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When my beloved Orange Bastard left us, I mentioned that I never had to have a cat put down. Well, that all changed today and it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.
We adopted "Frisky" when he was just a 3-month-old kitten, when my son was just short of 4 years old. My son stayed by my side and was very calm and quiet, something the volunteers complimented me on as we were leaving. When we got him home and let him out of the carrier, he didn't run off and hide like almost every other cat I brought home did. He decided to explore the place.
Over the next 13 1/2 years, he provided us with endless entertainment. He would go tearing thru the living room, bouncing off the walls and knocking pictures down. At Christmas time, he'd climb the Christmas tree, and even knocked it over one time. And he loved to steal our food! Sometimes if he ate meat, he'd growl and hiss at it while he was eating it. I'll never forget the one day we were having ham for dinner, and I heard my son tell me, "Frisky took my ham!" Sure enough, he had sneaked over to the coffee table where my son was eating, stuck his head in his plate, and snatched his ham away. And then he wolfed the whole thing down and came back for more! And it wasn't just meat that he loved. He also helped himself to my potato chips, got into a box of powdered donuts, and one time he got the snack cabinet open and stole some brownies that my son's grandmother had sent home for us ("I sent those over for you guys, not for that damn cat!")
He almost lost him about 8 years ago, during Christmas week 2003. His urinary tract had become blocked. I didn't know what was wrong with him, just that he kept yelping and was lying around most of the day. Thankfully, I was in the chat room that night, and one of our members recognized the symptoms I was describing and urged me to get him to an animal hospital. Interestingly enough, this particular member didn't use the chat room much, so I feel that her deciding to venture in there that night happened for a reason (Shay, if you're out there somewhere, I'm still grateful for your help.) It was a rough week, not knowing if he was going to make it or not, but he pulled thru. I told myself I wasn't going to complain about the cost if he'd just be OK, and I kept that promise even though I spent $400 at the hospital and $200 in follow-up care at my regular vet. I affectionately referred to him as "The $600 cat."
Up until just a couple years ago, he was going strong. It wasn't all that long ago that I saw him jump six feet straight up in the air trying to catch a moth on the other side of the screen door. But one day, he was stumbling around like he couldn't keep his balance. He recovered from that quickly, but he was deaf after that. There was an upside to that -- he no longer ran and hid when we had company. And a downside, as well. Somehow the front door got left partway open one day I was cutting the grass, and he and one other cat got out. As soon as I came around the front of the house with the mower, the other cat got scared and ran inside, but Frisky didn't, since he was deaf. That troubled me, since if he couldn't hear a lawnmower, he wouldn't be able to hear traffic either, and we live along a road where people like to fly thru like idiots.
One time I was vaccuuming, and he was cooking himself in front of the fireplace. When he could still hear, he would have bolted as soon as I came in the room with the sweeper. But I went right up to him with it, and he didn't even flinch. I nudged him with the hose, and he opened his eyes briefly, and then closed them again. I nudged him again, and he got up and walked away, giving me a really bad look.
Around the end of last year, I noticed he had lost his fangs. He still had the smaller teeth, and seemed to be able to manage with those. I knew he wasn't going to be around much longer, and in fact I thought he was going to be the first cat to go. But Orange Bastard ended up going first, and not even six months later, we had to face the loss of another one.
He was hanging in there strong, even deaf and toothless, until earlier this week. He was even jumping in bed with us and bugging us for our food. Then Monday night he was sleeping on the loveseat, and I noticed his paws felt a little cold. I thought maybe it was because I had started running the air for the first time this year. But then the next night, he was having trouble walking. The next night, he could barely move his back paws at all. He was still eating, just having trouble moving. We figured his time was short, but we thought he'd just go on his own like the other cats did.
This morning it was even worse. He couldn't walk at all, was gasping for air, and couldn't even raise his head. My wife, my son, and I all discussed the situation and decided that we should have him put down. If it was earlier in the week, I might have given him more time to go on his own, but my vet doesn't have weekend hours and I didn't want to be stuck if he started feeling pain during the weekend. I dug a spot in the yard for him by one of the trees, which I felt bad for doing for a cat that was still alive.
We wrapped Frisky in a blanket and reluctantly made the drive to the vet. The assistant took one look at him and told us he was in terrible shape, and assured us we were doing the right thing. The provided us with a box of tissues, which we all made heavy use of. The doctor came in, and two shots later, it was all over. They wrapped him up in the blanket we had brought him in and pinned it shut for us. I had intended to keep it, but my son said he didn't want to use the blanket our cat had died in, so we buried him in it. Even the assistant was in tears. The vet was dry-eyed, but then he's been in the business for about as long as I've been alive, so I guess he's used to it.
We took Frisky home and buried him in the spot I had dug for him. We miss him so much, and can't believe he's going. Rest in peace, my friend, and say hi to Orange Bastard for me.
We adopted "Frisky" when he was just a 3-month-old kitten, when my son was just short of 4 years old. My son stayed by my side and was very calm and quiet, something the volunteers complimented me on as we were leaving. When we got him home and let him out of the carrier, he didn't run off and hide like almost every other cat I brought home did. He decided to explore the place.
Over the next 13 1/2 years, he provided us with endless entertainment. He would go tearing thru the living room, bouncing off the walls and knocking pictures down. At Christmas time, he'd climb the Christmas tree, and even knocked it over one time. And he loved to steal our food! Sometimes if he ate meat, he'd growl and hiss at it while he was eating it. I'll never forget the one day we were having ham for dinner, and I heard my son tell me, "Frisky took my ham!" Sure enough, he had sneaked over to the coffee table where my son was eating, stuck his head in his plate, and snatched his ham away. And then he wolfed the whole thing down and came back for more! And it wasn't just meat that he loved. He also helped himself to my potato chips, got into a box of powdered donuts, and one time he got the snack cabinet open and stole some brownies that my son's grandmother had sent home for us ("I sent those over for you guys, not for that damn cat!")
He almost lost him about 8 years ago, during Christmas week 2003. His urinary tract had become blocked. I didn't know what was wrong with him, just that he kept yelping and was lying around most of the day. Thankfully, I was in the chat room that night, and one of our members recognized the symptoms I was describing and urged me to get him to an animal hospital. Interestingly enough, this particular member didn't use the chat room much, so I feel that her deciding to venture in there that night happened for a reason (Shay, if you're out there somewhere, I'm still grateful for your help.) It was a rough week, not knowing if he was going to make it or not, but he pulled thru. I told myself I wasn't going to complain about the cost if he'd just be OK, and I kept that promise even though I spent $400 at the hospital and $200 in follow-up care at my regular vet. I affectionately referred to him as "The $600 cat."
Up until just a couple years ago, he was going strong. It wasn't all that long ago that I saw him jump six feet straight up in the air trying to catch a moth on the other side of the screen door. But one day, he was stumbling around like he couldn't keep his balance. He recovered from that quickly, but he was deaf after that. There was an upside to that -- he no longer ran and hid when we had company. And a downside, as well. Somehow the front door got left partway open one day I was cutting the grass, and he and one other cat got out. As soon as I came around the front of the house with the mower, the other cat got scared and ran inside, but Frisky didn't, since he was deaf. That troubled me, since if he couldn't hear a lawnmower, he wouldn't be able to hear traffic either, and we live along a road where people like to fly thru like idiots.
One time I was vaccuuming, and he was cooking himself in front of the fireplace. When he could still hear, he would have bolted as soon as I came in the room with the sweeper. But I went right up to him with it, and he didn't even flinch. I nudged him with the hose, and he opened his eyes briefly, and then closed them again. I nudged him again, and he got up and walked away, giving me a really bad look.
Around the end of last year, I noticed he had lost his fangs. He still had the smaller teeth, and seemed to be able to manage with those. I knew he wasn't going to be around much longer, and in fact I thought he was going to be the first cat to go. But Orange Bastard ended up going first, and not even six months later, we had to face the loss of another one.
He was hanging in there strong, even deaf and toothless, until earlier this week. He was even jumping in bed with us and bugging us for our food. Then Monday night he was sleeping on the loveseat, and I noticed his paws felt a little cold. I thought maybe it was because I had started running the air for the first time this year. But then the next night, he was having trouble walking. The next night, he could barely move his back paws at all. He was still eating, just having trouble moving. We figured his time was short, but we thought he'd just go on his own like the other cats did.
This morning it was even worse. He couldn't walk at all, was gasping for air, and couldn't even raise his head. My wife, my son, and I all discussed the situation and decided that we should have him put down. If it was earlier in the week, I might have given him more time to go on his own, but my vet doesn't have weekend hours and I didn't want to be stuck if he started feeling pain during the weekend. I dug a spot in the yard for him by one of the trees, which I felt bad for doing for a cat that was still alive.
We wrapped Frisky in a blanket and reluctantly made the drive to the vet. The assistant took one look at him and told us he was in terrible shape, and assured us we were doing the right thing. The provided us with a box of tissues, which we all made heavy use of. The doctor came in, and two shots later, it was all over. They wrapped him up in the blanket we had brought him in and pinned it shut for us. I had intended to keep it, but my son said he didn't want to use the blanket our cat had died in, so we buried him in it. Even the assistant was in tears. The vet was dry-eyed, but then he's been in the business for about as long as I've been alive, so I guess he's used to it.
We took Frisky home and buried him in the spot I had dug for him. We miss him so much, and can't believe he's going. Rest in peace, my friend, and say hi to Orange Bastard for me.
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