Our last days with Punky
I want to write this down, for myself. It might be tough to read (it will certainly be tough to write) and no one has to, of course. I'll give proper CW just in case.
As you probably know, Punky was diagnosed with advanced renal failure and liver damage almost two months ago. She was given meds that helped a lot, and gave us several more weeks to spend with her. She was back to normal for a while, until she started to slowly weaken.
(CW for details about her illness and how it got progressively worse) Last Thursday, she had barely eaten her night food (she had always eaten sporadically so it was not extremely worrying at first). We couldn't give her her meds in the evening because she wouldn't touch her beloved treats. On Friday, she wasn't eating at all anymore. We called the vet and talked to her a little bit, knowing what her not eating meant. We tried feeding her fresh steak (her favourite) but she was just not interested. She was getting very weak and her hind legs mostly weren't supporting her anymore. She didn't seem to be in pain, just very tired. We gave her a hot water bottle to sleep on.
(CW for our last visit to the vet and kitty death) On Saturday morning, we made the call. We were hoping to be able to wait until Monday to bring them Punky but at that point it felt unnecessary and cruel. The vet gave us an appointment 2 hours from then. We spent these hours cuddling Punky. She was extremely weak, only half conscious. Her usually loud purring was then almost imperceptible. Taking her to the vet was not as traumatic for her as it used to be. She didn't have the energy or awareness to be scared. The vet was gentle, reassuring and supportive. She explained to us everything that was going to happen. She first gave Punky a general anaesthesia. She left us in a room with her to say goodbye and watch her fall asleep. We cried, held hands and petted her for the last time. Then the vet came back and asked us if we wanted to stay. We did. For some reason, I wanted to be there until she wasn't breathing anymore. I can't explain it. The vet gave her the final injection and her breath faded away.
I've been crying a lot for the past days, but a weight has been lifted too. So many complex emotions. We were already mourning the cat we knew long before she was gone. She hadn't been herself for a while. She was tired and sick, and life had started leaving her body with the illness. But she was still the best cat we've ever known.
Now, the sadness is slowly becoming nostalgia and I can recall her quirks and crazy cat behaviours without bursting into tears. Almost. Not quite, yet. We know one day we'll start another chapter with another cat. But for now, I just want to replace her. And she's irreplaceable. I need to wait until I am able to fall in love with another, different cat. The flat feels so empty without her.
As you probably know, Punky was diagnosed with advanced renal failure and liver damage almost two months ago. She was given meds that helped a lot, and gave us several more weeks to spend with her. She was back to normal for a while, until she started to slowly weaken.
(CW for details about her illness and how it got progressively worse) Last Thursday, she had barely eaten her night food (she had always eaten sporadically so it was not extremely worrying at first). We couldn't give her her meds in the evening because she wouldn't touch her beloved treats. On Friday, she wasn't eating at all anymore. We called the vet and talked to her a little bit, knowing what her not eating meant. We tried feeding her fresh steak (her favourite) but she was just not interested. She was getting very weak and her hind legs mostly weren't supporting her anymore. She didn't seem to be in pain, just very tired. We gave her a hot water bottle to sleep on.
(CW for our last visit to the vet and kitty death) On Saturday morning, we made the call. We were hoping to be able to wait until Monday to bring them Punky but at that point it felt unnecessary and cruel. The vet gave us an appointment 2 hours from then. We spent these hours cuddling Punky. She was extremely weak, only half conscious. Her usually loud purring was then almost imperceptible. Taking her to the vet was not as traumatic for her as it used to be. She didn't have the energy or awareness to be scared. The vet was gentle, reassuring and supportive. She explained to us everything that was going to happen. She first gave Punky a general anaesthesia. She left us in a room with her to say goodbye and watch her fall asleep. We cried, held hands and petted her for the last time. Then the vet came back and asked us if we wanted to stay. We did. For some reason, I wanted to be there until she wasn't breathing anymore. I can't explain it. The vet gave her the final injection and her breath faded away.
I've been crying a lot for the past days, but a weight has been lifted too. So many complex emotions. We were already mourning the cat we knew long before she was gone. She hadn't been herself for a while. She was tired and sick, and life had started leaving her body with the illness. But she was still the best cat we've ever known.
Now, the sadness is slowly becoming nostalgia and I can recall her quirks and crazy cat behaviours without bursting into tears. Almost. Not quite, yet. We know one day we'll start another chapter with another cat. But for now, I just want to replace her. And she's irreplaceable. I need to wait until I am able to fall in love with another, different cat. The flat feels so empty without her.