The recent loss of my 13 year old cat has prompted a great outpouring of sympathy (and I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart.) But this also sparked an idea; people really don't talk about it as much they as they should.
Since my article on the subject has brought gratitude from the readers on my cat blog, I thought I'd share it here; where they are so many pet lovers.
It is written for cats, but is equally applicable to any pet we feel close to.
On the flip:
It’s always a difficult choice to make; deciding it’s time to say goodbye to a beloved cat.
The heart of the dilemma is absent when a cat meets their demise through misadventure or a sudden terminal episode. While, being human, we search for ways we could have averted this situation, we did not directly cause it to come about.
When our cat is very elderly or very ill, we must make the decision. That is how we become tormented by doubts about making it.
But the very thing that makes this problem seemingly so difficult also contains the seed of what will soothe us.
It is a matter of responsibility.
Since cats live in a World They Did Not Make, we are responsible for supporting their lives from the very beginning. We gladly took on the responsibilities of mealtime, playtime, and cuddle time; yes, even litter time. Our reward was the enjoyment we reaped from their happiness and contentment.
We know what makes them happy. We know what makes them unhappy.
So when a course of unhappiness, such as an illness and the ensuing medical treatment, will not be short, and does not hold the promise of our cat regaining their health; it is our responsibility to once again, and for a final time, make our cat happy.
This is what gets us through The Decision.
If Dear Husband and I had theoretical millions of dollars, we could have had our sick cat Puffy admitted to the animal hospital for tests, and found out exactly what was causing his seizures. If it had confirmed the first probable diagnosis, a brain tumor, we could have then flown him to a veterinary college who does the advanced brain surgery he would have required. If it was the second probable diagnosis, progressive neurological disease, we could have embarked on the constantly moving target of balancing his drug dosages with periodic blood tests and adjusting them as he seesawed between still having seizures and being near-comatose.
We could have visited him in the animal hospital, patted his little head, remark on how glad he was to see us, and leave him, feeling like we were "doing all we could."
When I put it like that; the decision doesn’t look so difficult, does it? Which is why, even if we had actual millions of dollars, we wouldn’t have done it.
It would have been done to make us feel better, not Puffy.
There are many chronic conditions which involve some daily discomforts for our cat. Diabetes requires monitoring their diet and administering shots. Kidney disease can be handled with home infusion techniques. I’ve had several cats who required a daily pill or a bit of extra procedure, and could then be "normal." In such circumstances, where the treatment itself is onerous, but brief; our cat can continue to lead their life. Veterinary science has many such management techniques, and I think that’s wonderful.
There are also blind cats, deaf cats, cats missing a leg or have some degree of paralysis; once they weather the precipitating incident, they are no longer in pain, they figure out how to negotiate the world, and they go on. We might feel sorry for such cats, but they do not feel sorry for themselves. They accept their condition; indeed, they may have known no other. These are not suffering cats.
But when we are confronted with a long, tricky, course of treatment with a low probability of success; we must remember that the cat’s feelings should take top consideration. A cat in a perpetual state of discomfort or apprehension is not a happy cat; even if they are still alive.
It’s not even a matter of money, though for most of us that is a sad consideration. It is what we will get for the money.
When Puffy was eight, we noticed an attack of drooling and bad breath which prompted a vet visit. What was supposed to be a routine teeth cleaning turned into a request for emergency surgery. We said Yes; he would have a quick recovery, there was a high probability it had been caught in time, and he would not have any challenges if he made it.
We said Yes even though the emergency turned out to be caused by a congenital condition which confirmed my suspicions that Puffy was the sad product of "backyard breeding," in this case, the rare and expensive Chantilly/Tiffany breed. We didn’t know what genetic landmines might explode in the future; but he wasn’t showing any other signs of trouble; that we recognized.
Looking back, the fact that he routinely drooled over treat time masked his hidden fang infections. It was this same "Puffy behavior pattern" that masked our realization of what would lead to his final illness; he would go blank for a few seconds now and then; sometimes he would lose track of his tongue and it would flap around until we petted his head and reoriented him, and those paw twitches weren’t the normal cat "shaking water off" action that cats use to express disgust. They were all signs that his genetic problems were deeper than malformed teeth.
But still; he was happy. He could go about his little Puffy business. It’s not like he was operating heavy machinery. Even if we had known he had untreatable, progressive, genetic problems, they weren’t causing him suffering.
A broken leg, a simple heart defect, or injuries caused by an accident can be repaired. Kidney disease, hormonal deficits, or neurological illnesses like epilepsy and senile dementia can sometimes be managed.
But if they can’t be fixed very well; if they lead to a lot of invasive followup, or need drugs with awful side effects, or even a best case scenario leaves our cat fearful and apprehensive of a painful attack or puts them in a chronic state of bewilderment and confusion– we must consider if we are no longer acting on our cat’s behalf.
We must always guard against acting out of our own desire to not lose our cat.
When Puffy was not having seizures, he was still Puffy. But not a happy Puffy. He was injuring himself, and the pain of that would linger. Worse yet, we could tell he was in a perpetual state of of fear over it happening again.
With all signs of it stemming from something that would worsen, and thus defeat attempts to manage it; we came to The Decision.
We weren’t happy about The Decision. But we were not riddled with doubt about the rightness of The Decision.
We were acting in the best interests of the cat.
So when we are faced with this situation, we can find clarity and peace by using our rational mind to weight the pros and cons; and using our emotional heart to ask, Am I delaying The Decision just because I can’t stand to say goodbye?
If we find truth in that thought:
It’s time.