Reality is harsh and I'm not handling it well.

[firecat88]

As I've mentioned before, my cat, Chloe, turns 19 this year. Apparently, she's not doing as well as I thought. Her eyesight started to go about...a year-ish ago, but I think it's slowly getting worse and she's possibly also starting to lose her hearing. She's had problems with her kidneys ever since being hit by a car about 10 years ago, but lately she's been having bowel problems too (pooping in various places around the house that are definitely not her litterbox). Plus, there's the all-night crying sessions I mentioned in my last post about her. Everything I've read up on points to feline dementia.

I had a very long talk with my mom about all of this today. She told me, which she hadn't told me before, that Chloe's latest labs at the vet came back as being not good. Chloe's actually due for another appointment and another round of lab work, so I'm very likely not going to make any decisions until those results are in, but I spent 15 minutes crying in my bathroom just at the mere thought of having to possibly put her to sleep. We've had her since the month after we moved from Washington to Colorado.

How do I...deal with this?

[Kittish]

The best suggestion I can offer isn't much comfort, I'm afraid. Remind yourself that 19 years is a long life for a cat, and that you've done all you could to make her life as good as possible. And then remind yourself that death is part of life, and help her meet hers with as little pain and fear as possible. Whenever you get sad (either before or after she's gone), think about some little thing she does that amuses you or makes you go "awwwww", and try to smile at the memories. Love her as much as you can while she's still here, but prepare yourself to let her go. That, and don't be afraid to cry when you need to. Heck, writing this has brought back memories of cats I've had that have passed away, and I'm sitting here smiling at the memories of each of them (distinct personalities, all) while tears drip down my face.

[Tama]

Hug her, give her treats that she likes. Give her everything she wants or needs before you go. Make sure to tell her how much you love her and explain that you're going to take all her pain away. Explain that she won't hurt anymore and that she will be able to run and scratch and all that afterwards.

[Food Lady]

I don't know, but my heart goes out to you. I'm so sorry.

[Seanette]

[hugs to all parties] Been there, done that. I know it hurts to let them go, but to me the part that really matters is whether she's getting anything out of life or just suffering. If she's still reasonably happy, great. If not, the kind and loving thing to do is to free her from her ailments.

[Seshat]

I'm a human and can communicate and make a free, informed choice. If my life were only my bad days, my free, informed choice would be to have a doctor (or vet) give me a gentle overdose and lose the pain. Even though it would also mean losing my life.

Think about that, and look at your cat, and think what your free, informed choice would be, for yourself, if you were in her condition.
Then think about what it would be if you could only know what she can know. There are some conditions where I would choose a treatment for myself that I would not choose for my pet (eg, chemotherapy), because I can anticipate a better life in the future as a result, but my pet can't have that anticipation, or make any part of the choice.

As for how I would go if I made such a choice and had complete choice of options and who was present and so forth: I would say goodbye. I'd spend last moments with loved ones, then have a very specific choice of people present. And only those who could bear it should some of the messier body-processes of death occur. (Sometimes the bowels relax, for instance.)


For Seph, we remind ourselves that she had 19 good years and 1 bad morning. (The morning of her death.) We had long since decided - and discussed with the family vet - that when she next had a problem that couldn't be quickly and easily resolved, that was it. She'd started to become an old cat. Not just 'a bit old', but distinctly 'frail aged'.

Her actual death was peaceful. The vet was kind enough to come visit her at home, he and his vet tech checked her. We determined that she could endure diagnostic stuff like scans and bloodwork, after which whatever-it-is may or may not be treatable and probably wouldn't be trivial to resolve, and she'd only get a few months at best. Or we could spare her all of that.
So we all cried a bit (and the vet was clearly sad, too - he'd known her for years). And we agreed that this was the time. And each of us petted her, and assured her of how loved she was.
The vet gave us the option to stay, or to leave the room. And discussed post-death handling of her body (we buried her ourselves, under the camellia).

The death itself was quiet. He injected her, while Toth and Bast each petted her. She showed no sign of responding to the injection, or even noticing it. Her breath came slower and slower, then I couldn't notice it anymore.

The vet stayed with her, his stethescope on her chest, for what seemed to me like forever. Eventually he took it away, and - well. The tech wrote that down as the official time of death, or something. I'm not sure. It wasn't one of the things I had to deal with.


How do you cope with a situation like this?

You grieve. You miss her, and for a while it's this burning gap in your heart. For a while, you think you see a grey-and-white shape out of the corner of your eye, and turn to greet her and she's not there.

For a while, your lap feels empty. You realise you actually miss having her on the counter, and having things get knocked down.

Gradually, the burning gap in your heart becomes an ache, then just a faded ache that you can live with, and you don't actually want to have it go away. Gradually, you stop remembering her as an old cat, and start remembering her at all her ages. You remember when she used to walk you to the bus stop, and then meet you partway home. You remember her in young-adulthood, still partly a kitten, playing with you and chasing sticks you'd drag along the ground. You remember her snuggling in under the blankets with you in winter. You remember the game of 'unsuspecting ankles'.


But if you write something like this, you cry. And that never, ever goes away.

[Sapphire Silk]

As I've mentioned before, my cat, Chloe, turns 19 this year. Apparently, she's not doing as well as I thought. Her eyesight started to go about...a year-ish ago, but I think it's slowly getting worse and she's possibly also starting to lose her hearing. She's had problems with her kidneys ever since being hit by a car about 10 years ago, but lately she's been having bowel problems too (pooping in various places around the house that are definitely not her litterbox). Plus, there's the all-night crying sessions I mentioned in my last post about her. Everything I've read up on points to feline dementia.
<snip>

How do I...deal with this?

Remember that she depends on you to make the right decisions for her health care.

Remember that death is a natural part of life. We all die eventually. What matters is not that we die, but how we die. What kind of death do you want her to have? One where she lingers and suffers, or one that is peaceful, with you at her side? Instead of dying alone when you're off at work?

Putting a pet down is never easy. We have to remember we are acting in the best interest of the pet when we do this.

Then we mourn. Mourning is normal and healthy. You have support systems; you don't have to grieve alone.

[Seshat]

I'm assuming that you have a regular vet who knows Chloe well. Most likely, her vet techs also know Chloe well.

Make an appointment to see either a vet or a vet tech without Chloe (save her an unnecessary trip). Let them know in advance what it's about. You're going to discuss not so much the decision to put her down - based on what you've written, you've already made the decision.

You're going there to discuss dealing with it.

By letting them know in advance what you need most from them, they'll be able to be prepared. If you get on best with one in particular, ask for this appointment to be with her.

Vets - and vet techs - have to help people through this many, many times a year. Animals (other than some species, like elephants and parrots and sea turtles) just don't live as long as we do.


You will live through it. You deal with it moment by moment. When you see an image in a pet store or a cat calender that reminds you of her, allow yourself to go sit down for five minutes and miss her. It's fine. It's normal. It's human.

If you can arrange her 'deathday' in advance, plan a wake for the day after. Have people who were not her immediate family, but who knew her, arrange for food and drink and to do whatever organising there is to do. Invite the vet and vet techs, and include a card of thanks as well.
Expect to be miserable on her last day, and also the day after. The wake will be intended as a catharsis: everyone there tells a story about her, and her life, and what she meant. If you cry, good.

[firecat88]

*hugs all of you* It's been immensely helpful to have some perspective from people who've actually been in this situation before, so thank you for all of this.

based on what you've written, you've already made the decision.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that anything has been fully decided. It's more in the 'though it's difficult to think about, this is something that is being very seriously considered' stage.

[Seshat]

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you've already decided what you'll do when the time comes; it's just that you're not sure when that time is.

And that's a bloody tough decision. Especially when the aging is a long, slow fading rather than a sudden illness.

[RootedPhoenix]

*hugs all*

*more hugs*

[Latekin]

I feel you Firecat. I've lost two kitties in the last few years. One, Tigger, was my partners Calico girl of 19 years. She passed of old age two years back. Our kitten, Harry, died a few months ago. We had to choose to put him down because the illness he had would have killed him in a horrible manner.

It was one of the hardest decision I have had to make in my 25 years of living. It hurt for a long time. Hell, it still hurts. I see a tabby kitten playing around and I remember the little furball I lost. Lots of little things remind me of him every day. The pain and grief lessens eventually, but it's still hard. So what do you do to help yourself cope?

Right now, you need to be around people who care about you. Your good friends. Your family. People that make you feel safe and comfy. You're gonna need your support network.

Remember to also take time to take care of yourself at the moment. It's cliche, but true. If you're feeling restless and anxious, take a walk around the block to get some of the energy off. If you're feeling lethargic and drained, take a nap. If you're feeling angry, then find someone to go have a good spleen venting session with, or hell, yell at some inanimate object. It helps a little, and the toaster's not going to object to being called a bastard. It's also ok to cry - being sad is normal in this situation. Just remember - you're crying now, and you're gonna cry more later and once again - that's ok. But keep your fluids up too, because the last thing you need is emotional pain and a big ol' dehydration headache.

Also - if you need to vent, or just write, or talk something out, message me. I have been through this too, and if I can do anything to help, I will.

*hugs*