Tomorrow, I have to kill my cat. (Interesting to see how that sentence looks when it’s not dressed in its ‘having her put down’ clothes. ) She’s 19, had a heck of a life, and is now deaf, can’t quite jump onto the sofa, and wets herself. I’ve been putting this moment off for a couple of months – ever since she started losing weight drastically. We took her to the vet (where a weary nurse handed her back after taking blood for a test, saying ‘there can’t be much wrong with her, she put up a hell of a fight’) and wormed her. My sister, an RSPCA inspector checked her out. And the verdict was: nothing’s really wrong, she’s just worn out. While she seemed happy and pain-free, I was happy to clean the puddles and the poo. But over the last 48 hours she’s suddenly become even more skeletal (although still ravenously hungry) and….I’m looking for le mot juste…..empty. Aimless. Not herself. And that’s when I knew I’d have to call the vet in the morning. A call to my sister confirmed what I knew deep down.
I wanted the vet to come out to her, but as that would cost around £240 (which I just haven’t got), me and Andrew will carry her into the vet’s tomorrow morning. I say carry – she’s so weak, and she hates the basket, so I’d like her last journey to be as stress-free as possible. And here’s the rub. I know the most loving thing I can do for her is to end her life painlessly, with me and Andrew there to whisper loving things and hold her while she dies. But I have to make the decision to kill her, and it’s killing me. I have a, shall we say, interesting relationship with death at the moment. I cry when I see roadkill. The thought of all that vitality and energy smashed to pieces rankles me. I’m fighting for life, so inviting him in with the other hand seems strange. I know it’s selfish to want to hold on to my cat Cindy when she’s so clearly starting to have very little quality of life left. But something in me balks at having to snuff out that spark of life.
But, it has to be done. Grief is the price you pay for love, as the cliche goes, but it’s true.
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March 15, 2010 at 3:49 pm
Tim Lyon
Hi Ali
I will be thinking of you both tomorrow. Our (totally adored) labrador is only ten but he is getting very stiff and has lumps on his lumps. We are conscious that within the next 6 months or so we will be in the position that you are now. I tend to think that pets, and perhaps especially dogs, are like children that never grow up. In many ways because they never lose that dependence on us, never grow away from us and never become self-reliant, the relationship remains that of parent and toddler and I think that is why the ‘putting to sleep’ comes so hard.
When the time comes, I think we shall have to pay for the vet to come to our home because we have another older but very fit labrador who also adores him. Friends (even tough countrymen) have told us that animals understand death and she must see that he has died so that she will understand why he has gone away.
And after death, what then for our pets? I remember a National Trust House Manager telling me about a visitor to his house who sought him out quite angry because he had seen a spaniel running down the grand staircase and out into the garden. He felt it quite wrong that dog should be allowed to run around such a fragile stately home. The manager was able to reassure him that, although the dog was seen regularly in the house, it had died over 100 years ago.
So, as you know, I am a fervent believer that our souls return home after our time on this Earth and since life on the ‘other side’ is experienced in ways that we cannot comprehend perhaps our pets do join us.
I remember reading a quote from an (I think) 18th Squire who said “A man’s greatest sadness is that he out lives his dogs.”
So even in what we rather regard as a less emotional age, grief was the price of love.
March 15, 2010 at 3:54 pm
Brennig
Massive sympathies. I had to have my last horse put to sleep, I stayed with him through the whole process and it broke my heart to see that big, wonderful, unconditionally-loving animal totter and fall over as unconsciousness hit. I will probably have to have Vin put to sleep in the next couple of months and the thought of what will happen is breaking me up. As I said, massive sympathies.
March 15, 2010 at 5:15 pm
Hubby
I think we both need a nice glass of wine tonight! xx
March 16, 2010 at 9:19 am
Vikki Watmough
We had to have our dog Barney put down when we realised that all of a sudden the massive tumour on his back was pressing on his spine, as we’d been warned would happen, and that he was having trouble standing, peeing or walking. It was time to make the choice and it was the hardest decision we ever came to, it broke my heart watching him die. But to watch him lie there in pain, knowing I could have stopped it at any point and saved him that discomfort and indignity would also have hurt, so in the end it was a no win situation. Nothing is ever all good times and while the upsides to owning a pet are fun, companionship and unconditional love, the downside is the time when you lose them. 19 is an amazing age for a cat to have got to so you obviously looked after her brilliantly. My sympathies to you and the family, I hope it’s not too traumatic for you all.
March 17, 2010 at 10:09 pm
Caz
Many sympathies, I’m doing this to my dog tomorrow but I honestly think it’s harder for us as “owners” than it is for the pet. There’s so much grief being thrown at them when they just want to act same as normal (but with pain attached), they don’t understand why we’re sad.
I’m with Tim on this, your cat will stay around with you in spirit to make sure you’re ok for as long as you need her.
March 18, 2010 at 11:51 am
Jan Edwards
It was a year yesterday that we had to do the same for our
beloved Maine Coon, Smokey. It´s such a hard thing to have to do
and my thoughts are with you all. We buried our old fella in the sunniest
spot in our garden and passing that place always makes me think of him and the pleasure he gave us.
I often think of you and wish I could wave a magic wand and make
everything right for you . . . Jan x
March 19, 2010 at 11:20 pm
Alison
So sad. We had our beloved cat put down in summer 2008 – the final thing in a horrible year where everything went wrong. She went from being a happy normal cat to being desperately ill within about 4 days, acute kidney failure. my daughter was on holiday at the time so I had to take the decision to keep her alive till KT got home ot let her go …. but eventually it was so obvious Peaches was in pain that we let her go. My son (10 at the time) and I took her to the vets and held her till she went. We buried her in the garden, when my daughter was home, and planted a peach coloured rose tree on the spot. Gone but never forgotten.
Hugs coming your way. It’s been a sad week.
March 22, 2010 at 8:05 pm
Allan Jordan
My Heart goes out to you! lots of love XXXXX Allan