His cat, an old, grumpy, female tabby whom we've had since before we were married (the first pet we bought "together"- a middle-aged, overweight, unaffectionate....basically everything that made me wonder "why one earth does it have to be that one?") had been breathing very poorly for days. We knew she was on the downward slide...this ornery old thing who'd survived two bouts of liver failure, against everything the vets had said (and I'm pretty sure she did it just to snub them).
In hindsight, I should have just taken her in and had her put to sleep. But, she didn't seem to be in pain, nor had she given up eating, drinking, or hissing at the other animals. She could still purr when petted (she wasn't a complete bitch - she like her rubs). So we let it go. Not sure why. Denial?
But yesterday, she took to one spot in the bedroom, alternately standing and staring at the wall, then laying down and gazing at the heater, her sides puffing a grotesque rhythm, sucking in to expose her bony back and pointy haunches. She'd become so thin...once a gigantic 20+ lb. cat, she was now maybe 7 or 8 (normal for most cats...but for her, this was pretty much wasted away).
Every time one of us sat down to pet her, she tried so hard to purr...and we tried so hard to convince her to just let go...stop breathing...it's okay.... But she wouldn't. Not her. The angry, old puss.
My poor husband, teary and drinking wine, laying on the floor beside her, asked me to call the emergency vet, which I did. The lady who answered told us that the cat was just going through the stages of death and that this was normal. But, because we were concerned about possible pain, I asked her what it would cost to bring her in and have her put down. $200 for the visit and over a hundred for the euthanasia. Yikes.
I'm not one to cut costs on the suffering of loved ones, but $300 is a bit much for our budget to sustain.
So, we agreed the only answer was to put her down the old-fashioned way. It was more humane that letting her go through what she was going through, dying without dignity. I know some might not agree. But I live in a "right-to-die" state and am thankful for the option if I ever needed it. The look on her face was basically, "I can't do it myself...giving up isn't in me...I'll fight this to the end...please make it stop."
So he loaded his .22 and went out into the dark and cold to dig a hole in the hard ground. I sat with her, holding her head up so she could breath more easily. She started panting, open-mouth breathing, hyper-ventilating, basically.
He returned, scooped her up in a t-shirt that smelled like him, and took her out to the front yard. The sound of the gun was so small. Just one shot.
He came back in, tears in his eyes, and put the gun on the counter. Without words, he went back out to bury her.
Earlier in the evening, he'd told me a story from his childhood. There was a family dog who'd been hit by a car and was in great pain. His father couldn't bring himself to shoot the dog. Neither could his grandfather. They asked the 12-year-old, my husband, to do it instead. Really?!!! Who does that to a kid? And yet, my husband was the only one with enough bravery and compassion to do it.
Last night, he asked, "Why is it always me that has to do it?" I told him I'd do it but was afraid I'd miss or screw it up and she'd end up in more pain and he'd have to come and do it anyway after I'd bungled it. He hadn't intended for me to do it any way; he was just bemoaning his position...wondering "why me?"
This morning, there is blood spattered on the leaves in the front lawn (we live in the woods, away from prying eyes and ears, so this is just the way of the world out here). And there is a new mound under the pussy willow tree. She's gone to join two dogs who have gone before her. A regular pet cemetery.
And all I can think about this morning is the strength of character it took for him to do the hardest thing. He really is quite amazing. Soft and strong in all the right ways. And it makes me proud.
While right now might not be the right time to tell him that, I plan to. It's important that our loved ones know that we appreciate things about them...even things that may disappoint them about themselves or make them feel guilty or weak.
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| R.I.P. "Sarin" |
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