The toughest thing a pet owner can do is make that final decision.
But then what to we do? How do we handle it?
Having gone through it so many times, I thought I would share my strategy, in the hopes that it will help others.
It is written for cats, but of course it applies to all pets.
It has been a great comfort for me.
On the flip:
It is an act of great love to be there for our cat when they are put to sleep. We have been able to make The Decision. We can prepare for the final appointment. Still, it’s only natural for us to continue to feel trepidation, especially if we have never faced such a situation before.
What can we say? What do we do? How can we help our cat?
We must remember that we are there for our cat, and that there are people who are there for us. Even if we are unable to have someone accompany us, we will be there with medical professionals who have experience and will help us.
Most animal practitioners are motivated by genuine love of animals; they understand how much we love our cat. They know this is a tough time, and they are not expecting us to be cool, calm, and collected.
Start with what comes naturally; pet our cat, tell them how much we love them, we’re going to fix it, they aren’t going to hurt anymore.
Expect to cry at some point. We can reasonably expect to cry all the way through. We might have entered the room already crying. None of that matters.
This isn’t the kind of crying that happens when we are about to "fall apart." This is the kind of crying that happens when we feel deeply, love deeply, and don’t care who knows it. We might feel vulnerable by having strangers see us so upset; we might be embarrassed by not being able to control our feelings in public.
No matter what cultural or societal constraints we might feel, we can’t let them get in the way. It doesn’t matter who we are or what we do for a living or what our self-concept might be; here in this room, we are all little babies who are going through sheer heck.
When we made The Decision, the mourning process started, whether we realized it or not. The bad news was bad enough; yet our minds were still busy pressing the vet for our options, figuring out ways this couldn’t be true, coming up with alternate realities where we weren’t facing this.
It’s the mind’s way of helping us deal with bad news. When we can no longer pretend things will get better and we must face our fears head on, we will go into mourning, because the reality is that we must say goodbye.
No one likes to say goodbye.
Saying goodbye with such finality and using their little nicknames for the last time can make us feel at a loss for comforting words. But we need them. We need comforting words to say to our cat. We need comforting words to say to ourselves.
If we have a religion, it might not acknowledge an afterlife for animals. If we have a free-form spirituality, we might or might not believe in an afterlife. If we lean towards a pragmatic philosophy where we aren’t sure, or are sure that there isn’t one, that’s also a position I respect.
But this is not a debate about the meaning of life. We are here for a noble purpose.
Now, more than any time in their life, we must shape the response for our cat. It is impossible for us to be cheerful, but we must say something to the cat that will calm their mind the way our hand is calming their body. We usually cannot hold them, whether we’d like to or not; the vet will worry about incidents and accidents.
But we can always cup their head in our hand, lean close to whisper in their ear, and come up with something that will give our cat a loving framework for what is happening.
If we are able to draw comfort from our framework, we will then be able to convey comfort to our cat.
If it is enough for us to reassure the cat that the hurting will stop and we will always love them, go with that.
If we believe there’s a heaven and we’ll see them there again, go with that.
If we don’t know what to say, read the famous poem about pet loss, the Rainbow Bridge, and go with that.
But we have to go with something.
Because we’re coming up to the worst part now, and both we and the cat will need a framework. Because when the medicine that will "put them to sleep" starts to work, the cat’s body, working on sheer instinct, will signal our cat that they must now struggle to live.
We don’t want that.
This is why the vet doesn’t let us hold them. This is what we have been secretly dreading. This is the moment that will upset our cat, make them panic, and cause them to suffer.
This is the moment our cat needs us the most. This is why we are here.
If we have prepared our framework and been applying it right up to this point, if we put belief in our voice and love in our heart, we can perform a marvelous kindness for our cat.
We can tell them it’s okay, it’s all right, things will be fine, they don’t have to be afraid. They don’t have to worry about us. They can go.
When it is us reassuring our cat, us telling them not to worry, us believing in what we are saying with every bit of our heart and all the emotion of this moment; our cat will trust us and not be afraid.
We can send them over the threshold without suffering.
This sounds daunting. But that is why it is heroic.
Whatever our beliefs, whatever our fears or worries, this is for our cat.
And, this is for us, too.
Because when we have been able to be there for our cat and experience our incredible connection at the most meaningful time, all those things we say to ourselves to soothe our loss... will actually work.
They had a good life. They knew I loved them. I was able to do all I could.
No matter how young or old our cat was, whatever mistakes we might have made along the way, or how deeply we will miss them, we will get through our mourning when we discover we can do this extraordinary act for our cat.
Then our loss, while still deeply felt and saddening, will not torment us.
Then we can complete the mourning process; and we will be at peace.