saying goodbye
I let The Princess Cat go last night.
She'd been doing poorly since May; she was diagnosed with cancer in July: a tumor in her mouth and throat that made it harder and harder for her to swallow and, in the last week or so, to use her tongue. On Monday, she didn't eat; I told myself it was just the heat (it's not unusual for her to lose her appetite when it's hot and humid), but Tuesday was much cooler, and that evening she clearly wanted to eat but couldn't.
I called the vet yesterday morning to tell her it was time; she came over in the evening after work. I gathered up my kitty and held her on my lap while the vet gave her an anesthetic. The Big Kitty, her brother, sat a few feet away and watched us with his usual pensive expression; the tabby boys sat on the coffee table and watched as well.
My kitty burrowed a little deeper into my lap, and I petted her, and then the vet gave her another shot, and we waited, and then she was gone. She almost looked like she was sleeping, except that her tail, which was always so sinuous and expressive, fell away a little from where she'd curled it around herself, and when I tucked it back it was so light -- none of the force of life at all.
She's been my kitty my entire adult life; I brought her and her brother home just weeks after moving into my first apartment. I wasn't her person at first; I belonged to The Big Kitty from the first moment we met, when he was actually very small, and The Princess Kitten, as she was then, claimed my then-partner as her personal property. But after he moved out, she decided I would do, and she and her brother shared me for a long time, first with each other and then with the tabby boys.
She was imperious and demanding and affectionate and endlessly sweet, and eventually she forgave me for bringing kittens into the house, and later she even came to (grudgingly) accept the kittens themselves. And she always took excellent care of her brother, who needs a great deal of looking after.
One of my biggest fears, when I realized that it was time to let her go, was that The Big Kitty would be inconsolable; they've been apart exactly three nights in their lives, and all three times he spent the night searching for her and crying. And I just didn't know if I could take that on top of everything.
But last night, after the vet left, after his sister was gone, he was quiet. He watched as Toby came and snuggled into my lap and let me cry into his fur. And when I went up to bed last night The Big Kitty was waiting on the pillow for me, and he crawled under the covers with me, which before last night he's only ever done in the winter, and he curled up against my chest and pressed the top of his head against my chin and purred, and when I fell asleep he was still purring.
But I know he misses her.
And so do I.
My clever, beautiful, beloved little cat.
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She'd been doing poorly since May; she was diagnosed with cancer in July: a tumor in her mouth and throat that made it harder and harder for her to swallow and, in the last week or so, to use her tongue. On Monday, she didn't eat; I told myself it was just the heat (it's not unusual for her to lose her appetite when it's hot and humid), but Tuesday was much cooler, and that evening she clearly wanted to eat but couldn't.
I called the vet yesterday morning to tell her it was time; she came over in the evening after work. I gathered up my kitty and held her on my lap while the vet gave her an anesthetic. The Big Kitty, her brother, sat a few feet away and watched us with his usual pensive expression; the tabby boys sat on the coffee table and watched as well.
My kitty burrowed a little deeper into my lap, and I petted her, and then the vet gave her another shot, and we waited, and then she was gone. She almost looked like she was sleeping, except that her tail, which was always so sinuous and expressive, fell away a little from where she'd curled it around herself, and when I tucked it back it was so light -- none of the force of life at all.
She's been my kitty my entire adult life; I brought her and her brother home just weeks after moving into my first apartment. I wasn't her person at first; I belonged to The Big Kitty from the first moment we met, when he was actually very small, and The Princess Kitten, as she was then, claimed my then-partner as her personal property. But after he moved out, she decided I would do, and she and her brother shared me for a long time, first with each other and then with the tabby boys.
She was imperious and demanding and affectionate and endlessly sweet, and eventually she forgave me for bringing kittens into the house, and later she even came to (grudgingly) accept the kittens themselves. And she always took excellent care of her brother, who needs a great deal of looking after.
One of my biggest fears, when I realized that it was time to let her go, was that The Big Kitty would be inconsolable; they've been apart exactly three nights in their lives, and all three times he spent the night searching for her and crying. And I just didn't know if I could take that on top of everything.
But last night, after the vet left, after his sister was gone, he was quiet. He watched as Toby came and snuggled into my lap and let me cry into his fur. And when I went up to bed last night The Big Kitty was waiting on the pillow for me, and he crawled under the covers with me, which before last night he's only ever done in the winter, and he curled up against my chest and pressed the top of his head against my chin and purred, and when I fell asleep he was still purring.
But I know he misses her.
And so do I.
My clever, beautiful, beloved little cat.
comments on Dreamwidth || Leave a comment at Dreamwidth || How to use OpenID