(no subject)
I found myself having to do one of the hardest things in my life on Friday. After 18 fun and loving years, I had to put down our cat Willy. Willy has been a part of our lives since he and my husband moved into their first bachelor pad in 1989. Tom cat and the Stud survived on chips, cucumbers and tuna sandwiches shared from the same plate until Duane and I married in December of 89. He still shared our food, but I made him eat from his own plate. I had to fight for space in the water bed with a 21 pound cat for the first 5 years of our marriage because Willy always had the place of honor on hubbies chest. For years he would wake up swearing he was having a heart attack only to find Willy stretched out across him. Only in the last years of his life did Willy finally agree to sleep in a basket as the bed was too tall for him to climb into his senior years.
His body gave up before his mind did and that's what made it so hard. We did what we could to carry him around from room to room so that he was never alone, but mostly his kitty pad was next to the wood stove for most of the winter. He moved slow from food to litter to his bed but he was content and warm and could see us from where he slept. It was only the last week that his back legs gave up and refused to support him for more then a few moments at a time. He'd walk and fall and then yowl in frustration because he couldn't get where he wanted.
Duane couldn't take him to the vet. Willy was his first baby, his 'first' pet that was bound to him. Willy loved us all but was Duane's familiar for lack of a more common term. So I was the one who had to take him to the vet. As usual, he loved the ride. In his younger days he would ride with us in the car all the time. I'm certain he's at peace now. No longer frustrated with his aged body. Maine Coon Cats were bread for size and strength and he had both. When people saw him for the first time I'd joke his mother was a badger.
My father built him a little kitty coffin and we buried him in the birch grove with our other family pets. Birch is symbolic of rebirth just as Easter weekend is and I hope in years to come we will all find peace together again.
His body gave up before his mind did and that's what made it so hard. We did what we could to carry him around from room to room so that he was never alone, but mostly his kitty pad was next to the wood stove for most of the winter. He moved slow from food to litter to his bed but he was content and warm and could see us from where he slept. It was only the last week that his back legs gave up and refused to support him for more then a few moments at a time. He'd walk and fall and then yowl in frustration because he couldn't get where he wanted.
Duane couldn't take him to the vet. Willy was his first baby, his 'first' pet that was bound to him. Willy loved us all but was Duane's familiar for lack of a more common term. So I was the one who had to take him to the vet. As usual, he loved the ride. In his younger days he would ride with us in the car all the time. I'm certain he's at peace now. No longer frustrated with his aged body. Maine Coon Cats were bread for size and strength and he had both. When people saw him for the first time I'd joke his mother was a badger.
My father built him a little kitty coffin and we buried him in the birch grove with our other family pets. Birch is symbolic of rebirth just as Easter weekend is and I hope in years to come we will all find peace together again.