After Respite

Dec 22, 2023 08:23

Apollo really seemed to be getting back to himself, though definitely slower and slightly unsure in his movements. But, his eyes showed more of his old self yesterday. I even slept in bed instead of on the floor and he joined us, sleeping between my legs part of the evening.

Around 5 A.M. when this always start to stir around here he came back into bed briefly before disappearing. I got up around 5:20 to feed them all, but he did not appear as usual. I found him on the bed in the guest room. He seemed excited to see me and eat, and I assumed perhaps he was just old and unaware of the time.

He ate a little, wanted his treats more. Then sat by the heater briefly. He then went into the master bedroom as the Sparrow was getting ready. This is his usual routine. He went to the litter boxes and then came back up and went down the hall to the guest room again. This behavior is slightly unusual, as it is not his normal spot to go. I popped in briefly before my shower and saw him sitting there next to the bed, so I picked him up and put him on it. After that he jumped down and went under the bed again. More of the behavior I believe is indicating that he is sick and/or is aware his life is ending.

The Sparrow left and before I even got in the shower I popped back in to check on him, and he was laying on the floor again in that way he does when he tries to walk but has to stop and rest. He proceeded to try getting down the hallway, but kept pausing and laying down. Eventually, I picked him up and put him by his heater and then he proceeded to crawl under the couch to hide. After my shower he eventually came out and laid on his blanket in front of the heater, but I can see in his eyes that he is slipping away again. There's a distance in them. It is the only way I can describe it.

Whereas yesterday he had signs of his old self, this morning he seems weak and feeble and old. With that weary, tired look like he is ready to move on.

And here I sit now back in this dilemma again. Do I callously make an appointment to end my companion's life? Is it a mercy to do so? Is he ready to go and just waiting on me to bring an end to the pain he may be suffering through? Are we being selfish by not being able to make this decision?

Yesterday I spent some time looking through my old pitures and created an album that I was able to watch over the Apple TV. So many years, so many cats. Things seemed a little lighter though yesterday and I was able to feel some happiness and satisfaction in what I hope was a good life for all the cats that I've had in my care. I know I am often quick to anger with them, especially with my first three. But, I do know in whatever capacity an animal can care, that they did care for me. And I for them as deeply as I am able to feel anything.

I've written many times before about the prejudices I've experienced in life being a cat owner. How I endured stupid mockery from my former supposed "friends". How just telling people I had cats elicited this revulsion in them. I learned a long time ago that the value of my feline pets in my life was worth more than any of those ten people. They gave me unconditional loyalty and love... again, in whatever capacity an animal can sense such a feeling.

I think about having adopted Apollo that day, by pure chance, and don't even want to think about what kind of life he may have suffered through had I not been there that day. I think about Shiloh showing up at my back window of my first apartment in Lakeview. It was freezing cold that March night. I'd worked extra late and didn't get home until after 9:00 that night. He was outside on the window ledge, Apollo on the inside ledge and they were interacting however cats do. I let him in that night, and though it was stressful and took some adjustment, he bonded with me and was always laying on top of me or next to me on the couch.

Loki, a year or so later appeared out of a gangway as I walked home from the L after work. He followed me all the way down the block, then was laying down on the porch and the steps as I sat there confused about what to do with him. I could not find any missing cat posts, nor was he microchipped. I told myself that putting him into the adoption system could mean days or weeks of him suffering in a cage. I had the food, I had the ability, so I took him in.

Granted he and Shiloh never really got along, but they all seemed happy in their way. And I tried during my random spurts of unselfishness to give them the best life I could with what I had. I may have been struggling financially, but they always had food. Even as I went through many traumas of trying to find apartments with three cats and having landlords judge me and refuse to rent to me, I never blamed the cats. I only blamed the stigma that people placed on them.

We all made it though. I felt bad that they were all older by the time I had a house. Poor Shiloh's health went down hill quickly after I moved in to my first. He probably needed medical help years before as he struggled with obesity, but I suppose I was selfish or broke and didn't want to put him through the stress of vet visits. Perhaps I wasn't the best owner in that time. And I will never forget the day I finally made the call to go to the vet so he could be put to sleep. He was so feeble that day and could barely walk. Just skin and bones. I do not think I was a good owner then, even as it was my pain over not wanting to put him down that kept me from making the choice.

Loki went pretty quickly. It was our first Christmas here and the Sparrow's mom was in town. I am sure we barely paid attention to the cats during that week. Plus, Dr. Skirt and her siblings were outside living on the porch and their mother had done her duty and left. The day before his mom left poor Loki came out into the sunroom and peed on the Christmas tree skirt. I immediately took him to the emergency vet where they said he was going through early stages of kidney failure most likely. I brought him home and it was only about a week or so before he was unable to walk and spent over a day in the basement in one of his favorite chairs.

The Sparrow got home from work and we took him to the emergency vet because it was time. Though he had a spurt of adrenaline once we were there and I felt awful about him getting stuck with needles and put down. He couldn't walk. He was losing weight. He was clearly at the end of his life. It was not a cruelty to help him pass but I feel still racked with guilt over what happened.

And now my oldest companion is reaching his end. And I keep saying over and over that I cannot make this decision. After he improved yesterday I felt disgust for myself for having thought I'd be taking him in yesterday. I had even found a cardboard box big enough for us to carry him in so that we could also bring him home and lay him to rest in the yard. Then suddenly it seemed he was getting better. We were even talking about the possibility of having to cancel or trip to New Orleans if he was still going to be around in two months.

Now this morning we are back to the horrible struggle of trying to decide if he is too sick or temporarily sick. Will he improve? Is he dying? I think that he is, but I just do not want to face it. And I do not want to bring my friend in to be killed. I have even gone as far as to pray that he just pass peacefully here. With me around, in this house. Though I also feel guilty that we moved here into this place, because I do not know if he feels that it is his home. I know that sounds so stupid considering I've moved about 6 times with him in his life.

And the other cats, I do not know if they are aware of what is happening. I know they say that animals can sense such things. I feel bad for Apollo when he got so old to have all these young cats around him. I know years ago he would have loved to have played and chased them. But he is just too old now. I know I am applying my own thoughts and feelings onto him, but I would hate for him to think he was being replaced or that we were tired of him. I know that is so stupid to even say.

Even just a few weeks ago, if he wanted to be in my lap and another cat was, he'd simply walk up and sit on them or push them out of the way so that he could take his spot there.

I keep thinking that I'll reach a point of acceptance, where the tears will stop and I will be able to move on and process all of this. But, having to see him so weary, my dear friend. And not knowing what the right thing to do is, or not wanting to DO the thing that might be right... it is so hard. I am so tired myself of the hurt. But, I want to feel it all the same because I know I do not have much time left with him.

death, cats

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