Today was the day.
Chelsea has been acting aloof and sleepy for the last week. Aside from her concentration camp thinness, she’s normally a very social animal. Her meows have gotten quieter and quieter. I noticed that I hadn’t seen her near the dry food dish in at least a week, so I started feeding her canned food almost exclusively. Tilly enjoyed this a great deal, because she scores the leftovers. I think Tilly has gained three pounds in the last week. She’s ready to be a kitty sumo wrestler. However, on Friday night, I gave Chelsea some food and she hardly touched it, then laid down near the bowl and painted, as though standing there had been entirely too much effort. Then she went back to lie on top of my graduation robe behind the bedroom door.
Over the weekend, Esteban admitted to me that he felt she wasn’t going to last through the end of the year. I thought to myself that I didn’t think she was going to last until the end of the summer, but I didn’t say anything. Then he noticed that she seemed to have labored breathing and asked me if I could take her to the vet today. Even then, I knew that that she would not be coming home with me.
I hate to be the strong one. I hate it so very much.
This morning, I got up and got ready for work. I had planned to go into work and call the vet and then come home and get her later, but when I checked on her, she seemed worse. Then I noticed that she had a nosebleed. I cleaned her face off and she meowed a weak little bit. Then I got into the car and drove to work. By the time I was a few blocks from work, I realized that I was a colossal jerk and if the cat was suffering or could be helped, I shouldn’t wait for an appointment, I should just take care her and not worry about the things I had to do at work.
I called in a vacation day and then drove back home. I immediately got the carrier ready for her. Then I went in and woke Esteban up. He was upset. I didn’t say what I was thinking, but he knew already. I then asked him if he wanted to put her in the carrier and we both started to cry, knowing that I was really telling him to say ‘goodbye’ to the cat he’s had since he was 11. She made a few pathetic meows and then he grabbed one of his worn t-shirts to put in the carrier with her, so that she could smell him. He couldn’t come with me. He knew already how hard it would be and he just couldn’t. I practically ran out the door with her and sped off to the vet’s office. His last words to us were ‘See if they can make her better.’
When I was about two miles away, I called the vet and explained that I was bringing in my cat because I thought she was dying, except that I completely choked up upon saying that. Then she wanted me to describe what was happening to her and I could barely do it without sobbing. I managed to compose myself by the time I got to the vet and they whisked her away to the examination room after weighing her, cage and all. The total weight for her, plus the t-shirt and carrier, was 9 pounds. The cat used to weigh 13 pounds.
The doctor examined her and then brought me into a room. It was the dental room for canines. They must have just stuck me wherever they had an available room. The very nice young vet came in and said that she felt Chelsea’s kidneys and liver were failing and she was declining. She wouldn’t say that she was dying, so I finally said ‘She’s declining, right? She’s not going to last through the week?’ but then I burst into tears upon hearing the words come out in a room so brightly lit, looking at these two adorable girls, both in their twenties, both having to start their Monday morning watching someone lose it over their dying pet. I kept apologizing, which is ludicrous, but it’s just how repressed I am. My face is all messed up because I had another allergic reaction to my facial sunscreen and it’s all red and swollen already.
There had been a slight chance that we could have prolonged her life by leaving her in the hospital for several days, hooked up to many intravenous tubes, but honestly, it would have been very traumatic for her already and the cat is nineteen years old.
Was. Was nineteen years old.
I told them to prepare to euthanize her and that I would take the body, thinking that when we had Pookie put to sleep, for months afterwards, I regretted the fact that I didn’t know what happened to his remains and that I’ll never know. They took my credit card to pay for everything. But then, I had a moment of indecision. I didn’t want Esteban to feel as though we hadn’t made every effort. I didn’t want him to feel as though I had made a bad decision. I asked the assistant to stay with Chelsea while I ran out to the car to call him. I called home’ he wasn’t there. I called his cell’ he didn’t answer. I finally found him in his office, which surprised me. Unfortunately, at the sound of my voice, he immediately got upset.
I tried to explain what the doctor had said, but I only managed ‘It’s not good.’
‘I knew that.’
‘I’m going to have her&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9-
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want me to bring her’.remains’ home afterwards?’
‘No. Leave her there. There’s nothing we can do with her.’
I didn’t argue.
By that time, however, I was completely sobbing in the veterinary clinic’s parking lot. I hung up the phone, leaving him utterly devastated, and went back into the room. They had to redo the bill because I had changed the plan. I talked to her, and stroked her fur. She sneezed and sent a shower of blood all over my car keys and the counter, which started my tears again. I cleaned her up and petted her until she started purring. They gave me the option of being with her while they did it, and God help me, I couldn’t do it. I just could not watch that. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that. I am such a tremendous coward. I tremble when they take my cats’ temperatures, I can’t imagine what it would do to me to watch as she succumbed to their shot. I waited outside until it was finished. They’re going to send us a paw print I guess. I don’t know if I will be able to handle that or not.
I drove home in shock, my face red and hot, stinging where the salt water touched my hives. Everything on the radio was a dagger, even the horrible ghetto rap stuff. When ‘I Will Remember You’ came on, I gave up and drove in silence. When I got home, Tilly ran up to me, tail up, trilling. She is always so happy to see me. She sniffed at the empty carrier and then meowed. Tilly never meows. Then I started all over again.
Rest now, sweet kitty. We’ll miss you forever.
