In Memoriam: Smokey
I came home from school, lay down with Husband and Smokey (who was marginally better today), then fed him a small handful of liverwurst to tempt him into the cat carrier.
I took him to the shelter where Husband took Sorsha. They're VERY nice. We got to sit in a quiet, small room, and I held him while waiting. I had noticed he'd lost weight, but I hadn't realized quite how thin he'd gotten.
I was all teary, but at peace with the idea, and the lady commented, when she came in to give him a heavy-duty tranquilizer, that I was handling this so much better than most.
I cradled him so he could feel me and smell me and petted him for the five minutes it took to take full effect. I was teary, but, again, content. He was mostly out and comfy and safe and snuggled. I talked to him about how I'd held him when he was a tiny kitten, and how he'd been with me through all the worst times of my life, and been a good companion (in spite of the relative neglect of the past 3 years since the kids have come), how he'd been a good boy (and a not-so-good boy), and how glad I was Elf got to know him (she said to me this afternoon, "He's MY Smokey").
They came in and we laid on a towel I'd brought instead of the cold table, and I snuggled him while they shaved a small spot on his leg and then gave him the Windex-blue shot that stopped his heart. He exhaled in what was almost a soft sneeze, moved slightly, and then I knew he was gone. They checked, and yep. Very gentle. A good death, just as the term "euthanasia" implies.
The lady left and let me stay with him for a while, and I wrapped my arms around him and cried on him for a few minutes. I was surprised, as I thought I was pretty distanced, but I'm glad that I wasn't. I picked him up and snuggled and cradled him and the way his neck flopped when I shifted wrong really reinforced for me that he was gone.
I just held him for a bit, while waiting for the lady to come back, and then, in the perfect irony, as I held him, his sphincter relaxed and, in a final farewell, he peed on me, even in death. *snicker*
Husband and I had a HUGE laugh over that, and over the fact that I had to strip and change clothes and shower when I got home.
I saved a baggie of fur, and when Elf asks where he is, I'll be able to show her that and let her pet it. If she were a year older, we'd have had her say goodbye, but he spent most of his time in parts of the house where she isn't and so while she enjoyed him when he wandered out, he wasn't a constant presence, and she wouldn't understand, "We're taking him away because the doctor can't make him better." We've been at the doctor too much for her to do anything other than panic at the idea that if you're too sick for the doctor to help you die and go away forever. We'll deal with this in bits over the next few weeks when she asks. Ben's not really that aware yet of those specifics--and not verbal enough.
It was good. No one questioned or judged the choice. And the time was right.
This is a photo of him in his prime...on his rug (it moved with HIM, not with me). Farewell, my gorgeous fella. There were lots of good times in those 17 years.
I took him to the shelter where Husband took Sorsha. They're VERY nice. We got to sit in a quiet, small room, and I held him while waiting. I had noticed he'd lost weight, but I hadn't realized quite how thin he'd gotten.
I was all teary, but at peace with the idea, and the lady commented, when she came in to give him a heavy-duty tranquilizer, that I was handling this so much better than most.
I cradled him so he could feel me and smell me and petted him for the five minutes it took to take full effect. I was teary, but, again, content. He was mostly out and comfy and safe and snuggled. I talked to him about how I'd held him when he was a tiny kitten, and how he'd been with me through all the worst times of my life, and been a good companion (in spite of the relative neglect of the past 3 years since the kids have come), how he'd been a good boy (and a not-so-good boy), and how glad I was Elf got to know him (she said to me this afternoon, "He's MY Smokey").
They came in and we laid on a towel I'd brought instead of the cold table, and I snuggled him while they shaved a small spot on his leg and then gave him the Windex-blue shot that stopped his heart. He exhaled in what was almost a soft sneeze, moved slightly, and then I knew he was gone. They checked, and yep. Very gentle. A good death, just as the term "euthanasia" implies.
The lady left and let me stay with him for a while, and I wrapped my arms around him and cried on him for a few minutes. I was surprised, as I thought I was pretty distanced, but I'm glad that I wasn't. I picked him up and snuggled and cradled him and the way his neck flopped when I shifted wrong really reinforced for me that he was gone.
I just held him for a bit, while waiting for the lady to come back, and then, in the perfect irony, as I held him, his sphincter relaxed and, in a final farewell, he peed on me, even in death. *snicker*
Husband and I had a HUGE laugh over that, and over the fact that I had to strip and change clothes and shower when I got home.
I saved a baggie of fur, and when Elf asks where he is, I'll be able to show her that and let her pet it. If she were a year older, we'd have had her say goodbye, but he spent most of his time in parts of the house where she isn't and so while she enjoyed him when he wandered out, he wasn't a constant presence, and she wouldn't understand, "We're taking him away because the doctor can't make him better." We've been at the doctor too much for her to do anything other than panic at the idea that if you're too sick for the doctor to help you die and go away forever. We'll deal with this in bits over the next few weeks when she asks. Ben's not really that aware yet of those specifics--and not verbal enough.
It was good. No one questioned or judged the choice. And the time was right.
This is a photo of him in his prime...on his rug (it moved with HIM, not with me). Farewell, my gorgeous fella. There were lots of good times in those 17 years.