Poor Thing

Warning: Morbid thoughts ahead.

We had to put our cat to sleep last (Wednesday) night. After some progress initially, she began to have some serious problems. There were no good outcomes on the horizon. When we went to the vet, it was like she was a different cat compared to yesterday morning. Her eyes were glassy and distant, her breathing labored, and we had already lost her. We knew in a second we were making the right call to let her go. Despite this confidence, I was basically hysterical. I couldn't take it.

After the vet put her out of her misery, we took her body home. Then we drove to our local lake and sat in the car sharing some Belgium beer and crying. My guy, bless him, was so present and loving and sad. We continued to talk a bit more about treatment ideas and approaches, which was, oddly enough, a real relief compared to recalling our poor little cat.

It's eerie how fast a being can move from life to death. I just felt--and feel--so sad that we didn't have more time together. She was a fairly young cat, and so very funny and loving, though with a serious attitude. We adopted her from the shelter almost exactly two years ago, along with a larger, meatier male (also black and fluffy) who's attempting to make himself comfortable on the keyboard at the moment. Amazing how hard it is to type when you're crying and you're fending off cat butt.

So far, 2008 is a bitch. It's just started, and already I'm sick of losing people and creatures I love. What I wouldn't do for something to turn out well.