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Some time between 8:40 and 9:30 today (sorry, I wasn't watching my watch), the vet gave Babe the final shot and she slipped away. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning; she choked when she ate then and sometimes otherwise; her nose was horribly stuffed up and she had breathing difficulties and I think, from the way she held her head, that her ear had begun to bug her again.
I truly think it was necessary, and so did the vet. But it wasn't easy, and it never is, and I miss her so bad. I only hope she's at peace now, back with my parents who loved her so much, and with Basta. I was wrong about her age - she was older than I gave her credit for, though still only seven. Too young, and too precious. I spent much of the weekend cuddling her (especially Sunday), and I held and petted her today until we knew she wasn't there any more.
And I miss her so. Babe, my sweet cuddler. The cat who would snarl when given her medicines, but never ever try to claw or bite me. The cat who would, in any play session, eventually attack the surface under her instead of the toy, as long as the surface under her moved at all (blankets, mats, etc.).
I don't think she was suffering badly yet, but I think she would have been soon. We spared her that. I know that. But I don't have to like it. I still want to rush back, undo it somehow, find a miracle to make her happy again. It feels like such a betrayal. It didn't with Basta - but Basta was blatantly dying and not herself. Babe was still herself. But to hang on to her until it got bad...when that would have been within a day or two since she wasn't eating, and might have been while we weren't at home to take care of her.... No. I could not have done that. But oh, I wish I could have saved my Babe-kitty. I wish I had had a miracle for her, because she needed one, but we (including the vets) were all out of those, finally.
It's been long, and hard, and far far too short a time.
I'm going to be an emotional mess for a while. I doubt this surprises anyone. What surprises me is how unhappy I was that the vet didn't have a last-minute miracle...because I knew the odds of that were nearly zero. I was expecting this outcome, completely. I spent all weekend bracing myself for it, cuddling and treasuring the cat because I knew I was letting her go. And still, it was when the vet agreed with us that I finally lost it, because apparently I was hoping for that last-minute save more than I realized.
She's at peace now. No more having me scrub her nose, or give her a syringe of prednisone (however much it annoyed her, that drug bought her more time than she'd have had otherwise, for which I'm very grateful). No more hunger that can't be fed because she can't recognize food as food any more. No more choking.
No more cuddles, no more purrs, no more watching her cross the room confidently when she can't see as soon as you rustle the bean bag chair (which was always in the same spot, and a very distinctive sound that she would home in on).
Good night, Babe. Rest in peace. September 2001-September 2008.
Short video: Babe, before she lost her vision, playing with a feather toy and the mat she was on.
There are some photos of her in the last few days - not bad ones - that I may upload later. For now, the ones here are all a little older.
I truly think it was necessary, and so did the vet. But it wasn't easy, and it never is, and I miss her so bad. I only hope she's at peace now, back with my parents who loved her so much, and with Basta. I was wrong about her age - she was older than I gave her credit for, though still only seven. Too young, and too precious. I spent much of the weekend cuddling her (especially Sunday), and I held and petted her today until we knew she wasn't there any more.
And I miss her so. Babe, my sweet cuddler. The cat who would snarl when given her medicines, but never ever try to claw or bite me. The cat who would, in any play session, eventually attack the surface under her instead of the toy, as long as the surface under her moved at all (blankets, mats, etc.).
I don't think she was suffering badly yet, but I think she would have been soon. We spared her that. I know that. But I don't have to like it. I still want to rush back, undo it somehow, find a miracle to make her happy again. It feels like such a betrayal. It didn't with Basta - but Basta was blatantly dying and not herself. Babe was still herself. But to hang on to her until it got bad...when that would have been within a day or two since she wasn't eating, and might have been while we weren't at home to take care of her.... No. I could not have done that. But oh, I wish I could have saved my Babe-kitty. I wish I had had a miracle for her, because she needed one, but we (including the vets) were all out of those, finally.
It's been long, and hard, and far far too short a time.
I'm going to be an emotional mess for a while. I doubt this surprises anyone. What surprises me is how unhappy I was that the vet didn't have a last-minute miracle...because I knew the odds of that were nearly zero. I was expecting this outcome, completely. I spent all weekend bracing myself for it, cuddling and treasuring the cat because I knew I was letting her go. And still, it was when the vet agreed with us that I finally lost it, because apparently I was hoping for that last-minute save more than I realized.
She's at peace now. No more having me scrub her nose, or give her a syringe of prednisone (however much it annoyed her, that drug bought her more time than she'd have had otherwise, for which I'm very grateful). No more hunger that can't be fed because she can't recognize food as food any more. No more choking.
No more cuddles, no more purrs, no more watching her cross the room confidently when she can't see as soon as you rustle the bean bag chair (which was always in the same spot, and a very distinctive sound that she would home in on).
Good night, Babe. Rest in peace. September 2001-September 2008.
Short video: Babe, before she lost her vision, playing with a feather toy and the mat she was on.
There are some photos of her in the last few days - not bad ones - that I may upload later. For now, the ones here are all a little older.
Tags:
- cats,
- grief,
- links,
- photography,
- video