Day 1 - Diary of a Grieving Ailurophile (Cat Lover)

April 11

We had to put our cat down yesterday. We knew Minnie was going. She had been diagnosed with Stage 3 (verging on Stage 4) kidney failure in early September 2023. We pulled out all the stops, and gave her subcutaneous injections of saline every 3, 2 and, eventually, every single day.

In early February she got a UTI and slid downhill. We fought it with 3 rounds of antibiotics and many vet visits. One vet figured she was also hyperthyroid and prescribed anti-thyroid meds. When Minnie vomited those up after 3 days, we called it quits on that. She was 13 years old. The UTI took a lot of out of her. The anti-nausea meds didn't agree with her. The appetite stimulant's worked for a while and then didn't.

And by mid-March we knew the end was coming. She stopped eating her urinary cat food. She stopped eating her kidney cat food. We tried treats. She ate them for a while and then stopped. We tried canned salt-free tuna. She ate that for a week (her absolute favourite food) and then stopped. We tried Fancy Feast. She ate that for a week and then stopped. She'd nibble on a treat fragment every once in a while. She slept alot. But she was still cuddly. And yet... she was a pale shadow of her former self.

On Friday, April 5, we saw the vet again. She agreed. It was time. My partner wasn't quite there yet so the vet said we could have the weekend to say goodbye. And so we did. Minnie perked up a bit. She ate tuna. She wandered the backyard. She ate grass. She slept in the sun. She burrowed in the blankets. She slept. And got cuddles. Lots of cuddles.

Even though we knew it was time. The surrealness of it all was hard to grasp. Three more sleeps. Two more sleeps. One more sleep. No more sleep. 10 hours. 8 hours. 6 hours. 1 hour. Time to leave. We cried. Minnie burrowed in her blanket and purred and washed her front paws. Were we making the right decision? She weighed less than 5 lbs. From a healthy weight of 13 lbs. She was a ghost. Scrawny and emaciated. But she purred. She cuddled. She staggered sometimes when she walked. She was still happy. She hadn't fallen off the cliff yet.

We've had cats who have fallen off the cliff, who fade slowly and then, suddenly, one day, you wake up and it's clear... Today is the day. But at that point, the cat is in dire straits. Spooky, our previous cat, either had asthma or a tumour in her throat. We phoned the vet on the morning she fell off a cliff and got a 2 pm appt. I had to watch as Spooky coughed and wheezed while her gums and tongue turned blue. Until she could breathe again... but then if we touched her, she would purr... which would trigger another coughing spasm.

No. Never again. Let them go before they get to that point. Don't wait until they are knocking at death's door. But it's a hard thing to judge. Are they at Death's Door? Or wandering down Death's Alley, still a few weeks, days, from Death's Door?

In the end. We know... we think... we convince ourselves... that we timed it right with Minnie. We made the right decision. She went quickly when the vet injected the pink liquid. We washed her fur with our tears and held her and cuddled and let her know that she was loved.

And it is so insanely hard. To return to an empty house, devoid of a feline spirit. It's empty. Oh sure, we are there. But the little feline spirit is not. No pitter patter of little feet. No chirp or coo as she entered a room. No tail-in-the-air as she sauntered into the living room. Although, to be honest, we haven't had a lot of coos, chirps or perky tails for the last couple of months. She has been waning for many weeks. Months. 

So we burst into tears at odd moments. My eyes are scratchy with all the crying. I'm not sure if it's dehydration or too much salt in my eyes. So many things remind us of her. She was a presence in every room. No paddling at the patio door, asking (nay... demanding) to be let out. No cuddles on the couch. Nighttime is the worst. No warm little body tucked in behind the knees. No furry body taking up 80% of the pillow.

No. Miss Minnie Princess Pretty Paws is gone. And we miss her dreadfully.

They say that grief comes in waves. Right now, the waves are coming hard and fast. They are raw. They are visceral. We sob, we cry. We laugh. We reminisce. We sob again.

In writing this post, I am hoping that I can see the waves ease. Become farther apart. Less intense. I hope. Small steps. One day at a time.