The way it seems sometimes, is that the only things in life that really have the power to hurt you, to make you feel totally dead inside, are things you care about, and it often feels like it would be easier just to be as detached from those kinds of things as you can be.
On Sunday night, our 20 year old cat, Cheetah, had a stroke.
It was the second stroke she had had, the first being last summer.
We thought at the time, that would be the end of her, but amazingly, she managed to bounce back, and aside from some obvious loss of mobility on her left side, and a tendency to turn circles, she made a pretty amazing comeback.
This time she wasn't as lucky, and after three agonizing hours at the Emergency Clinic, we made the decision to have her put to sleep.
You'd think that, after having had pets my whole life, you'd somehow get used to the fact that they live much shorter lives than we do, and that their inevitable passing would become easier, but it never has.
The memory of our first cat, Algernon's, sudden death from heart failure still hurts, and that was at least a dozen years ago, and the loss of every pet we've experienced since has been devastating to both of us.
A lot of people probably wouldn't get this attachment we have with our pets, and probably think we're idiots for getting so upset when they inevitably die, but, perhaps because we have no children, our pets are our children.
And no, I'm not equating pets with family.
I've experienced the loss of both parents over the years, and there's really no comparison, but that doesn't mean we don't love our pets immensely, and it doesn't mean we aren't devastated by their deaths.
Algernon...Our first Pound Rescue, and our "Special Boy", for sixteen years. A "Once in a lifetime cat".
Trent...Our first ever cat, whom we adopted as a feral kitten from our apartment parking lot, and Alg's brother.
Trent was with us for nineteen years.
Johnny...Our second "Once in a lifetime cat", who came to us from the pound as an older cat (perhaps twelve or thirteen, they weren't sure) who had been surrendered to the Humane Society.
We only had Johnny for five years, but there's not a day goes by that we don't miss him and we were heartbroken for months when diabetes finally took him from us.
Cheetah, who had been my parent's cat from the time she was a kitten and came to live with us for reason's I won't get into, but suffice to say, it took us two years of constant coaxing and affection to lure her out of our basement, but once satisfied that she had landed in a safe and loving environment, she and my wife became inseparable.
Cosmo...another part of our "inheritance" from my parents. He had been an abused dog in his prior home, but was well loved by my folks until they had to leave their house and move to a seniors residence.
Next thing you know, this "cat-person" was a "dog-person" as well.
Baby. Our Tripod and our last surviving pet.
Baby was also a pound rescue, who came to us from the Humane Society after having been hit by a car.
She was shaved from neck to groin when we met her and was a mass of stitches from the operation that saved her life, but took her left arm.
After more than eleven years with us, Baby isn't a baby any more, but she's still our little girl.
We hope that she will have as long a life as some of her brothers have had, but even if she does, we know that eventually we'll be making that awful, final trip to the Vet's and coming home with an empty carrier.
Every time we lose a pet, we are completely heartbroken all over again, and we find ourselves wondering if we can go through that again...if it might not be easier, and emotionally safer, to detach and avoid the inevitable pain of losing someone you've known and loved for so many years, but I know us too well to really think that could ever happen.
As kind of "small" people, living a pretty "small" life, there's not a huge amount we can do that would ever have a big impact on the world, but even small folks such as ourselves can make an immense difference in the lives of a few of society's most vulnerable members, and I know that, once this initial hurt begins to heal, we'll be back at the Humane Society, or scouring the local alleyways in search of someone who desperately wants to be part of our little family.
Just not yet....
Community Member
I don't know if I've shared the story before, but I suppose I will now. In 2011 my father was attacked by a pit bull while walking our American Cocker Spaniel, Chase. He was the light in my mothers world, our first rescue. He was only 2 years old but became an instant member of our family. He received terrible injuries from that attack and made the most astounding recovery ever. Later, he was on my parents bed and jumped down. The hip that had been attacked just.. something happened. It was deemed that with incredibly extensive surgery and a life full of pain medication would be his only resort. My mother fed him pain killers for four months before she just couldn't do it anymore. He had liquid courage when he was on them and did more damage than good. When they decided to put him asleep I drove to their house and laid on the floor with him to say my goodbye.. It was awful. My mother still cries.
In February this last year I had to make a choice. I had 2 cats I've had the vast majority of my life and they were sick. My mother didn't take care of them and for years I'd been unable to get them. Through an incredibly long-winded series of events I made the choice to put them to sleep. I went to the vet with both of them and had to leave. That was probably one of the worst days of my life. People always say it gets better but I don't think it does. I still can't look at pictures, I still cry and miss them terribly. This year will be the first Christmas without them in 10+ years.
My prayers are with you, my heart goes out to your loss and I'm so sorry. I'd say it will get better but we both know it will take longer than our lifetimes. Remember the best times. heart