Pic taken this morning. I left the electric blanket on for her. She loves that.
It is time. I am sitting here at 10am with a (very much alive) Spook in my lap, writing her obituary. That is so fucked up.
I have an appointment with the vet at 11:00 to have her euthanized. At least, that is my intent. They are calling it an evaluation where the vet and I will decide together if it is warranted. I call it Evaluation With Intent.
I know Spook is old at eighteen-plus. I know she will not live forever. The standard line to tell myself is, "You are lucky to have had her this long" or "She has led a good, long life. It is okay to let her go," but you know what? THAT IS TOTAL CRAP.
She's old, she's deaf, she has dandruff, she drools, she has bad breath, and although she stands in the litter box when she pees she usually ends up shooting it over the side and onto the floor. I STILL WANT HER AROUND.
But what I do not want is for her to be in distress. It is so hard to tell with cats but last night I got a clue. She had one of those mini-seizures or muscle spasms or whatever they are that make her jump up and run a few paces away and then stand there pawing at the air with her left leg. This is not new behavior but it does seem to be happening more and more frequently of late -- several times a day for sure.
Last night she did something new, though. She turned to me, still holding her quivering paw in the air, and meowed. It was one of her pissed-off meows she usually reserves for when a) I stick her with a needle to administer fluids, or b) another cat invades her personal space and she is telling him to "Get the fuck back, Jack!"
Needless to say, it killed me. I realized those spells are causing her distress and, whether or not the distress takes the form of physical pain or mental freaked-outedness, I think she has had quite enough of that. And so it is time.
I heard a perfect quote the other day. It was from a TV show but who cares? It is still perfect:
|
Everything is fine...until it isn't. Then you deal with it. |
I can hear hoof beats. Guilt rides on horseback, apparently. Am I doing it too soon? Did I wait too long? Does she know I love her? Am I really doing this selfishly for me because she has become "inconvenient?"
Well, I shall deal with all of later. For now, it is time. (10:42am)
* * *
(11:44am)
I heart Dr. O'Bannon. Not that it did not suck, but it surprisingly did not suck as horribly as I thought it would. Perhaps because it was so peaceful this time around. I stayed for the entire procedure but, unlike last year with Squeak, I had them sedate her before administering the fatal dose. Not completely out, as we have talked about here before, but the vet gave her an extra heavy dose so she was practically asleep with her eyes all second-lidded. It took several minutes for the sedative to take effect, so I got to sit alone in the room with her for about ten minutes, petting and loving on her and saying good-bye as she got sleepier and sleepier.
It only took a short time -- maybe ten seconds -- once they administered the fatal dose: she gave a small convulsion, more like a twitch really, and then she was gone. Her eyes were closed the entire time. When it was over, she just looked like she was sleeping. I am so thankful for that.
Spook was the last of the old, sick kitties. Hopefully I will not have to deal with this sort of thing again for a while. Thanks for listening to me blather on. It really does help to send it out there into the world of the interwebs.
If you have a pet, give him or her a hug today. I know you will get pet hair all over you. So what?
Tags: cats, grief, spook, euthanasia
