My Cat

I took Sasha to the vet for the last time today. I was going to wait a few more weeks, but decided that I couldn't watch him get sick again. I couldn't watch him in pain. I wanted to remember him as he was not as what he would become as he got sicker.

To say I fell apart and cried is an understatement. I went into one of the exam rooms with the vet and talked. Pets with chronic illnesses have good days and bad days and their owners are on an emotional roller coaster. As my vet said, she's never had an owner say they put their pet down too soon, but she has had many say they waited too long--and regretted it.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I think prolonged medication of pets is more for us than them. Making the decision is really, really hard, but it is one every pet owner faces.

Yesterday was pure torture. I had wanted to put him down yesterday, but my vet is off on Wednesdays. I could've gone with another vet, but I wanted it to be with her. So, yesterday Sasha ate lots of canned cat food. He chased seagulls. He played. He cuddled with me and the other cat. He was himself. That's why it was so hard. Two days before he was much less energetic and looked pretty rough. He was still looking a little rough, but he was much more himself. He didn't look sick. But he was. And I spent all day second-guessing my decision, and crying so hard I'm surprised I didn't throw up.

The people at the vet clinic were great. They were ready for me and so very understanding. I've gotten to know them over the last month. There were lots of questions to answer: autopsy? Do you want him back? So on and so forth. I didn't want him back in any form--that isn't my cat. My cat wasn't a canister of ashes or a corpse. My cat was a vibrant, lively cat with a unique personality that couldn't be contained. I didn't want an autopsy because I didn't want to find out that I had made a mistake. An autopsy wouldn't show anything the ultra-sound didn't. His illnesses were chronic and the kidney disease was at the very early stages. Something was making his ongoing issues worse. It could've been just the fact that everything was getting worse. Or, as the vet said, it could be something microscopic in his stomach or pancreas that an autopsy wouldn't show. But, in the end, those illnesses wouldn't kill him--they would (and had) made him uncomfortable (probably for much longer than I realized, and that makes me feel guilty as hell). The kidney disease was terminal. And it, combined with everything else, was more than I was willing to put him through.

My vet said that I know my cat better than anyone, and she often sees pet owners gut reactions provide a more reliable diagnosis than veterinary medicine could. My gut said it was time even if my heart wasn't ready to let him go. It was time.

Rest in peace, Sasha. You mean and meant the world to me. Thank you for being my animal companion. Thank you for being with me for so long. I wish I could've fixed what was wrong with you, but it's all part of life. It's all part of being a pet owner. And you know what? I'd do it all over again.

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I came home to my other cat, Alexsi. (Yes, all of my cats have had Russian names.) Other than the first four months of his life, he's always been with Sasha. We'll see how he does as an only cat. But, I will admit I am concerned about him, too. He is having some various issues that need to be looked at. He's been scheduled to go in two different times in the last month, but I kept delaying it to take care of Sasha. I have to get him in in the next few weeks. Hopefully, his issues are minor, but, like Sasha, he's getting old.