"What's all this talk about youth in Asia?"
Part two. This is hella long. I'd be shocked if this wasn't the longest entry I've ever made in the almost 10 years I've had this LJ.
It's funny how something can become the "new normal". It's not that hard to feed a cat, right? Scoop out food, put in dish, put dish in front of kitty, kitty eats food, repeat.
As Smokey got older, that became waaaaay more complicated. By the end, the process was this: One teaspoonful of fancy canned food, sprinkle 1/4 tsp potassium supplement into food, stir, put in front of Kitty. While she's eating that, take 2 parts Kidney Disease prescription canned food to 1 part Friskies Indoors canned food and stir together. Hide a half pill for her thyroid and a quarter pill for her blood pressure in the food. Place in front of Kitty, for by this time she has finished the first course. I was feeding her twice a day when I could, before I left for work if I had time and then when I came home.
Her dry food was also mixed, and she was on free feed for that. I'd usually take a bit of time on a Saturday and do three parts kidney disease dry to one part Whiskas indoor dry. I'd throw some treats in there, too. Anything to get her to eat.
I mix because she wouldn't eat the prescription food by itself. However, there was one time I was doing the dry food mix, and I had a heaping cup of the prescription, and Smokey started eating it out of the cup. Giant weirdo.
Anyway, the potassium got added because of an incident that happened on a Sunday the weekend my car stereo got borrowed forever. (August 22nd.) Smokey was sitting on the couch arm and I was on the computer. She liked to rest her rump on my upper arm and then stand with her front paws. It annoyed me, because she'd block part of the computer monitor with her head, but I usually let her sit there. She suddenly lifted one front paw and closed her eyes, like she was concentrating on something (which...cats don't really do) or in pain. After 40 seconds or so, she put that paw down and lifted the other one. The rest of her was motionless. I was worried she didn't have enough room for whatever she was doing so I moved her to the seat portion of the couch. After a few minutes, she seemed to snap out of it. Think Willow in Becoming 2.
This was scary because it wasn't a typical seizure, but obviously something was wrong. It also wasn't triggered by anything that I know of, which was new as well.
So I called the vet on Monday (y'know, after calling the police about my car), got the supplement that week, and everything seemed fine.
She never really "deteriorated". She was still jumping onto the couch arm. I never noticed any changes in behavior in the weeks before the last night. I made a special trip to buy her prescription food on Wednesday morning. I could only get it at the vet or at PetSmart, neither of which were open after I got off of work. I missed out on my favorite catering at work, which I was completely fine with. I'd acquired kitty food instead, which was more important to me. I called in a refill of her thyroid med that week as well. It might have even been on the last normal day. I stressed to them that I needed a 3-month supply of the RX. I was Getting Shit Done, and preparing for the future.
I'd been working till 10pm every night. I took off early that night, working only until my normal 9:20-ish time. It was Thursday September 15, and I was scheduled to start Friday at 11am or whatever, so I wanted the extra time at home.
I got home, fed Kitty, everything was fine. It was probably 10:30pm, and I was settled in for the night, on the computer. She was curled up next to me on the couch.
Then she jumped off the couch, and somehow missed her landing. She skidding into the floor, next to the couch. Like the paw lifting in August, this was something she'd never done before. Heck, cats always land on their feet!
I picked her up again, and she was kind of stiff. The only thing I could think was that she had lost control of her legs. They were sticking out kind of funny. I held her to me, cooing at her, and massaging her back legs. She was very quiet, which was unusual. She had become a total lap cat over the last few years, but she always had to come to me, and she didn't like it if I picked her up. I didn't like that, because I couldn't really monitor her weight without picking her up, but I usually left her to it. She also got way more talkative. If anything made her unhappy, I'd know about it.
After about ten minutes she started wiggling, so I put her down on the ground again. She seemed back to normal. She'd relocated to the other side of the couch, which was not unusual. But I knew. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
Smokey would always come with me into the bedroom. Like I said, I eventually ceded the far pillow to her. I even put an "S" on that pillowcase so I wouldn't put it on my pillow after a wash. Since that pillowcase had more cat vomit landing on it than my pillow usually did.
That last night, she didn't come in. I carried her in, and put her on the pillow. I went to bed like normal, noticing her breathing was a little ragged. After a few minutes, she got off the bed. She'd relocated to a spot on the floor (VERY unusual) and seemed uncomfortable.
Just more confirmation. Every time I took her to the vet, they'd always ask about her behavior. "Is she doing anything unusual for her?" This is what they were talking about. Licking my forehead while I was sleeping, rubbing her head against the end table, knocking things off the kitchen table to watch them fall? Not unusual for her. This? Completely wrong.
It was way too late to call the vet, but I did the next best thing: Posting on Facebook. I managed to get to sleep, and I was seriously wondering if she would still be alive when I woke up.
My alarm was set for 9:40. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that she was still on the floor. Breathing loudly, and thumping her tail. In addition, the bedroom door had not been cracked open.
I always left the bedroom and bathroom doors barely ajar. She was able to pry it open to get out/in when she needed to. I honestly can't think of a time when I'd wake up with the door still abut with the jamb. She'd always feed/water/potty herself while I was sleeping and then come back to bed.
I got down on the floor and looked at her. She started to meow. She moved towards the door and started circling. Her gait was now completely different from yesterday morning. Her back legs were spread out, her head was close to the ground. She seemed unsure of her surroundings. I had no idea what she was doing. Suddenly she stopped and lifted her tail. She began to pee on the carpet.
Shocked, I scooped her up, opened the door, and deposited her on the linoleum outside the bedroom. (Much easier to clean!) After she finished, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up both sites. (I should note, while she'd NEVER eliminated outside the box before, I was cleaning up kitty puke on about a bi-monthly basis, usually because she'd be a dumbass and eat too fast, so this wasn't as gross to me at the time as it is to read now, heh.)
I brought her back into the bedroom, laid down on the floor with her on top of me, and just cried. Something was terribly wrong with my cat. Even holding her, she just sat there, quiet, with one paw stretched out on either side of my neck, like she was holding herself up. Like I would let her fall! Completely wrong.
I was due at work in an hour, but I honestly didn't give a shit. I called my vet's office, and was told there wouldn't be a vet in until 11. In addition, my regular vet was off for the weekend, so I'd have to see the sub. Waiting an hour seemed interminable to me, so the vet gave me the number for the vet in Clearwater.
Now, I lived in Clearwater for more than half my life, as did Smokey. My parents still live there, and I knew my mom was happy with the vet out there. So I took the number.
I called that vet office, kind of blubbery, explained the issue, and they said to come in right away. I texted my boss, "I need to go to the vet, my cat is sick. I know [my morning counterpart] is off at 1:15, I'll try to be in before then." He texted back, "keep me posted."
I threw on whatever, found Smokey huddled behind the bedroom door (completely wrong) and put her in the travel box. I also grabbed her brush. The last always calmed her while on the exam table. As I left, I called my mom to let her know the situation and confirm that the vet was where I thought it was. Without my asking, she said she would meet me at the clinic.
Worst. Drive. Ever. I wanted to get her help, but rationally, I knew IF the vet could even figure out what was wrong, and IF there was a cure, I probably couldn't afford it, and hell, she's 22 years old. What was I expecting?
I arrived at the vet just as my parents did. My dad had come along with my mom. We weighed her (uh, Smokey, not my mom) and she was down again. She'd been at 4.9 when I'd boarded her during Comic-Con (late July), and she was at 4.5 according to the vet's scale. That was September 16. They brought us into an exam room right away.
(Aaaaand I'm already crying. Super awesome.)
I put her on the exam table, and she just sat there. She had her head over the edge, and her eyes were closed. I'd grabbed my purse when I left the house (of course) and I happened to have my camera in there. She was photogenic as ever, so I took a few pictures while we were waiting.
The vet examined her. She had more tufts on her tummy that I hadn't noticed, she wouldn't eat the canned food, and it was even her brand of food. She ignored the dish and sat rigid in a corner. But the final, horrible realization was when Smokey was walking on the exam table and almost walked off. She would have walked off, but the vet tech put out her hand for Smokey's paw to land on instead.
Yup. My cat was blind. It all made sense. She fell off the couch because she couldn't gauge where the floor was. She was walking funny because she was trying to get information about her surroundings from her pacing, and using her whiskers. She peed in the bedroom because she couldn't figure out how to get out of the room and to her litter box.
My poor kitty. I had NO inkling about this before the vet confirmed it. It literally could not have happened any earlier than Thursday, as we were perfectly fine Wednesday, and even Thursday morning. Had she had a seizure that went on too long? Maybe even a stroke? Her hyperthyroidism finally made its presence known? I'll never know.
The vet said that she'd had a few patients that this had happened to. The families took their cat home to try and adapt, and were back in a week, saying it was too hard on everyone and deciding the best thing for the animal was to put it down.
Did I really have a choice? Afterwards, when I got home, I tortured myself by Googling "blind cats". The first hit said something about how it's not a death sentence, and cats can adjust. But a 22 year old cat? One who has no interest in food and isn't doing anything as she was 24 hours earlier? One who's weight apparently has no bottom, as she keeps losing mass? No. I couldn't do it.
It was absolutely my choice. My mom (who was even slightly more histrionic than I was) repeated herself several times. "This is Joy's decision." The information the vet left me with said that it's "the hardest choice you'll ever have to make".
But it really wasn't. I was devastated, and would have done anything to not go that route, but she was not herself. The vet confirmed this: "her quality of life is not what it was yesterday." She also said that cats are not as good as adapting to blindness as dogs are. Honestly, how could I bring her home? I knew what I needed to do, though it broke me. And I'm still broken, actually. But if it wasn't fun for her anymore, I just couldn't let it continue.
I waited as long as I could. My mom, and I don't know why she did this, but she was attempted to call her bank on her cell phone while we were in the exam room. I lost my patience, kicked everyone out, and cuddled with my baby. Mom wanted to let my sisters know, I said that was fine, but I did NOT want anyone else there. I took a picture with my cell phone, and noticed how skinny she looked in it. With just me and Smokey in the room, I texted my supervisor to let him know I had to put Smokey down. He said he was very sorry. I also called my favorite coworker-who-isn't-Cheryl. Said coworker is a floor supervisor, and had lost her favorite cat to a car over the summer. We cried together.
I really would have preferred to wait till Monday so I could see our regular vet. The other vet completely understood this. She even called that clinic, and said they'd be willing to board her over the weekend, so she wouldn't hurt herself at my place, and we could regroup then. Again, something that would have been done for my comfort, and would have left her in more distress. Again, couldn't do that to her.
Seriously. Do not read if you don't want to weep.
They gave me a pink blanket. It was incongruously similar to a baby blanket, and I wrapped my baby in it. They gave me a clay heart with her pawprint in it, and shaved a spot for the injection. The vet even stuck a bit of her fur to the heart, heh. The vet tech was holding her, and the vet was about to give her a shot. I asked her to wait, and took one last picture. The vet saw me, and stopped. She asked if I wanted a picture of Smokey and I. I said, I guess? We took one. I passed her down to my mom for one last picture. Then to Dad. Then back to me. There's one final shot of me holding Smokey, with my parents standing behind me, hugging me. Everyone except Smokey is a total mess. I gave her one more snug, whispered I love you, and handed her back to the tech. They administered a shot to sedate her before the final shot. They said it made the final shot more comfortable. It made her throw up, and then fall asleep. She was facing away from me, because I really didn't want to watch her face, but I had my hand on her chest. The vet shot her again. There were two quick, deep breaths, and then nothing. The vet pulled out her stethoscope and said it was over. It was just about noon.
I'd already said I wanted to bury her on my parents' property. They took her in back to make sure her bowels were empty. I came with. Over the last few years, I always came with whenever she went into "the back room" for blood withdrawal or whatever. I couldn't imagine not going on the last trip. While back there, they put her in a box. It was oddly similar to the box I'd received an under-the-counter CD player in. I said I wanted to bury her brush with her, so we fit that in, too. I'd tried to give the blanket back, but the vet said someone made them special for this kind of occasion, which is the weirdest thing I'd ever heard, but everyone needs a hobby, I guess. We packed her up and they closed the flaps on the box.
I took another minute alone in the room. I texted coworker and told her it was over. As I left the exam room, I was carrying the box. Sister #2, who was also weepy, was in the lobby with the parents. She'd unexpectedly been able to leave work as well, but arrived too late. She was devastated that she hadn't gotten to say goodbye, and that it was all over. So, we all matched. Mom didn't tell me that it was a possibility she was coming, otherwise I would have waited for her. Sister #2 said she would have preferred to not make Smokey wait while suffering, so she thought it was for the best.
I got in her car for the ride to my parents, as I was totally not in a condition to drive. I texted my supe and told him I'd be in by 2. I know I could have skipped, but I really, truly was not ready to face the empty apartment yet. I didn't know what else to do, but go in and finish my shift.
Our first cat, Sugar, was buried on the property, next to the pasture. That portion is long overgrown now, but I wanted Smokey and Sugar as close as they could be. ( This is them together, waaaaaaaay back in the day. <3) I walked, with my box, purposefully to where the pasture fence used to be and sat down. It was less than five yards from where I remembered Sugar had been lain to rest. Sister #2 and Dad dug the grave. Once it was big enough, and I'd put her in (inside the box, yes, with the blanket and the brush) I had to leave asap. I absolutely did not want to see the dirt be piled on top of her. Totally dickish of me to leave that with my parents, but there you go.
I stopped off at home to change. My neighbor, who also has a cat, was getting in her car and asked me how I was doing. LOADED QUESTION. I crumpled and she got concerned. She was just on her way to Target or whatever and wasn't expecting an emotional pile of bricks, but boy, I brought it.
After all that, I got to work at 1:45, and was scheduled till 6. Definitely the oddest day of work I've had in awhile, if not ever. I didn't want to be at home, alone with my thoughts, but I didn't particularly want to work either. I just didn't know what else to do. What, go shopping? See a movie? Spend time with my family, where there would be other cats and more thoughts? So I went to work. I stopped by coworker's desk for a sob and a hug. Most of the other supervisors knew and lent sympathy. I cried anew at every new discussion. I stopped in to let my supervisor know I was there. He asked how I was doing. Quavering, I said I was better when people didn't ask me that. He noted that and said he wouldn't ask again. (Probably relieved at the reprieve, honestly.)
I went up to a supervisor's desk at 2:30 to talk about something work-y, and we drifted onto the topic foremost in my mind. Cheryl came up to say goodbye (her shift was over) and she asked me what was wrong. She said I looked mad. I quietly said no, I wasn't mad. That, even just that, made me start to cry. I don't know why I didn't tell her before that. I just...kind of wanted to sit in my corner and do my work. Maybe even whichever number of stage in grieving that is, denial. If I don't talk about it, it's not real.
There were three hardest moments: The first was when we got back to the vet's and I got in my car to go back to town. I'd left my kitty at my parents house, to the west. That would have been left on Highway 24, and I was going exactly the opposite direction. Right on Highway 24. I was leaving her behind.
Second was when I came home after work, just like I knew it would be. All of her things were still there, waiting for her. I couldn't remember the last time I came home and she wasn't either asleep on the bed, or had just woken up and jumped off the bed.
The last, and this is really odd, was when I was taking out the litterbox bag that Sunday. All I could think was "this is the last thing that she's left in the apartment. I'm can't believe I'm throwing this out, it was a part of her." It was her POOP. WTF, me, srsly.
Things I wish (other than the obvious): I wish our regular vet had been in the office. I wish it hadn't been so effing fast. I would have loved One Last Weekend, where we could snuggle, she could yowl at me and I'd cater to her wish, we'd have lap time and brushing time and any other me-and-her time that I could fit in. I wish I'd known it was that close to being over.
Things I'm "happy" about. Obviously a relative term, but work with me here: She wasn't in pain. She was scared and didn't know what was happening to her, but there was no physical pain. It happened REALLY quickly, like, almost less than 12 hours quickly. Not good for me, but the least stressful for her. It wasn't winter. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I knew she wasn't immortal. I was always worried that I wouldn't be able to bury her where I wanted to if she died after the ground had frozen, or if there was six feet of snow on the ground. Which, in Minnesota, is basically half of the time. So.
I just miss almost everything about her. Everything except for the vomit and her trying to steal my food.
Her eagerness for my being home. How she'd wedge onto the couch right beside me as soon as I sat down, leaving me no choice but to sit on the couch for hours on end on weekends to keep her adequately loved and comfy. The weight on the blanket when she jumped onto the bed, followed soon after by the "thump" when she'd fall onto her side next to me. How I'd wake up and attempt to extract myself from the bed without jostling her. She'd always stand up anyway, stretch, and then take my spot on the bed! Her soft fur, especially on her front legs, which I loved to rub with my finger when she was lying next to me. And how, when she'd be sitting on her haunches and standing on her front paws, I'd put my finger on her paw, and she would lift her paw from beneath it. I would then repeat on the other paw, making her do a little dance for me. It annoyed her, but it was funny to me.
It's been almost a month, and it's taken me this long to get all this out. I have an appointment tomorrow with a counselor I saw when I was in my teens. While I love Smokey still and couldn't imagine forgetting her, I really shouldn't still be this emotionally fragile. So, counseling. We'll see.
It's funny how something can become the "new normal". It's not that hard to feed a cat, right? Scoop out food, put in dish, put dish in front of kitty, kitty eats food, repeat.
As Smokey got older, that became waaaaay more complicated. By the end, the process was this: One teaspoonful of fancy canned food, sprinkle 1/4 tsp potassium supplement into food, stir, put in front of Kitty. While she's eating that, take 2 parts Kidney Disease prescription canned food to 1 part Friskies Indoors canned food and stir together. Hide a half pill for her thyroid and a quarter pill for her blood pressure in the food. Place in front of Kitty, for by this time she has finished the first course. I was feeding her twice a day when I could, before I left for work if I had time and then when I came home.
Her dry food was also mixed, and she was on free feed for that. I'd usually take a bit of time on a Saturday and do three parts kidney disease dry to one part Whiskas indoor dry. I'd throw some treats in there, too. Anything to get her to eat.
I mix because she wouldn't eat the prescription food by itself. However, there was one time I was doing the dry food mix, and I had a heaping cup of the prescription, and Smokey started eating it out of the cup. Giant weirdo.
Anyway, the potassium got added because of an incident that happened on a Sunday the weekend my car stereo got borrowed forever. (August 22nd.) Smokey was sitting on the couch arm and I was on the computer. She liked to rest her rump on my upper arm and then stand with her front paws. It annoyed me, because she'd block part of the computer monitor with her head, but I usually let her sit there. She suddenly lifted one front paw and closed her eyes, like she was concentrating on something (which...cats don't really do) or in pain. After 40 seconds or so, she put that paw down and lifted the other one. The rest of her was motionless. I was worried she didn't have enough room for whatever she was doing so I moved her to the seat portion of the couch. After a few minutes, she seemed to snap out of it. Think Willow in Becoming 2.
This was scary because it wasn't a typical seizure, but obviously something was wrong. It also wasn't triggered by anything that I know of, which was new as well.
So I called the vet on Monday (y'know, after calling the police about my car), got the supplement that week, and everything seemed fine.
She never really "deteriorated". She was still jumping onto the couch arm. I never noticed any changes in behavior in the weeks before the last night. I made a special trip to buy her prescription food on Wednesday morning. I could only get it at the vet or at PetSmart, neither of which were open after I got off of work. I missed out on my favorite catering at work, which I was completely fine with. I'd acquired kitty food instead, which was more important to me. I called in a refill of her thyroid med that week as well. It might have even been on the last normal day. I stressed to them that I needed a 3-month supply of the RX. I was Getting Shit Done, and preparing for the future.
I'd been working till 10pm every night. I took off early that night, working only until my normal 9:20-ish time. It was Thursday September 15, and I was scheduled to start Friday at 11am or whatever, so I wanted the extra time at home.
I got home, fed Kitty, everything was fine. It was probably 10:30pm, and I was settled in for the night, on the computer. She was curled up next to me on the couch.
Then she jumped off the couch, and somehow missed her landing. She skidding into the floor, next to the couch. Like the paw lifting in August, this was something she'd never done before. Heck, cats always land on their feet!
I picked her up again, and she was kind of stiff. The only thing I could think was that she had lost control of her legs. They were sticking out kind of funny. I held her to me, cooing at her, and massaging her back legs. She was very quiet, which was unusual. She had become a total lap cat over the last few years, but she always had to come to me, and she didn't like it if I picked her up. I didn't like that, because I couldn't really monitor her weight without picking her up, but I usually left her to it. She also got way more talkative. If anything made her unhappy, I'd know about it.
After about ten minutes she started wiggling, so I put her down on the ground again. She seemed back to normal. She'd relocated to the other side of the couch, which was not unusual. But I knew. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
Smokey would always come with me into the bedroom. Like I said, I eventually ceded the far pillow to her. I even put an "S" on that pillowcase so I wouldn't put it on my pillow after a wash. Since that pillowcase had more cat vomit landing on it than my pillow usually did.
That last night, she didn't come in. I carried her in, and put her on the pillow. I went to bed like normal, noticing her breathing was a little ragged. After a few minutes, she got off the bed. She'd relocated to a spot on the floor (VERY unusual) and seemed uncomfortable.
Just more confirmation. Every time I took her to the vet, they'd always ask about her behavior. "Is she doing anything unusual for her?" This is what they were talking about. Licking my forehead while I was sleeping, rubbing her head against the end table, knocking things off the kitchen table to watch them fall? Not unusual for her. This? Completely wrong.
It was way too late to call the vet, but I did the next best thing: Posting on Facebook. I managed to get to sleep, and I was seriously wondering if she would still be alive when I woke up.
My alarm was set for 9:40. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that she was still on the floor. Breathing loudly, and thumping her tail. In addition, the bedroom door had not been cracked open.
I always left the bedroom and bathroom doors barely ajar. She was able to pry it open to get out/in when she needed to. I honestly can't think of a time when I'd wake up with the door still abut with the jamb. She'd always feed/water/potty herself while I was sleeping and then come back to bed.
I got down on the floor and looked at her. She started to meow. She moved towards the door and started circling. Her gait was now completely different from yesterday morning. Her back legs were spread out, her head was close to the ground. She seemed unsure of her surroundings. I had no idea what she was doing. Suddenly she stopped and lifted her tail. She began to pee on the carpet.
Shocked, I scooped her up, opened the door, and deposited her on the linoleum outside the bedroom. (Much easier to clean!) After she finished, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up both sites. (I should note, while she'd NEVER eliminated outside the box before, I was cleaning up kitty puke on about a bi-monthly basis, usually because she'd be a dumbass and eat too fast, so this wasn't as gross to me at the time as it is to read now, heh.)
I brought her back into the bedroom, laid down on the floor with her on top of me, and just cried. Something was terribly wrong with my cat. Even holding her, she just sat there, quiet, with one paw stretched out on either side of my neck, like she was holding herself up. Like I would let her fall! Completely wrong.
I was due at work in an hour, but I honestly didn't give a shit. I called my vet's office, and was told there wouldn't be a vet in until 11. In addition, my regular vet was off for the weekend, so I'd have to see the sub. Waiting an hour seemed interminable to me, so the vet gave me the number for the vet in Clearwater.
Now, I lived in Clearwater for more than half my life, as did Smokey. My parents still live there, and I knew my mom was happy with the vet out there. So I took the number.
I called that vet office, kind of blubbery, explained the issue, and they said to come in right away. I texted my boss, "I need to go to the vet, my cat is sick. I know [my morning counterpart] is off at 1:15, I'll try to be in before then." He texted back, "keep me posted."
I threw on whatever, found Smokey huddled behind the bedroom door (completely wrong) and put her in the travel box. I also grabbed her brush. The last always calmed her while on the exam table. As I left, I called my mom to let her know the situation and confirm that the vet was where I thought it was. Without my asking, she said she would meet me at the clinic.
Worst. Drive. Ever. I wanted to get her help, but rationally, I knew IF the vet could even figure out what was wrong, and IF there was a cure, I probably couldn't afford it, and hell, she's 22 years old. What was I expecting?
I arrived at the vet just as my parents did. My dad had come along with my mom. We weighed her (uh, Smokey, not my mom) and she was down again. She'd been at 4.9 when I'd boarded her during Comic-Con (late July), and she was at 4.5 according to the vet's scale. That was September 16. They brought us into an exam room right away.
(Aaaaand I'm already crying. Super awesome.)
I put her on the exam table, and she just sat there. She had her head over the edge, and her eyes were closed. I'd grabbed my purse when I left the house (of course) and I happened to have my camera in there. She was photogenic as ever, so I took a few pictures while we were waiting.
The vet examined her. She had more tufts on her tummy that I hadn't noticed, she wouldn't eat the canned food, and it was even her brand of food. She ignored the dish and sat rigid in a corner. But the final, horrible realization was when Smokey was walking on the exam table and almost walked off. She would have walked off, but the vet tech put out her hand for Smokey's paw to land on instead.
Yup. My cat was blind. It all made sense. She fell off the couch because she couldn't gauge where the floor was. She was walking funny because she was trying to get information about her surroundings from her pacing, and using her whiskers. She peed in the bedroom because she couldn't figure out how to get out of the room and to her litter box.
My poor kitty. I had NO inkling about this before the vet confirmed it. It literally could not have happened any earlier than Thursday, as we were perfectly fine Wednesday, and even Thursday morning. Had she had a seizure that went on too long? Maybe even a stroke? Her hyperthyroidism finally made its presence known? I'll never know.
The vet said that she'd had a few patients that this had happened to. The families took their cat home to try and adapt, and were back in a week, saying it was too hard on everyone and deciding the best thing for the animal was to put it down.
Did I really have a choice? Afterwards, when I got home, I tortured myself by Googling "blind cats". The first hit said something about how it's not a death sentence, and cats can adjust. But a 22 year old cat? One who has no interest in food and isn't doing anything as she was 24 hours earlier? One who's weight apparently has no bottom, as she keeps losing mass? No. I couldn't do it.
It was absolutely my choice. My mom (who was even slightly more histrionic than I was) repeated herself several times. "This is Joy's decision." The information the vet left me with said that it's "the hardest choice you'll ever have to make".
But it really wasn't. I was devastated, and would have done anything to not go that route, but she was not herself. The vet confirmed this: "her quality of life is not what it was yesterday." She also said that cats are not as good as adapting to blindness as dogs are. Honestly, how could I bring her home? I knew what I needed to do, though it broke me. And I'm still broken, actually. But if it wasn't fun for her anymore, I just couldn't let it continue.
I waited as long as I could. My mom, and I don't know why she did this, but she was attempted to call her bank on her cell phone while we were in the exam room. I lost my patience, kicked everyone out, and cuddled with my baby. Mom wanted to let my sisters know, I said that was fine, but I did NOT want anyone else there. I took a picture with my cell phone, and noticed how skinny she looked in it. With just me and Smokey in the room, I texted my supervisor to let him know I had to put Smokey down. He said he was very sorry. I also called my favorite coworker-who-isn't-Cheryl. Said coworker is a floor supervisor, and had lost her favorite cat to a car over the summer. We cried together.
I really would have preferred to wait till Monday so I could see our regular vet. The other vet completely understood this. She even called that clinic, and said they'd be willing to board her over the weekend, so she wouldn't hurt herself at my place, and we could regroup then. Again, something that would have been done for my comfort, and would have left her in more distress. Again, couldn't do that to her.
Seriously. Do not read if you don't want to weep.
They gave me a pink blanket. It was incongruously similar to a baby blanket, and I wrapped my baby in it. They gave me a clay heart with her pawprint in it, and shaved a spot for the injection. The vet even stuck a bit of her fur to the heart, heh. The vet tech was holding her, and the vet was about to give her a shot. I asked her to wait, and took one last picture. The vet saw me, and stopped. She asked if I wanted a picture of Smokey and I. I said, I guess? We took one. I passed her down to my mom for one last picture. Then to Dad. Then back to me. There's one final shot of me holding Smokey, with my parents standing behind me, hugging me. Everyone except Smokey is a total mess. I gave her one more snug, whispered I love you, and handed her back to the tech. They administered a shot to sedate her before the final shot. They said it made the final shot more comfortable. It made her throw up, and then fall asleep. She was facing away from me, because I really didn't want to watch her face, but I had my hand on her chest. The vet shot her again. There were two quick, deep breaths, and then nothing. The vet pulled out her stethoscope and said it was over. It was just about noon.
I'd already said I wanted to bury her on my parents' property. They took her in back to make sure her bowels were empty. I came with. Over the last few years, I always came with whenever she went into "the back room" for blood withdrawal or whatever. I couldn't imagine not going on the last trip. While back there, they put her in a box. It was oddly similar to the box I'd received an under-the-counter CD player in. I said I wanted to bury her brush with her, so we fit that in, too. I'd tried to give the blanket back, but the vet said someone made them special for this kind of occasion, which is the weirdest thing I'd ever heard, but everyone needs a hobby, I guess. We packed her up and they closed the flaps on the box.
I took another minute alone in the room. I texted coworker and told her it was over. As I left the exam room, I was carrying the box. Sister #2, who was also weepy, was in the lobby with the parents. She'd unexpectedly been able to leave work as well, but arrived too late. She was devastated that she hadn't gotten to say goodbye, and that it was all over. So, we all matched. Mom didn't tell me that it was a possibility she was coming, otherwise I would have waited for her. Sister #2 said she would have preferred to not make Smokey wait while suffering, so she thought it was for the best.
I got in her car for the ride to my parents, as I was totally not in a condition to drive. I texted my supe and told him I'd be in by 2. I know I could have skipped, but I really, truly was not ready to face the empty apartment yet. I didn't know what else to do, but go in and finish my shift.
Our first cat, Sugar, was buried on the property, next to the pasture. That portion is long overgrown now, but I wanted Smokey and Sugar as close as they could be. ( This is them together, waaaaaaaay back in the day. <3) I walked, with my box, purposefully to where the pasture fence used to be and sat down. It was less than five yards from where I remembered Sugar had been lain to rest. Sister #2 and Dad dug the grave. Once it was big enough, and I'd put her in (inside the box, yes, with the blanket and the brush) I had to leave asap. I absolutely did not want to see the dirt be piled on top of her. Totally dickish of me to leave that with my parents, but there you go.
I stopped off at home to change. My neighbor, who also has a cat, was getting in her car and asked me how I was doing. LOADED QUESTION. I crumpled and she got concerned. She was just on her way to Target or whatever and wasn't expecting an emotional pile of bricks, but boy, I brought it.
After all that, I got to work at 1:45, and was scheduled till 6. Definitely the oddest day of work I've had in awhile, if not ever. I didn't want to be at home, alone with my thoughts, but I didn't particularly want to work either. I just didn't know what else to do. What, go shopping? See a movie? Spend time with my family, where there would be other cats and more thoughts? So I went to work. I stopped by coworker's desk for a sob and a hug. Most of the other supervisors knew and lent sympathy. I cried anew at every new discussion. I stopped in to let my supervisor know I was there. He asked how I was doing. Quavering, I said I was better when people didn't ask me that. He noted that and said he wouldn't ask again. (Probably relieved at the reprieve, honestly.)
I went up to a supervisor's desk at 2:30 to talk about something work-y, and we drifted onto the topic foremost in my mind. Cheryl came up to say goodbye (her shift was over) and she asked me what was wrong. She said I looked mad. I quietly said no, I wasn't mad. That, even just that, made me start to cry. I don't know why I didn't tell her before that. I just...kind of wanted to sit in my corner and do my work. Maybe even whichever number of stage in grieving that is, denial. If I don't talk about it, it's not real.
There were three hardest moments: The first was when we got back to the vet's and I got in my car to go back to town. I'd left my kitty at my parents house, to the west. That would have been left on Highway 24, and I was going exactly the opposite direction. Right on Highway 24. I was leaving her behind.
Second was when I came home after work, just like I knew it would be. All of her things were still there, waiting for her. I couldn't remember the last time I came home and she wasn't either asleep on the bed, or had just woken up and jumped off the bed.
The last, and this is really odd, was when I was taking out the litterbox bag that Sunday. All I could think was "this is the last thing that she's left in the apartment. I'm can't believe I'm throwing this out, it was a part of her." It was her POOP. WTF, me, srsly.
Things I wish (other than the obvious): I wish our regular vet had been in the office. I wish it hadn't been so effing fast. I would have loved One Last Weekend, where we could snuggle, she could yowl at me and I'd cater to her wish, we'd have lap time and brushing time and any other me-and-her time that I could fit in. I wish I'd known it was that close to being over.
Things I'm "happy" about. Obviously a relative term, but work with me here: She wasn't in pain. She was scared and didn't know what was happening to her, but there was no physical pain. It happened REALLY quickly, like, almost less than 12 hours quickly. Not good for me, but the least stressful for her. It wasn't winter. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I knew she wasn't immortal. I was always worried that I wouldn't be able to bury her where I wanted to if she died after the ground had frozen, or if there was six feet of snow on the ground. Which, in Minnesota, is basically half of the time. So.
I just miss almost everything about her. Everything except for the vomit and her trying to steal my food.
Her eagerness for my being home. How she'd wedge onto the couch right beside me as soon as I sat down, leaving me no choice but to sit on the couch for hours on end on weekends to keep her adequately loved and comfy. The weight on the blanket when she jumped onto the bed, followed soon after by the "thump" when she'd fall onto her side next to me. How I'd wake up and attempt to extract myself from the bed without jostling her. She'd always stand up anyway, stretch, and then take my spot on the bed! Her soft fur, especially on her front legs, which I loved to rub with my finger when she was lying next to me. And how, when she'd be sitting on her haunches and standing on her front paws, I'd put my finger on her paw, and she would lift her paw from beneath it. I would then repeat on the other paw, making her do a little dance for me. It annoyed her, but it was funny to me.
It's been almost a month, and it's taken me this long to get all this out. I have an appointment tomorrow with a counselor I saw when I was in my teens. While I love Smokey still and couldn't imagine forgetting her, I really shouldn't still be this emotionally fragile. So, counseling. We'll see.