So it ended.
I had the worst weekend of my life, the day I hoped would never happen, but the day I knew was coming "soon" for a while now.
I woke up on Saturday morning to find my kitty, Molly, lying still on my bed. Breathing, but unable to meow. I picked her up, and she felt so light... I carried her out to the kitchen, tried to hold her up to let her get some water. She just laid her head in the water, unable to drink, unable to find the strength any more to hold her head up. She couldn't stand, so I laid her on her side, cleaned myself up, and began the phone calls I needed to do to bring her pain to an end.
I was too upset to drive, and asked Tony to drive her and me to the westside, to an emergency medical clinic. She was 6 or 7 degrees below normal, had lost another pound since August. She was in the process of dying. IVs of fluids would prolong her over the weekend, but that was it. I asked how they performed euthanasia, whether I could hold her as she passed away... injection of anaesthetic and "yes, " and I could take my time and knock when I was ready.
Molly was lying on her side, propped between two hot water bottles which dwarfed her. I cradled her and cried like I've never cried in my life, cried harder than I did when my marriage fell apart. My face hurt, my eyes hurt, my chest hurt. Physical pain, and I couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
She focused on me for a second, reached out a paw, and patted my face. Round two of crying commenced.
After a while, I collected myself, knocked on the door. They came in, shaved a patch on her back leg, and I held her as they injected her. They thought they had missed her vein, but I watched as her eyes dilated until they were almost completely black. They were about to reinject, but I said that I thought it had worked... she flexed her front paws a couple of times, gave a little cough, and went limp. They left me alone; a 31 year old crying like a little kid, holding his best friend from the time he was 8 years old, holding her for the last time, talking to her for the last time. It was hard to let her go. How can I let go of 23 years?
I'm torn about how it all ended. I'm glad I was there- I would have hated it had I gone out or stayed at Heather's and come home to find her passed away- but I had always hoped that she'd go peacefully in her sleep, not die of euthanasia after a losing battle with a failing liver. I kick myself for not taking care of her better, even though I took care of her so well that she outlived most other cats by a good decade...
And I hate myself that I don't have any place to bury her. They're going to cremate her and give me the ashes in an awfully gaudy tin container that looks as if it were a reused Hershey Kisses gift box. I don't know what to do with her ashes. We didn't have a favorite park for me to scatter her in, and it seems wrong to reduce my best friend to a knick-knack that sits on a shelf.
I had to surprise Heather with the bad news; she was on her way to Chicago for a business holiday trip, and was pretty much floored when she got to her hotel. I'd felt bad for not being able to go with her due to finals at school, but now I'm thankful I'd not been able to go...
I didn't have much time to mourn, really, and haven't yet. Upon returning with my empty cat carrier, I logged on to find 20+ e-mails from panicked students in logic who were trying to finish their portfolios. Duty called, and calls... I've been running non-stop preparing for finals in the classes I'm taking as well as teaching. I guess it's good to have something to keep my mind off of how empty the house seems now, but still... I need time to really break down.
Happy holidays.
I had the worst weekend of my life, the day I hoped would never happen, but the day I knew was coming "soon" for a while now.
I woke up on Saturday morning to find my kitty, Molly, lying still on my bed. Breathing, but unable to meow. I picked her up, and she felt so light... I carried her out to the kitchen, tried to hold her up to let her get some water. She just laid her head in the water, unable to drink, unable to find the strength any more to hold her head up. She couldn't stand, so I laid her on her side, cleaned myself up, and began the phone calls I needed to do to bring her pain to an end.
I was too upset to drive, and asked Tony to drive her and me to the westside, to an emergency medical clinic. She was 6 or 7 degrees below normal, had lost another pound since August. She was in the process of dying. IVs of fluids would prolong her over the weekend, but that was it. I asked how they performed euthanasia, whether I could hold her as she passed away... injection of anaesthetic and "yes, " and I could take my time and knock when I was ready.
Molly was lying on her side, propped between two hot water bottles which dwarfed her. I cradled her and cried like I've never cried in my life, cried harder than I did when my marriage fell apart. My face hurt, my eyes hurt, my chest hurt. Physical pain, and I couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
She focused on me for a second, reached out a paw, and patted my face. Round two of crying commenced.
After a while, I collected myself, knocked on the door. They came in, shaved a patch on her back leg, and I held her as they injected her. They thought they had missed her vein, but I watched as her eyes dilated until they were almost completely black. They were about to reinject, but I said that I thought it had worked... she flexed her front paws a couple of times, gave a little cough, and went limp. They left me alone; a 31 year old crying like a little kid, holding his best friend from the time he was 8 years old, holding her for the last time, talking to her for the last time. It was hard to let her go. How can I let go of 23 years?
I'm torn about how it all ended. I'm glad I was there- I would have hated it had I gone out or stayed at Heather's and come home to find her passed away- but I had always hoped that she'd go peacefully in her sleep, not die of euthanasia after a losing battle with a failing liver. I kick myself for not taking care of her better, even though I took care of her so well that she outlived most other cats by a good decade...
And I hate myself that I don't have any place to bury her. They're going to cremate her and give me the ashes in an awfully gaudy tin container that looks as if it were a reused Hershey Kisses gift box. I don't know what to do with her ashes. We didn't have a favorite park for me to scatter her in, and it seems wrong to reduce my best friend to a knick-knack that sits on a shelf.
I had to surprise Heather with the bad news; she was on her way to Chicago for a business holiday trip, and was pretty much floored when she got to her hotel. I'd felt bad for not being able to go with her due to finals at school, but now I'm thankful I'd not been able to go...
I didn't have much time to mourn, really, and haven't yet. Upon returning with my empty cat carrier, I logged on to find 20+ e-mails from panicked students in logic who were trying to finish their portfolios. Duty called, and calls... I've been running non-stop preparing for finals in the classes I'm taking as well as teaching. I guess it's good to have something to keep my mind off of how empty the house seems now, but still... I need time to really break down.
Happy holidays.