was possessed by my mother.

She knew I couldn't and shouldn't live without a cat.

I couldn't, of course ... live without a cat, that is.

So that's when we met Tib and Sed, short for Tiburon and Sedona, at the shelter in Virginia.

Tib's biting was an issue so we didn't decide on the spot. It was also when we got an inkling into the remarkable communication between the half siblings.

Our car was parked in front of the shelter, a two-story affair that was once a garage. The downstairs was communal living for many of the cats rescued while the upstairs was maintained as quarantine space and a step down unit for newer arrivals.

Tib and Sed were upstairs in the step down which boasted a large picture window.

As we were standing and talking with Siri outside I glanced up and saw Tib in the window. He was soon joined by Sed.

Maybe it's fanciful and maybe not, but I suspect Tib suggested to Sed we might make a good home for them.

It was obvious they were communicating and I think it was at that moment we decided to take them though we went home to "think about it first."

We e-mailed Siri that we'd decided to take them and they arrived at our house in September 2005.

We knew they were "older" at 9 and 10 years, but that was all right.

Tib was the older of the two and the dominant one.

They had documented genealogy from which we learned that they had the same mother but different fathers, hence the difference in their coloring.

Tib greeted everyone at the front door and immediately decided their status in our household - worth talking to and possibly nipping or to be ignored. When we came home from work he was always there to greet us as well.

Sed remained fearful, hiding under the bed for nearly four months before finally venturing out (at least when we were home). Gradually, he would come and talk to us but he never would let us pet him or pick him up.

Then last year, he started hopping on one of our laps occasionally.

Earlier this year, he began spending more and more time with us and he began to let me pick him up or pet him (as long as it was his idea).

About this time, Tib started spending more and more time sleeping. He didn't seem to have time to play with Sed anymore either.

By April, Tib seemed to be downright lethargic, so a trip to the vet was in order where we learned he had infected teeth that had to be removed.

He never really recovered from the surgery, despite completing the antibiotic series, B-12 shots and getting a clean bill of health from his myriad of tests.

As Tib's energy drained, Sed spent more and more time with us. It was like Tib told him that he didn't have much time left and Sed had best learn to like the humans. So he did. He really worked at it.

If I was at the computer or on the sofa, Sed was in my lap. He would leave Tib upstairs and come down stairs and talk to us whatever we were doing.

A little over a week ago on Friday it was obvious Tib could no longer control some of his movements or his bodily functions and we would have to make a decision soon. But, we were too late.

On Saturday night he went to sleep in a big basket downstairs where it was warm and shortly after 7 a.m. Sunday morning he was gone.

Sed was with him, perched nearby overlooking the basket. He came upstairs and told us when it was over.

Contact Mona Ridder at mridder@times-news.com.