I Can't Do This Anymore...
*SIGH*
Well, I've had better weekends. And months, and years.
People are probably beginning to tire of hearing about my woes over lost pets about now, and I wish it weren't true, but, I lost yet another kitty on Friday. My beloved, probably most-favourite-cat-ever, Squeaky. I was going to write about it after I got home late Friday night, but I just didn't have the heart to do much of anything but cry. ;_;
We had to have her put down, because something was seriously wrong, and had been for awhile, but in the past couple of weeks, she went downhill really quickly. She was in so much pain, and it broke my heart to see her suffer. She spent the past week or so crying a lot of the time, yowling in pain, and hiding out in various places in my parent's room and sleeping most of the time. She'd wasted away to bones practically in the past couple of weeks, although she was eating some, and drinking a lot of water. She'd had a bad bout with fleas this summer (as had the other cats), but we figured she was finally turning a corner when she got worse instead. It was just so hard for her to get around, and she wanted to be held and comforted a lot. So, I made sure to spend a lot of time with her, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was probably it for her, no matter how much I wanted to think otherwise. I could just see her precious life slipping away from us, and while it killed me to see it happening, I knew she deserved all the love and comfort we could give her. So that is what I did.
Actually, I thought she was going to die in my arms on Tuesday night, when she hit a really rough spot, but she rebounded somehow, and seemed to be better until Thursday night. Then, when I called my Mom at work on Friday (my Dad had remarked how Squeaky seemed to not be doing well again), and I asked her if she thought I should come visit after work, she seemed to give the impression she didn't think Squeaky had much left in her. I decided I was going to stop by, no matter what, but I'm glad I did now.
Once I saw her on Friday evening, she was under my parent's bed cowering, hiding, much like animals do when they don't want to be bothered (especially when they are sick/dying). She tried to crawl out and sit on my lap, and she started to wail in pain again and crawled back under the bed. Of course I'm in tears at this point, because I *knew* she was probably hours away from dying, just by the look in her eyes and the way her body just shook. Eventually, I coaxed her out from under the bed, and she curled up on the floor next to me. I just petted her, kissed her and I told her I loved her, and in my mind, I knew we needed to just, well, be willing to let go. After several minutes of petting, my Mom put her up on their bed, and Squeaky was very uncomfortable. I comforted her as she moaned and cried, and finally she did quiet down and was even purring a little (which sometimes is how they comfort themselves when in pain). But I knew, this was really it, and I couldn't let her suffer. When I realized it wasn't going to change, I just told my Mom we needed to take her to the after-hours vet (as the regular vet was already closed for the day). She reminded me if we took her, they'd probably put her to sleep, which I knew, but I told her it wasn't fair for Squeaky to be in this much pain, and we owed her the chance to at least find out what was going on, even if they couldn't do anything. I promised Squeaky we wouldn't let her hurt anymore, and the vet would make her better, no matter what (as if an animal understands, right).
So, we took her down to the after-hours clinic, and straight away, since we were the only people there, the tech came in and took Squeaky's temperature (which was VERY hard for her to do) and then the vet came and took a look. Within seconds of examining Squeaky, she was honest, which I'm glad she was, and said it was bad. Very bad. Squeaky's gums had turned *white*, indicating anemia (and they hadn't been like that before), and she felt around her belly and said something was definitely wrong, and she was dehydrated as well. She couldn't get any veins to pop up to even check her blood or anything, and while I know she was trying to make us feel better, the vet was very honest about the fact Squeaky was dying, and the best thing we could do was put her down. I knew this was probably going to happen, but of course it's never taken lightly. I sobbed, and sobbed, and the vet said she recommended we just not watch, because she wasn't going to just be able to do the standard injection. So, after being allowed a few minutes to say our goodbyes, we let her take Squeaky to the back room, and they sedated her so she wouldn't fight it (because Squeaky still had a little fight left in her, but not much), and then they put her down. They brought her back out to us after, because we took her home to bury her, and while I was glad she wasn't suffering anymore, from whatever was wrong, it was just a heartbreaking blow to my spirits. Squeaky just looked like she was sleeping, but even so, I could still see the tension she'd had in her face all the past week. The vet shared her condolences, but we were just thankful she gave her as comfortable and humane a passing as possible. If we hadn't brought her in, I'm sure she would have died at some point overnight, because she was *that* close to dying as it was. At least this way, the pain was gone and she wasn't going to suffer. I hated so much to let her go, but it was the best thing we could do if she wasn't going to get better. Sometimes we just have to let go of those things so precious to us, but I know it isn't forever.
I just miss her so much and wish I could have had more time with her, but even so, she lived a good 10 years, and even those were somewhat of a miracle, because Squeaky was always very frail - she started out as the "runt" of her litter, who, one rainy August afternoon in 1997, was found along with her litter mates, nearly drowning in a bowl of water that was on the edge of the woods behind our house. If not for her tiny little squeak-like meow (which is how she got her name, actually), we might not have even found her in time, but we did, and after a lot of TLC (cuddles inside warm blankets and our shirts and bottle-feedings), she pulled through and crawled right into our hearts. That was her first challenge in life. Not long after their rescue, her litter mate brother, Sylvester, died, as they'd all contracted distemper as kittens (due to being outside and born to a infected, feral mother), but the two sisters, Squeaky and Cerita, got treatment and survived just fine. So, she was a miracle kitty already in having survived two potentially bad things. We'd actually been trying to find homes for all three of them before they got sick, but in the end, we ended up keeping both sisters.
Squeaky was basically frail her entire life; she was smaller than most of the cats we'd cared for, but she still managed to keep up, and had a lot of love to give. I was her "person" from early on; she loved pretty much everyone, but I was the person she always came to and slept on, and wanted to sit with and have me pet her. Basically, by her choice, she became MY CAT. After I moved out (since I couldn't take her with me), I'm told she would sit outside my bedroom door and meow for me, which makes me sad to think about, but my Mom quickly took over as her "substitute" person for what would be the rest of her life. Even in the past couple of weeks, when I'd come over to visit, as soon as she saw me, she started to purr. I can't explain our connection, but it was special from the start, and to the end. She was my little "mousy" kitty and none of my other cats have ever been as close as Squeaky was to me. All my pets have been and are special, don't get me wrong, but Squeaky was just this little sweetheart whose absence will be felt always, and it hasn't really sunk in yet. I am relieved that I don't have to worry about her anymore, but I am going to miss her curling up with me and her outpouring of love. Not to mention her hovering over my plate and drooling with her eyes whenever I had spaghetti sauce (which she LOVED to sample). Somehow I'll be okay, but it'll always hurt a little when those moments seem to be missing *something*, that something being my Squeaky. :@ (
I'm not fully sure what might have killed her; she'd had a pretty bad infection a couple years ago (that the vet treated), but never really fully bounced back from it, so it could be she had bone marrow cancer or something (my first cat, Twinkie, had that), or just some delayed breakdown from having had distemper all those years ago. I have a feeling it was some sort of cancer, because going by her recent change in behaviour, I think Squeaky knew she was very sick, as did the other cats; Gracie, who usually stayed in my parents room, actually insisted on roaming around the house instead for the past month or so; heck, even before Miko and Bootsie died, the animals all started to behave differently. Even Squeaky became more sheltered, and a few weeks ago started staying in my parents room, since Gracie wasn't in there, and that's where she stayed for the rest of the time. This change was very unusual, for all the cats in the house. Even Cerita seemed to be watching guard over her sister and was sleeping on the stairs lately, and after Friday, my Dad tells me not only did Cerita stop sleeping on the stairs, but Gracie has since insisted on going back into my parents room again. It's as if they "spoke" to one another and knew Squeaky needed that extra sheltering, and gave her that space so she could be given that human attention and comfort as she grew weaker. It makes sense to me, and is a little eerie, but realistically explains the changes that took place. Animals are smarter than we give them credit for, after all. It breaks my heart to realize that in the past couple of months, I have lost three very special cats, but I know they are safely resting in the arms of angels now. I wish they never had to die, but such is the reality of life, and since they are all so close in age, I can surely expect to see the remaining cats fade away before long, even though I'd rather not think about it. ;_;
I always thought it would be the hardest to let her go, but somehow, I've been able to find some peace in my heart and accept the things I know I can't change. (I've had to remind myself of that a lot lately.) I know if nothing else, I have many memories to look back on lovingly to keep me going, and some very special furry guardians looking out for me.
I love you, my little Squeaks; you were my special little girl and you'll have a place in my heart always.
I am beginning to wonder if everything I touch in life is doomed to be cursed or something. It seems like whenever I love something, it goes away or slips out of reach. :@ (
Today also would have been my Grandma Sheehan's 94th Birthday. And earlier this month also marked 10 years since my Grandpa Sheehan died, and my cousin Anne Marie would have been 35 on the 12th were she still alive, so this time of year is depressing enough already. I guess somehow I just have to pick myself and keep going, because all of them (cats included) would want me to do that. Doesn't mean I don't care and don't miss them, but I know I have to continue my life as best as I can.
I just really appreciate the thoughts, and nobody has to comment, but if you read all that, THANK YOU.
Well, I've had better weekends. And months, and years.
People are probably beginning to tire of hearing about my woes over lost pets about now, and I wish it weren't true, but, I lost yet another kitty on Friday. My beloved, probably most-favourite-cat-ever, Squeaky. I was going to write about it after I got home late Friday night, but I just didn't have the heart to do much of anything but cry. ;_;
We had to have her put down, because something was seriously wrong, and had been for awhile, but in the past couple of weeks, she went downhill really quickly. She was in so much pain, and it broke my heart to see her suffer. She spent the past week or so crying a lot of the time, yowling in pain, and hiding out in various places in my parent's room and sleeping most of the time. She'd wasted away to bones practically in the past couple of weeks, although she was eating some, and drinking a lot of water. She'd had a bad bout with fleas this summer (as had the other cats), but we figured she was finally turning a corner when she got worse instead. It was just so hard for her to get around, and she wanted to be held and comforted a lot. So, I made sure to spend a lot of time with her, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was probably it for her, no matter how much I wanted to think otherwise. I could just see her precious life slipping away from us, and while it killed me to see it happening, I knew she deserved all the love and comfort we could give her. So that is what I did.
Actually, I thought she was going to die in my arms on Tuesday night, when she hit a really rough spot, but she rebounded somehow, and seemed to be better until Thursday night. Then, when I called my Mom at work on Friday (my Dad had remarked how Squeaky seemed to not be doing well again), and I asked her if she thought I should come visit after work, she seemed to give the impression she didn't think Squeaky had much left in her. I decided I was going to stop by, no matter what, but I'm glad I did now.
Once I saw her on Friday evening, she was under my parent's bed cowering, hiding, much like animals do when they don't want to be bothered (especially when they are sick/dying). She tried to crawl out and sit on my lap, and she started to wail in pain again and crawled back under the bed. Of course I'm in tears at this point, because I *knew* she was probably hours away from dying, just by the look in her eyes and the way her body just shook. Eventually, I coaxed her out from under the bed, and she curled up on the floor next to me. I just petted her, kissed her and I told her I loved her, and in my mind, I knew we needed to just, well, be willing to let go. After several minutes of petting, my Mom put her up on their bed, and Squeaky was very uncomfortable. I comforted her as she moaned and cried, and finally she did quiet down and was even purring a little (which sometimes is how they comfort themselves when in pain). But I knew, this was really it, and I couldn't let her suffer. When I realized it wasn't going to change, I just told my Mom we needed to take her to the after-hours vet (as the regular vet was already closed for the day). She reminded me if we took her, they'd probably put her to sleep, which I knew, but I told her it wasn't fair for Squeaky to be in this much pain, and we owed her the chance to at least find out what was going on, even if they couldn't do anything. I promised Squeaky we wouldn't let her hurt anymore, and the vet would make her better, no matter what (as if an animal understands, right).
So, we took her down to the after-hours clinic, and straight away, since we were the only people there, the tech came in and took Squeaky's temperature (which was VERY hard for her to do) and then the vet came and took a look. Within seconds of examining Squeaky, she was honest, which I'm glad she was, and said it was bad. Very bad. Squeaky's gums had turned *white*, indicating anemia (and they hadn't been like that before), and she felt around her belly and said something was definitely wrong, and she was dehydrated as well. She couldn't get any veins to pop up to even check her blood or anything, and while I know she was trying to make us feel better, the vet was very honest about the fact Squeaky was dying, and the best thing we could do was put her down. I knew this was probably going to happen, but of course it's never taken lightly. I sobbed, and sobbed, and the vet said she recommended we just not watch, because she wasn't going to just be able to do the standard injection. So, after being allowed a few minutes to say our goodbyes, we let her take Squeaky to the back room, and they sedated her so she wouldn't fight it (because Squeaky still had a little fight left in her, but not much), and then they put her down. They brought her back out to us after, because we took her home to bury her, and while I was glad she wasn't suffering anymore, from whatever was wrong, it was just a heartbreaking blow to my spirits. Squeaky just looked like she was sleeping, but even so, I could still see the tension she'd had in her face all the past week. The vet shared her condolences, but we were just thankful she gave her as comfortable and humane a passing as possible. If we hadn't brought her in, I'm sure she would have died at some point overnight, because she was *that* close to dying as it was. At least this way, the pain was gone and she wasn't going to suffer. I hated so much to let her go, but it was the best thing we could do if she wasn't going to get better. Sometimes we just have to let go of those things so precious to us, but I know it isn't forever.
I just miss her so much and wish I could have had more time with her, but even so, she lived a good 10 years, and even those were somewhat of a miracle, because Squeaky was always very frail - she started out as the "runt" of her litter, who, one rainy August afternoon in 1997, was found along with her litter mates, nearly drowning in a bowl of water that was on the edge of the woods behind our house. If not for her tiny little squeak-like meow (which is how she got her name, actually), we might not have even found her in time, but we did, and after a lot of TLC (cuddles inside warm blankets and our shirts and bottle-feedings), she pulled through and crawled right into our hearts. That was her first challenge in life. Not long after their rescue, her litter mate brother, Sylvester, died, as they'd all contracted distemper as kittens (due to being outside and born to a infected, feral mother), but the two sisters, Squeaky and Cerita, got treatment and survived just fine. So, she was a miracle kitty already in having survived two potentially bad things. We'd actually been trying to find homes for all three of them before they got sick, but in the end, we ended up keeping both sisters.
Squeaky was basically frail her entire life; she was smaller than most of the cats we'd cared for, but she still managed to keep up, and had a lot of love to give. I was her "person" from early on; she loved pretty much everyone, but I was the person she always came to and slept on, and wanted to sit with and have me pet her. Basically, by her choice, she became MY CAT. After I moved out (since I couldn't take her with me), I'm told she would sit outside my bedroom door and meow for me, which makes me sad to think about, but my Mom quickly took over as her "substitute" person for what would be the rest of her life. Even in the past couple of weeks, when I'd come over to visit, as soon as she saw me, she started to purr. I can't explain our connection, but it was special from the start, and to the end. She was my little "mousy" kitty and none of my other cats have ever been as close as Squeaky was to me. All my pets have been and are special, don't get me wrong, but Squeaky was just this little sweetheart whose absence will be felt always, and it hasn't really sunk in yet. I am relieved that I don't have to worry about her anymore, but I am going to miss her curling up with me and her outpouring of love. Not to mention her hovering over my plate and drooling with her eyes whenever I had spaghetti sauce (which she LOVED to sample). Somehow I'll be okay, but it'll always hurt a little when those moments seem to be missing *something*, that something being my Squeaky. :@ (
I'm not fully sure what might have killed her; she'd had a pretty bad infection a couple years ago (that the vet treated), but never really fully bounced back from it, so it could be she had bone marrow cancer or something (my first cat, Twinkie, had that), or just some delayed breakdown from having had distemper all those years ago. I have a feeling it was some sort of cancer, because going by her recent change in behaviour, I think Squeaky knew she was very sick, as did the other cats; Gracie, who usually stayed in my parents room, actually insisted on roaming around the house instead for the past month or so; heck, even before Miko and Bootsie died, the animals all started to behave differently. Even Squeaky became more sheltered, and a few weeks ago started staying in my parents room, since Gracie wasn't in there, and that's where she stayed for the rest of the time. This change was very unusual, for all the cats in the house. Even Cerita seemed to be watching guard over her sister and was sleeping on the stairs lately, and after Friday, my Dad tells me not only did Cerita stop sleeping on the stairs, but Gracie has since insisted on going back into my parents room again. It's as if they "spoke" to one another and knew Squeaky needed that extra sheltering, and gave her that space so she could be given that human attention and comfort as she grew weaker. It makes sense to me, and is a little eerie, but realistically explains the changes that took place. Animals are smarter than we give them credit for, after all. It breaks my heart to realize that in the past couple of months, I have lost three very special cats, but I know they are safely resting in the arms of angels now. I wish they never had to die, but such is the reality of life, and since they are all so close in age, I can surely expect to see the remaining cats fade away before long, even though I'd rather not think about it. ;_;
I always thought it would be the hardest to let her go, but somehow, I've been able to find some peace in my heart and accept the things I know I can't change. (I've had to remind myself of that a lot lately.) I know if nothing else, I have many memories to look back on lovingly to keep me going, and some very special furry guardians looking out for me.
I love you, my little Squeaks; you were my special little girl and you'll have a place in my heart always.
I am beginning to wonder if everything I touch in life is doomed to be cursed or something. It seems like whenever I love something, it goes away or slips out of reach. :@ (
Today also would have been my Grandma Sheehan's 94th Birthday. And earlier this month also marked 10 years since my Grandpa Sheehan died, and my cousin Anne Marie would have been 35 on the 12th were she still alive, so this time of year is depressing enough already. I guess somehow I just have to pick myself and keep going, because all of them (cats included) would want me to do that. Doesn't mean I don't care and don't miss them, but I know I have to continue my life as best as I can.
I just really appreciate the thoughts, and nobody has to comment, but if you read all that, THANK YOU.