madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 5/30/03 My little family got smaller yesterday. I lost my kitty, Pete. It was so sudden. I�m still kind of reeling from the speed at which his life was taken from me. It was Sunday when we noticed he was having some labored breathing, but he�d gotten so fat & sassy we thought it was just the heat getting to him. When it didn�t go away, we took him into the vet. She said he had a heart murmur. His x-rays showed massive fluid around his heart and in his lungs, and a possible mass of tumors. She said it was going to be very traumatic on him to remove the fluid, and he may not survive it. If he did survive it, the fluid generally returned within a week and only 10% of cats live through getting it removed again and again. Complicating matters, he had Feline leukemia, a terminal illness he was diagnosed with almost two years ago. We had the choice of trying everything possible to save him, but considering the circumstances, it was best to put him to sleep. I keep playing the moment of his passing over and over in mind. When they gave him the final injection, I watched the life go out of his body. I moved my hand to touch him. It was the first time the soft fur between my fingers was no comfort to me. I was at once mortified and angry and grief-stricken and in total disbelief that this beautiful creature was gone forever. The finality of it still sits on my chest like a dead weight. I know we did the right thing, but it really doesn�t take away the pain of it. I can�t believe he�s gone. I miss him so much. I cried and cried when I got home and everything in the house reminded me of him. These objects - his food bowl half full, his litter box, his scratching post�his window seat where he perched to bird watch or breathe in fresh air � just served to remind me that he was truly gone. I kept expecting him to hop on the couch for snuggling or do a figure eight between my legs when I was making a sandwich. I waited for the weight of his body against my feet in the bed last night�but it never came. Tom said his presence is still here in the house, but I cannot feel anything but the weight of the emptiness in his absence. His form, now a ghost, was curled up in the hallway where the sun connected with the carpet this morning until I blinked my eyes to find he wasn�t really there. His soft meow, in memory, came to me when I went in the bathroom � the place where we always shared quiet time together. I can�t explain the loss. I only know that it leaves you standing in the middle of a room with throbbing pain in your throat and you wonder why this had to happen, and you wonder if you�ll ever be the same. 2:56 p.m. - 5/30/03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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