"He passed
away naturally on my bed while I was at work. He looks so f*cking
peaceful." and thus began my text to Parker, my ex, letting him know that
Monkey, one of the cats we shared during our relationship, had died.
That was on December
3, 2013. I had come home to take Monkey to the vet to have him put to sleep because I knew it was time. He had been making attempts to hide for several days, yet, when I arrived home that afternoon, he had made his transition. Only 16 days later, December 19, I would again be texting Parker. This time, it was from the
veterinarian's office. I was there with my surviving cat, Mr.
Steve. Thinking that Mr. Steve may be grieving because he had stopped eating,
I decided to take him to be checked out. What I found out, however, is that Mr. Steve was not grieving. Instead, he was very sick. He had a
temperature 7° below normal. Tests would be run, and would require an
overnight stay at the vet. I was, to say the least, uncomfortable with
this situation. Visiting him in the kennel before they administered an
IV, I grew even more uncomfortable. The sounds of dogs barking from a
distance seemed to permeate the room. I knew what was happening, Mr. Steve, who
would never been around dogs, didn't. The doctor returned and I asked him
"How close is he to death?" "I'm not going to lie to you, he
might not make it through the night." said the vet. I explained to
him that I didn't feel comfortable with the situation. The vet understood
my concern. He advised me that he would go ahead and do a blood sample for a
primary diagnosis while I waited. A few minutes passed and the doctor called me
back to the examination room. During the interim, I had been texting with Parker. We
decided if he was in renal failure, it was time. And so, a few minutes
later the doctor called me back and showed me the results and I said, "He's
an renal failure, correct?" "Yes." confirmed the
doctor. I advised the doctor at that point that I would like to have him
put to sleep. He explained that my other option would be to give Mr. Steve
fluids at home for the rest of his life. I declined that option, as I saw
it has only perpetuating his suffering. My wish, my hope, my promise, was
to allow both of my cats to die with dignity.
I had both of my
boys cremated. Being a city dweller, and not owning my home, it seemed to
be the best option for me. The owners of the crematory went out of their
way to abide by my wishes. While I was able to say goodbye to Monkey at
home. I did not have time to say goodbye to Mr. Steve. I was allowed to take
a few moments, privately, to tell Mr. Steve goodbye. I was able to pet his
body, place him in a box (which the attendant at the crematory went out of his
way to provide me—by emptying a box for me) and I was allowed to adequately say
“goodbye”.
Monkey's health
declined for a number of months, and I knew his death was imminent. I
allowed him to die peacefully at home. I had promised him that I would
not take him to the vet, because I knew it would be too traumatic for both of
us. He was allowed to go in his time and in his own way. In fact, I
was going home the afternoon I discovered his body to take him to the vet to
put him to sleep because I knew it was time. I couldn't have scripted his
passing any better. It was, in a word, beautiful.
Here's my
confession: Monkey had more than his fair share of flaws-he would often “go”
outside his litter box. For years, people told me to get rid of
him. However, my commitment was steadfast. I signed up to be his
human, and I can't just "get rid" of him. If it were a human
baby, I couldn't just "get rid" of him for behavioral problems.
And so, I dealt with it. Cleaning messes each time, loving him, chastising
him, because that was the right thing to do.
Now, weeks, almost
months, removed from their departures, most of the feline items have been from my home. I have contemplated getting a new cat, but the truth is, I'm ok
without one. There may be a time in the future, but now is not the
time. Instead, I honor their memories, and remember then when I see their
urns.
I had many years of
love and companionship with these two cats. Monkey was with me for almost
10 years, and Mr. Steve was with me for nearly nine years. Their deaths, only 16 days apart
seems appropriate. The question, the thought, which most often comes to mind,
is that perhaps their jobs were done. They somehow knew that. They are
gone to make way for something else in my life. What that something else
is, I'm not certain, but I believe that there's a reason behind their
back-to-back departures. And they are now together at the Rainbow Bridge,
watching over me every single day.
I imagine they are watching as the next chapters unfold in my life. It’s all unknown to me at this
point, but I take comfort knowing that, at least in spirit, my felines are not
all that far way.
Will I get another
cat or cats? That’s probably
the most often asked question.
To be honest, at this juncture, I have decided that I am not ready to make
that commitment. Perhaps,
one day, out of the blue, it will happen, but until then, I will go about my
daily life. And, when, or if
that day comes that I am convinced I’m ready to be another pet’s human, I’ll
cross that bridge. For now,
I bid adieu to my felines.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine
