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Micawber didn't make it.
This morning, the vet informed us that his liver had started to fail. He wasn't in pain or even severe discomfort, but the treatment option was very invasive and would have involved implanting an esophagial tube and keeping him on a constant IV drip, locked in a small cage for a 2 or more days until/if he stabilized -- a situation that would have been very hard on him both physically and emotionally. And there was no guarantee that it would work, or that he would survive the anesthetic or the bowel evacuation procedure necessary to clear out his colon afterwards.
My husband and I discussed it, and decided that we weren't willing to put him through that. As hard as it was -- and oh God, it was hard! -- we made the decision to have him euthanized while he was still free of pain.
The vet gave Micawber a sedative/tranquillizer injection, then left us alone to say our goodbyes for the 15 minutes it would need to take effect. We caressed him, and kissed him, and told him what a good boy he was... and he looked on us as he always had, with trust and love.
I held his head as he died, and my husband stroked his back. It was very quick. His last experience was of being caressed and loved by the humans who had defined his world almost all his life, lying on a soft thick towel that smelled of home.
Afterwards the vet left us alone again, and we stroked our big boy's soft sides and velvety ears and sleek, patterned forehead, setting him right, putting him in order (my husband observed at the time that we were effectively conducting funeral rites, leaving him looking his very best). It was so heart-wrenching to leave him there on his red bathtowel, but we did it, and closed the door behind us.
In the end, Micawber was no invalid, wracked with pain and stripped of dignity. He was still Micawber, a fine and positive cat, probably the best cat I've ever met, and he died as he had lived -- in comfort, with those who loved him close by.
Sometimes a good death is the last act of love we can give our companion animals. But oh, my heart is breaking, and the empty place torn out of me as Micawber departed into the unknown void of death is an agonizing wound indeed.
Eulogy to follow.
This morning, the vet informed us that his liver had started to fail. He wasn't in pain or even severe discomfort, but the treatment option was very invasive and would have involved implanting an esophagial tube and keeping him on a constant IV drip, locked in a small cage for a 2 or more days until/if he stabilized -- a situation that would have been very hard on him both physically and emotionally. And there was no guarantee that it would work, or that he would survive the anesthetic or the bowel evacuation procedure necessary to clear out his colon afterwards.
My husband and I discussed it, and decided that we weren't willing to put him through that. As hard as it was -- and oh God, it was hard! -- we made the decision to have him euthanized while he was still free of pain.
The vet gave Micawber a sedative/tranquillizer injection, then left us alone to say our goodbyes for the 15 minutes it would need to take effect. We caressed him, and kissed him, and told him what a good boy he was... and he looked on us as he always had, with trust and love.
I held his head as he died, and my husband stroked his back. It was very quick. His last experience was of being caressed and loved by the humans who had defined his world almost all his life, lying on a soft thick towel that smelled of home.
Afterwards the vet left us alone again, and we stroked our big boy's soft sides and velvety ears and sleek, patterned forehead, setting him right, putting him in order (my husband observed at the time that we were effectively conducting funeral rites, leaving him looking his very best). It was so heart-wrenching to leave him there on his red bathtowel, but we did it, and closed the door behind us.
In the end, Micawber was no invalid, wracked with pain and stripped of dignity. He was still Micawber, a fine and positive cat, probably the best cat I've ever met, and he died as he had lived -- in comfort, with those who loved him close by.
Sometimes a good death is the last act of love we can give our companion animals. But oh, my heart is breaking, and the empty place torn out of me as Micawber departed into the unknown void of death is an agonizing wound indeed.
Eulogy to follow.
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(no subject)
(no subject)
I'm so sorry.
I .. just. I'll miss him so much. He was such a sweetheart to me all the time and it always made me feel special because he was kind of a picky person cat.
I'm here for you. *hugs* I will remember him fondly and pray that he lay at the feet of Our Lady of Cats in comfort forever.
*cries*
Oh, Laurie, dear **hugs**
Northlight and Fids
Domnijoe Pets and Art
(no subject)
I'm so sorry.
I had a cat die of liver failure 3 years ago and even now I'm crying at the thought and memory. I miss him so much! But I agree with you wholeheartedly at stopping invasive painful procedures; I nearly got in a FISTFIGHT with the emergency vet, as she kept suggesting increasingly more painful, increasingly more invasive, and increasingly more EXPENSIVE *DIAGNOSTIC* procedures (nothing to *help* him!), and I left there feeling as if she saw my *FRIEND* as a means to underwrite her boat payment.
I'd have put myself in debt with no hope of ever coming out of it to save him...if I *could have saved him*.
But not *one red cent* to hurt him more; he's not a guinea pig, a toy or a science experiment.
I applaud you for standing by your convictions in a very traumatic time, and I sympathize with your loss.