(Trigger alert: Avoid this if a sad pet story is not what you need today.)
Rest in Peace, Cinder. I took our 17-year-old cat to the vet this morning and had her put to sleep. It was a difficult decision to make--we'd been thinking about it for several months--but once it was made, I was sure it was the right thing to do. She's been more and more weak and crotchety, and she was starting to act kind of groggy and disoriented. I think she might have had a stroke. But she slept on my feet at night, and she was essentially my cat, and it is hard to say good-bye.
I sat down and talked to her about it on Saturday. I don't know if you talk to your pets, and it's entirely possible that you think it's dumb to talk to your pets beyond the usual endearments and commands. But I always have--not often, but when important things that affect them are happening. They (of course) can't talk back, but I'm convinced that if I open myself to their response, they can communicate in their own way. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that, because this was a hard thing to do.
Regardless. I told her what I was thinking, and asked her what she thought, and I got the distinct impression that she was OK with it. She was a wild little thing at heart, as maybe all cats are. Never fully domesticated. I think she always believed that she was a jungle cat in a housecat's body. I had this sudden glimpse of her in the wild, and if that's where she was, she would have been gone long ago. She was way too elderly to escape a predator or survive a freezing night.
So I took her in this morning and stroked her while our amazingly compassionate vet and one of his assistants did what they needed to do, and in less than a minute, she just slumped over and was gone. I'm still sure it was the right thing to do, but it's a very sad-making thing. So, I hope Cinder is bounding about in a happy hunting ground filled with mice, and that there is tuna fish or salmon for dinner every night. I'll miss you.
Oh, Barb, I'm so sorry for you---Helping an animal exit a painful or unrewarding life---it's one of the hardest things we do, once we take on the responsibility of pet ownership. I know Cinder had an amazing life because she had you to care for her, and to share your thoughts with her. I've always talked to my dogs---I believe they can intuit tone, at the very least, and seem to always know when their humans just need a companion by their side. I wish I could give you a hug, this grief is as real as any other and I send my best thoughts to you and your family. Your kids must not remember a life without her in it, huh? Laurel
ReplyDeletethanks, Laurel. It has been a rough day. She's just been there forever. But I still think it was the right thing to do. MadMax had some bad early experiences with other cats, so has never cared much for any felines. The rest of us will miss her, though.
DeleteSending hugs. That is one of the hardest decisions to make, even when it is the right thing to do. I'm sorry. There isn't anything that anyone can say to make it better, but I'll be thinking of you.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Karen. I'm doing OK, but it kind of comes in waves. Yesterday I just stayed home. Today I was out and about but would occasionally find myself tear-ing up. Fortunately I never completely lost it, although I did at the vet yesterday while I was checking out. They are very nice people. One woman didn't say anything, just handed me the kleenex box. :-)
DeleteI will miss Cinder and I know your love for your cats. So sorry for your loss but I am glad you had such great years with her.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mae. Me, too. Up until the last year, she was the perfect cat.
DeleteSending love. I am so so very sorry for your loss.
ReplyDeleteThat decision is horrible, no matter what kind of pet you have.
Oh I'm sooo sorry. I helped my mum put down a cat last summer and we did the same thing--talked to her etc. Interesting how you can see the exact moment when they're no longer in that body. Off in the happy hunting field.
ReplyDeleteSending you little kitty prayers of healing.