alyssum

This has been a very strange couple of weeks. Brief into: I had two cats, Boy and Girl, both 13+ years old. Together since they were just months old. Girl developed asthma this summer, sort of out of nowhere.
Some time around xmas, Girl turned into an old lady overnight. She started getting more lethargic, her eyes clouded up, but she still seemed cuddly and happy. Then about 2 weeks ago she peed outside the box for the first time in all the years I've had her. I knew something was direly wrong, so I took her to the emergency vet. The vet takes her in, starts giving me a list of things that he perceived to be wrong with her, guessing it was most likely she had a tumor in her abdomen, possible kidney damage and a heart problem, plus she'd lost 1/3 of her not-ample body weight. 3 hours and many tests later, it was determined she was mildly dehydrated/constipated, and having a bladder infection. They shot her full of steroids for the asthma, and antibiotics for the infection. They told me it was the most severe case of asthma they'd ever seen, so I should bring her in if her breathing didn't begin to improve, or...blah blah, several other things meaning "not getting better".
4 days came and went, the first two she barely ate and barely moved, but she responded cheerily to the treatment. The second day she expended almost all her energy to come cuddle with me for a while. I could not have been happier. But then her mood deteriorated, and she was getting more and more withdrawn, plus her breathing was getting worse.
Monday (day 5) came and I knew it was time to go back to the vet. I spent all morning googling about asthma and making the decision to euthanize, the process of it and all that. And crying. A lot. At noon, I brought her in, and as soon as I set her on the reception desk she collapsed. I think we all knew what was coming at that point. The doctor came in after checking her out, told me what I suspected, which was that if steroids and inhalants weren't helping anymore there was nothing they could even do to make her comfortable. I agreed that it was time, and he explained that I'd have paperwork to fill out which would be brought to me shortly.

I sat there in the little room, shaking like a dog shitting peach-seeds, but still fairly calm. Told Hippomonki what was going on because I knew that was the last time I was going to be able to conduct a coherent thought for the rest of the day. Some red-headed girl came in, to take me to a "more appropriate room", down the hall. The "Comfort Room". It was incredibly aptly named. Spa-like colors and a nice couch, a little garden outside the window... she starts to explain to me what's going to happen, and starts giving me brochures and paperwork and some journal filled with poetry which I only just thumbed through tonight. I'm still calm, but barely inhabiting my body. She asks me if I'd like paw-pad printings or a hair-clipping done... I lose my shit entirely and bawl like an infant.
Read that last sentence like it's a guy saying it, because I tend to be guy-like in my view of crying in front of people. In short: Huge fucking deal.
I'll spare you the details of the rest but to say that it was very peaceful, and I was able to exit through a rear door through a garden, not having to drag my puffy, bedraggled self back through a building full of people. Words cannot describe how much that meant to me.

Since then I'm impressed how much different grief can be when you take care of yourself accordingly. That's not to say incredibly sweet and sympathetic letters from her vets don't start me bawling again, but it feels less like I'm being dragged over hot coals and more like I'm carefully taking care of a wound which will be fine again in time. Boy cat is still clearly feeling the pain of the change, but I'm sure in time he'll be okay too.