On Friday, April 22, 2022 at 10:00 hour EU time we had to let go of our cat. There was no better choice. It would have lengthened her severe suffering. Somewhere in the evening, night or early morning ( we do not know) something happened to her. It can be a bad jump, or hit by a car or something else. All we know is she was not at home when we woke up and also saw she had not been home at all the whole night. It to me means she had something bad happening to her already in the evening or early in the night, because she used to come inside several times before the morning, to eat and drink and get a hug, or to sleep a few hours with us on the bed. Just a few times in a year she would be away longer and even if it worried us we always saw her back when early morning had started and all okay again.
This time felt different. The signs were not good somehow and also searching outside and calling her name did not result in a little meow back or her showing up. My husband had to leave for work and all I could do is wait and hope. The many times I walked to the window to see if she maybe was in the garden . . . . but all in vain. I was very nervous and just felt something was not okay this time. And then the call came, at 8:42 . . . the animal ambulance. My first thought was, oh no, she has died. But she was alive. They asked however if she was maybe delivering kittens because she looked like that to them. Apathetic, not able to sit or walk and in big pain. I said that was impossible, because she cannot have kittens and is sterilised. They then asked if they could bring her home. Yes of course! I was happy a bit more because to me that meant it maybe was not that bad . . . otherwise they would have visited the veterinary . . . right? I even blocked the cat door to prevent her running outside instantly when home, because she is so scared and uncomfortable always with strangers and when being fiddled with in a way she dislikes.
But when they arrived and I walked to the ambulance . . . . looking at her and greeting her . . . the meow she gave so full of emotion and finally seeing/hearing someone she wants to be with, but also unable to move, not even her little head, giving meows full of pain and a shivering little body . . it was clear she needed help I could not give her. When we arrived at the veterinary and she was examined I dared to ask if she would make it. The answer was confronting yet clear: No. They did try to make her shock less severe and discover more precise what was wrong, but the back of her body did not function anymore. A severe and irreversible neurogenic shock (exact cause unknown) is what made most sense as diagnose. Too late to help her and even if we would have tried things more complex she would have been disabled the rest of her life with many things that would make her very very very unhappy and most certainly also put her in a very painful lengthening of her mental and physical suffering. We could not do that to her and also the veterinary was quite clear what would be the most merciful choice. I whispered little words in her ear to thank her for all she meant to us and gave us and cried my heart out. My husband carried her body when she was euthanised. We saw and heard her last breath. Her battle was over. Ours just has begun.
After she had been euthanised we took her home for a while and hold her close to us with her little body. We then took her for cremation and now wait for retrieving her ashes to bring her back home. She will get a permanent place in the house for the time being. Later we wish to put her ashes in the garden and plant a rose on it. Because she belongs both in nature as well as close to us. We have put photos of her on a few places and burn a candle for her every evening to remember her. She deserves our every tear and every thought of sadness, because she left a hole in our heart as well as a big big big space of love around it to embrace that hole. Six years ago she chose us as parents, after not feeling safe anymore at her original home. The way she recovered from her fears and being shy . . . . incredible. The way she started to communicate with us and closed us in her own heart . . . . . endearing. How strong and brave she has been her last night . . . it all contributes to us looking at her as a very special cat. We know everyone has that feeling with their pet, but still . . . . she was yes, to us.
We will try to move on and find a way to deal with this. But I know it will take a long time to have peace with this. I know myself and how I love and mourn. It both is deep. I feel like withdrawing from everyone and everything. Not wanting to be surrounded by happy people or sunny moods in any way. But I also know that’s dangerous, because it can cause me to dwell in sadness too much and then get stuck in it. I am very grateful she was at least found ( she had a chip and was scanned by the ambulance employees to find the owner) and that we could say goodbye instead of nothing at all and wonder where she is and if still alive etc, the rest of a life.
Goodbye and farewell to you sweetheart.
You never will be forgotten.