And Then There Were Two….

Trigger Warning: If you’ve recently lost a pet, are grieving, and would rather skip the details of the last day of a sick, old, and dying cat, you might want to skip this post. If you want to read a tribute to my cat Hunter instead, read my blog from Monday, October 6th.

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When I woke up yesterday, my husband told me that there was something wrong with my beloved 18 year old cat, Hunter. Mark had given him his medication and his subcutaneous fluids. Hunter didn’t move much, nor did he eat more than a nibble of his treats. Hunter did not come at all when food was put out.

I saw Hunter sitting uncomfortably by the water bowl. He moved away, and his back legs stumbled. You could tell he was in pain just by looking at him. When you can see that, you know it’s bad.

Hunter climbed into a chair where he likes to sleep, but he couldn’t quite rest comfortably. He moved slowly and did not lie down all the way. I decided to call the emergency line at my vet’s. I heard from my vet about 15 minutes later. She was already going into the office, so she said to meet her there.

Hunter looked so ill that I began crying. I went downstairs and told my mother to come up and visit Hunter because he was very sick. She was alarmed at how he looked and cried with me.

After getting some coffee, Mark and I drove Hunter to the vet. A physical exam indicated fluid in his stomach. The vet took some out and showed us the foam at the top, which indicated a severe protein deficiency. We considered draining his stomach, but the vet said it would probably fill right back up. We could take him to a specialist for it, but testing would cost at least a thousand dollars without giving us any real hope of him getting better.

Given his poor prognosis and that Hunter was excruciating pain, we decided it was time to say good-bye to Hunter and asked to have him euthanized.

I have loved animals all my life, especially cats. After you spend 18 years doing everything you can to keep your pet happy and healthy, telling a vet that now is the time to end your pet’s life  is nauseating. I hate the very idea of it.

But what are my options? Hunter was already in a lot of pain, and my vet said that he could die at any moment. I do not really feel there are any good options when you come to a point like this.

I called my mother to let her know what we were doing. I could only understand half of what she said through her crying. Since we moved down to New York, Hunter has been a constant companion to her. After she started to give him treats, my mother was Hunter’s queen. He would get on his hind legs and tap my mother’s arm to let her know he wanted food. Other times, he would grab her arm and pull it towards him. Or he would meow, which was more like a cute little grunt than a meow.

Hunter had the cutest little face, the most intense stare, and the softest fur you would ever touch. He used to flop over in my lap so I could scratch his belly. I’ve spent 45 minutes, an hour just petting that cat’s belly at least a couple of times a week since I got him. More recently, he did it only occasionally because he was no longer comfortable laying on his side. I think the last time that we did this was in the last couple of weeks, but it wasn’t for more than 5 minutes before Hunter had to move.

So now our home and our hearts are emptier. Yesterday was three years ago that I first met Gwendolyn, and today is three years that I brought her home. Life is like that. Sometimes you mourn and celebrate on the same day.

When you have them from when they are kittens, like I have with Hunter and Gwenny, they really do think you are their mother. That parent/child bond can exist between you and a being of another species. Hunter was an especially sweet and affectionate cat. He could not get enough of whatever attention that you wanted to give him.

I will miss his snuggling, his belly, his fur, his tail. I used to gently hold it and tell him it was my tail. If he was in my lap, I would lay it against my chest and pet his tail. He would let it stay there. So soft!

Some people claim that you cannot love an animal and that animals cannot love you back, that it is only attachment. To them I say, go to hell. I loved my cat, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved me back. Sometimes, the final way that you can show them your love is to recognize when it’s time to end their lives. It’s just so painful and goes.

When Hunter was euthanized, he was surrounded by me, Mark, a vet tech, and the vet who had cared for him this past year. She thought he was a great cat, too, even though his pain meant he growled when he received the physical exam or was put on the scale.

After Hunter died, I pet him for a little while, gave him kisses, told him how much I love him, and how much I was going to miss him. I feel like someone shot a cannonball through the place where my heart and lungs used to be. The house feels empty, even though I still have two kitty babies in my life.

Each living soul is different from another. Getting or having another pet doesn’t make the grief less or the grieving easier. Even though it’s painful, I will open my heart and home to cats who need homes as long as I possibly can. The only thing worse than having to put your beloved cat down is having an empty house.

Bless you, my baby Hunter. I hope your journey over the Rainbow Bridge was a good one. If there’s an afterlife, I hope to see you again. Find us a comfy chair where I can sit down and rub your belly for as long as you want.

On My Dad’s Birthday

If my father were alive, he would have celebrated his 89th birthday with his wife of 65 years, two of his daughters, one son-in-law, and his only grandson. Dad would have eaten cheese ravioli with meatballs. For dessert, he would have tasted fresh baked coffee cake ridged with white icing and walnut pieces. He would chased the cake with sips of Starbucks Gold Coast coffee served in a white china teacup with blue decorations all around it and on its plate.

Today my Dad would have laughed when my mom told the story of an excerpt from the book Lady from the Longboat Key by Edith Barr Dunn. Ms. Dunn successfully bought and sold real estate in Longboat Key, Florida. One of her businesses was a beauty salon wherein she employed two gay men and a female impersonator. One day, she came into the office to find the office refrigerator filled with different kinds of fruit. Frustrated, she asked the employees:

“What are all these fruit doing here?”
One of the men replied: “What do you mean? There’s only three of us here.”

My Dad would have been there when we used Facetime to talk to my sister M, her husband J, and their son J2  who are currently in Southern California to celebrate my brother-in-laws’ 50th birthday during J2’s winter school break. I can imagine his face lighting up like a shining star, mouth in a wide open smile, cheeks bunching up, and laughing just to be able to see his grandson on the screen and wish him a great vacation. My Dad would have wished them all a great time despite feeling nauseous and in pain from a growing, too-large spleen.

After the meal, my Dad would have turned slowly around in this chair to grab his walker, pull himself up, and take slow, steady steps. He would have retreated to the empillowed chair and selected a classic movie while he napped there. My family and I would have sat around, laughed, and talked.

We would ask my Dad how he felt, but the answer was the same as the answer the last time you asked. He was feeling, more or less, chronically nauseous and often unable to keep food down. He was in pain when he needed to bend or move because the spleen had grown so large that it was pushing on other organs. If it was a particularly bad day, my Dad would tell you that he prayed for God to take him. My mother would beg him to stay.

“I need you, Joe.”

The last four years after my Dad’s stroke were extremely hard on him. A robust, healthy, hard-working, construction manager who spent his days outdoors became a man too ill to enjoy his life, bathe by himself, or walk steadily unaided.  He often had difficulty swallowing and would choke on food. Whatever was happening to his body, his mind remained clear. He was a chronic insomniac who could never escape his body, the ultimate prison.

My father remembered living a happy life.

“When I was on the farm and worked outdoors, I was happy.”
“When I had no shoes because we were too poor, I was happy.”
“When all I had to eat was honey on a piece of bread, I was happy.”

I have seen pictures of my Dad when he was younger. My Dad was a man with a big smile, glistening teeth, and a hearty laugh. The man I see in those pictures is not the man I remember. I remember the old, sick man who wished to die because his body’s ailments took away his life’s pleasures. He stopped eating ice cream because it made him too cold. When that happens, life has gotten pretty bad.

My wish for you is that, whatever happens, you relish your desire to eat ice cream.