I don’t have any pets at the moment. For several years, we had a cat, then two cats, both strays that we acquired out of succumbing to the cuteness of a kitten in the cold, and later, a grown cat that seemed ownerless and hungry. The former (a male) was named “Kitty” by our young children, and the latter (a female) was named “Sadie” by said children.
Kitty was the dominant one–a bit of a bully, really, who so intimidated Sadie that she would keep her distance at feeding time until Kitty was satisfied that he’d had his fill. Kitty was the king, and Sadie was merely a subject.
After several years of cohabitating with these two cats, Kitty began to show signs of either age or illness–a trip to the vet settled the matter: he had feline diabetes, and would henceforth require daily shots of insulin, to be administered by me. This worked wonders for a time, but before long two shots were required each day. This, too, worked for a while, but Kitty began a gradual decline in health, to the point that he could no longer climb the stairs, or jump up onto a couch for a nap, or do anything at all but lie on the floor. Eventually there came a time when he couldn’t even feed himself. He would drag himself to his food dish, but he couldn’t raise his head to take a nibble.
Kitty lost weight, and it became clear that the insulin wasn’t working any longer. I made the decision that it was time to put Kitty down, to end his life, which seemed to have descended into cruel misery, so I made the appointment, and while the children were at school, I took him to the vet for euthanasia.
I believed it was the right thing to do at the time, but in the days that followed I couldn’t escape feeling that I had made a decision on behalf of a beloved family pet that shouldn’t have been mine to make. We didn’t want to see him suffer, but what gave me the right to decide when and how his life should end?
If I could, I’d want Kitty to understand that I did what I did because I believed at the time that it was the loving, merciful thing to do, and that even though his life might only have lasted a few more hours or days, I’m sorry for cutting it short.
A few years later, Sadie, who had always seemed a little bit lonely after Kitty was gone, became sick or was injured in a cat-fight–we’re not sure which–and she simply disappeared. We believe she crawled into the crawl space under our living room to be alone while she died. (There was a tell-tale odor for a time.)
I am tempted to think that when her time came, she decided to take matters into her own paws.
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(Posted in response to 1/22/2024 prompt)
doug heacock: words 