At the moment we say hello to and fall in love with a new pet, we must, at that same moment, recognize that saying hello also means saying goodbye, because our small pets are not meant to outlive us. And so it begins.
I have learned along the path of my life that with every new loss, we grieve again all of the losses that came before it. This makes it important to fully experience the grief every time, as I believe that this is the only mechanism to keep all of our losses from eventually sinking us under their accumulated weight. It also means, for me, that the older I get, the more intensely I hurt.
Some will believe I am just being overly dramatic or pitiful, and that is not my intent. My intention with this diary is to examine and express what I am experiencing now, to get it out of me, to externalize what is tearing me up internally. If you choose not to read, I won't be insulted or offended in any way, as I am writing this - selfishly - for myself.
The real pain is below the curlicue.
16 years ago, my husband of 18 years up and left me and our daughter. This was unexpected and enormously traumatic, and that is not the subject of this diary - but it was the reason my daughter and I went looking to adopt a kitten.
A friend took us to his aunt's barn, where my daughter picked out a beautiful kitten - the color of straw, with gold eyes and the softest, fluffiest fur - like cashmere. We later learned she was truly "blonde", just like those old blonde jokes, before they were recognized as politically incorrect. On the way home, our new kitten fell asleep purring in my daughter's arms, and my daughter named her Nyquil. It turned out to be a genuinely accurate descriptor for her. Six months later, we decided she was lonely, and got her a kitty companion.
Kittens turn into cats, as time passes, and Nyquil grew into the most cuddly, affectionate, people-loving cat I have ever known. She was the cat who watched for me in the window and ran, tail up, to greet me at the door, sitting up on her hind legs begging to be picked up before I could even put down my pocketbook and the mail. She was the reason for many a lazy afternoon spent reading, watching television, or on the computer, as once she was snuggled down on my lap or on my shoulder I just hated to uproot her. And what better excuse to take it easy than not wanting to displace a cat? She was also a cat who loved to give hugs in an almost human fashion, snuggling in close, with paws on either side of my neck and rubbing noses.
She had almost no meow - just a creaky sounding squeak. But her purr, oh, my - if she was on my shoulder when I was talking on the phone, the person on the other end of the line would always inquire what the noise was... wondering if there was a helicopter passing nearby. For the tiny cat that she always was, (top weight was 8 lbs) she had an astonishingly loud purr.
But she was not perfect, far from it! She was insistent about being fed in the morning, and would not allow me to sleep in. She accomplished this through a variety of irritating behaviors, from patting my mouth with her paw, to, if I ignored the gentle paw patting, hooking one of her bottom fangs into my nostrils to get my attention. That certainly worked to get me awake in a hurry, and there were many mornings I buried my head under the pillow in self defense. I have to admit that I actually preferred being awakened by a living creature rather than the cold, electric alarm clock. And as always, now that the opportunity is gone, I'd give anything to have that fight with her one more time.
The very great blessing is that she was such a healthy cat. For all of our 17 years together, she had very few health issues - bad gums caused her to lose some teeth (but not those fangs!) when she was about 4, and in the last year she had 2 or 3 urinary infections which were quickly healed with antibiotics. Maybe that is why I am still in such shock and having such a hard time with this - I really was not prepared to lose her. At the last regular checkup, less than a year ago, the vet said that she was amazingly healthy for 16 - her physical condition was great, she looked nothing like most 16 year old cats, and her blood work was such that he expected her to live for a long time. The future is hard to predict.
Then about 2 weeks ago, a strange bump appeared on a lower eyelid (almost like a sty), and as I watched it over the course of a few days, it grew and she began having a discharge from her eye. Her appetite was failing, too, and this symptom in a cat who would overturn a garbage can to fish through it in order to eat spoiled food, and who would dig through multiple layers of plastic bags to get to a loaf of bread - with only 4 fangs, at that - was most alarming. Of course we went to the vet, who found a weird bump on her shoulder (I had thought it was a slow healing scab from a kitty-tussle with her companion). A week of antibiotics did not help, and it became obvious to the vet that these were not infections but tumors. Within the space of 8 days, another mysterious bump grew on the side of her nose. As her blood work was still great - the vet said that going by that, she would outlive the both of us - and x-rays showed nothing amiss internally, surgery was scheduled for last Friday.
Meanwhile, she had pretty much stopped eating. I tried everything I could think of to entice her - every kind of stinky fishy cat food, tuna fish, baby foods, yogurt, cheese, catmilk, pizza, ravioli, you name it... I could manage to get her to eat about a tablespoon of food once a day. Clearly, she was failing, but she still spent every minute I was home sitting in my lap or curled up in my arm, purring, even when I was asleep in bed.
The pre-surgery exam showed she had lost another 1/3 pound in two days, and for a now 6 pound kitty, that's significant. The vet noticed nasal bleeding, which had not been there 2 days before, and the bump on her nose was notably larger than it had been just two days earlier. I love my vet and have implicit trust in him, and he diagnosed a nasal tumor which was inoperable. That, in addition to her stubborn refusal to eat, resulted in his prediction that she would not live beyond the weekend.
I was totally unprepared for the decision I had to make. It was the right decision, the inevitable decision... I don't question that. I've had to make that choice before, and it's never easy, but it's never been this hard before, either.
I have realized that this cat was much more in my life than just a pet. She was with me as my only child grew up, went to college, moved out of the house, got married, and moved to a different town. Living alone, this cat was my roommate, my companion. Of course I have human companions, friends with whom I have dinner, talk on the phone, go to movies, etc. But I was not aware of just how much company Nyquil was for me - if I was home, she was almost always in the room where I was, and constantly climbing in my lap or begging to be held, purring all the while. She provided the physical affection that, as a single woman alone in the world, I do not get elsewhere. I'm sure her cat companion is sad in her own way, but she is not the people-oriented and social cat and cuddler that Nyquil was, and has remained much more to herself.
As for me, I miss this cat with a physical ache that I have never experienced before at the loss of a pet. I keep telling myself that time heals.... but in the meantime, I am a sad, tearful, miserable mess. I'm open to any advice others who have experienced this care to share.
9:18 PM PT: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has offered their support and compassion. It means so very much to read your stories, too, and to know that so many others have been where I am. Truly, the comfort of this community is something special, and you have shared not only practical suggestions, but love and understanding. I cried all through the writing of this diary, and I have cried through reading your warm responses. Maybe when I get to the last one, I will be all cried out. Thank you, every one.