Running Chick

15 years ago, on a dark and rainy night, you found me. Tonight, on this dark and rainy night, you told me to let you go.

Simon

March 21, 1995 ~ November 21, 2010

Simon.

I knew this was coming. It’s been rolling around sporadically in my head for months and more frequently over the last few weeks. These past few days, it’s consumed me.

He’s not well. We’ve been fighting the hyperthyroidism and renal failure valliantly for the last nine months.  They are winning.

I took him to the vet on Thursday and he was down 1 pound 2 ounces since the end of September. That’s an enourmous amount for a small cat in such a short period of time. When the vet tech said “wow”, my heart sank. I knew he had lost weight, but I had no idea how much.

The vet, she’s optimistic. She gave him a shot, called it their “Old Kitty Shot”, which is a mix of B12, some sort of appetite stimulant, and a few other things. It’s supposed to help. He got 150 ml of subcutaneous fluids because he was dehydrated. They showed me how to give administer fluids to him at home. This would involve an IV bag, IV tubes and a needle. The vet seemed to think this was perfectly do-able. I felt overwhelmed and scared.

I’ve been reading article after article (and going through box after box of tissues) about how to determine when is the right time to let go. The answer is based upon determining the quality of life. Is he happy? Does he have more good days than bad days? Is he eating and drinking? Is he interested in his surroundings?

He sleeps all day and when he is awake, he’s mostly unresponsive. He’s drinking, but not much.  Tonight I had to spoon feed him to get him eating. Baby food. Chicken flavor.

Guess what the answers are.

I talked to the vet today. She says we’ll re-evaluate after this weekend, but it’s pretty apparent what’s going to happen.

“By usurping nature’s role throughout the life of our pets, we must sometimes also accept its role in determining (and bringing about) the death of a pet. To accept this, we may also have to accept that, in some cases, the quality of life we’re really trying to protect is our own: That we’re allowing our pet to suffer out of a desire to avoid the anguish we know that we will experience when it dies. And that, ultimately, is the most unselfish act of love we can offer: To end a pet’s suffering, we must choose to accept our own.” Source

“Remember, your pet has looked to you for all of his needs throughout his lifetime, including food, shelter, love and affection, and freedom from pain. When her body is tired, diseased, or just worn out; when life is a great effort just to survive another day; when you know in your heart that you have done all you can reasonably do for her; then it is time for great courage and selflessness, time to provide that final rest and peace, time for reflecting on all the good times and joy you had together, time to let her go. You may feel all those other emotions, but you must not feel guilt, because you know in your heart you have done all you could have done and that your friend is now at peace. You have done the right thing at the right time.” Source