My mini-eulogy....
We made the painful decision to put Tiger to sleep today. The past two months have been a rollercoaster for us. Every two weeks he would head downhill and give us a scare, but he's always pulled out of it and showed us just how strong his will to live was.
This past week, he'd become increasingly tired and restless in spite of our best attempts to keep him comfortable. It was apparent that he had done all the fighting his deteriorating body could take. We had planned on having the vet come out next week to euthanize him at home, on his favorite chair, surrounded by his family and kitty-friends.
That changed this morning when I got the phone call that Tiger was just not doing well. He hadn't eaten, his eyes had become glassed over and he was twitching a lot. I got next door just in time (unfortunately) to witness him having a seizure. It was scary for us and even more distressing for Tiger, who obviously had no idea what was going on. He became very afraid and tried to walk but his back legs just wouldn't cooperate and he ended up dragging them on the floor. I scooped him up in his favorite blanket and we headed to the vet's office.
When we got to the office they weighed him. He was down to 7.13 pounds, about 3 pounds lighter than he's been at his previous appointment and 9 pounds lighter than he was when he was well.
It's really hard trying to decide whether or not to euthanize a pet, even when he is as sick as Tiger was. There's always that lingering thought of "what if there's more I can do?" We asked the vet 10 times in 10 different ways if there was anything else we could do to help Tiger. We wanted him to come right out and tell us "No, you guys are doing the right thing." But looking at Tiger laying on his favorite blanket, on that cold steel table, the life mostly gone out of him, his fur matted and the exhausted look in his eyes, we knew that we were making the right decision. He seemed to know why he was there, too.
The actual process of putting him to sleep was so quick. Immediately after the vet began injecting the meds into his catheter Tiger gave out a "Grrrrrrrr" noise. The vet said "You had to have the last word, didn't you big guy?" I'm not sure if that sound was one of those involuntary things that happens but I want to think he was saying goodbye. I stared into his eyes the entire time, waiting for a light to go out or something. I don't actually know what I expected. Four seconds after the "grrr" he was gone. The vet touched his eyeballs and.....nothing.....no blinking...nothing. That's when I broke down.
Anyway, RIP Tiger. You taught me so much about life and survival. You had more fight in you than some people I've met. All through it you kept your head up. You put up with us sticking needles in you. You hated your pills and I had to push them down your throat to get you to take them and even then you still fought (I have the scratches to prove it) but you always forgave me and purred when I would hold you afterwards. I'm going to miss sitting with you on the ottoman while I watch TV. I'm going to miss the way you greet me at the door when I come over. I'm going to miss the plaintive "mew" you always gave when you asked for food. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more for you. I only hope that when it's my time to go I do it with as much dignity and grace as you showed me today. I love you.
We made the painful decision to put Tiger to sleep today. The past two months have been a rollercoaster for us. Every two weeks he would head downhill and give us a scare, but he's always pulled out of it and showed us just how strong his will to live was.
This past week, he'd become increasingly tired and restless in spite of our best attempts to keep him comfortable. It was apparent that he had done all the fighting his deteriorating body could take. We had planned on having the vet come out next week to euthanize him at home, on his favorite chair, surrounded by his family and kitty-friends.
That changed this morning when I got the phone call that Tiger was just not doing well. He hadn't eaten, his eyes had become glassed over and he was twitching a lot. I got next door just in time (unfortunately) to witness him having a seizure. It was scary for us and even more distressing for Tiger, who obviously had no idea what was going on. He became very afraid and tried to walk but his back legs just wouldn't cooperate and he ended up dragging them on the floor. I scooped him up in his favorite blanket and we headed to the vet's office.
When we got to the office they weighed him. He was down to 7.13 pounds, about 3 pounds lighter than he's been at his previous appointment and 9 pounds lighter than he was when he was well.
It's really hard trying to decide whether or not to euthanize a pet, even when he is as sick as Tiger was. There's always that lingering thought of "what if there's more I can do?" We asked the vet 10 times in 10 different ways if there was anything else we could do to help Tiger. We wanted him to come right out and tell us "No, you guys are doing the right thing." But looking at Tiger laying on his favorite blanket, on that cold steel table, the life mostly gone out of him, his fur matted and the exhausted look in his eyes, we knew that we were making the right decision. He seemed to know why he was there, too.
The actual process of putting him to sleep was so quick. Immediately after the vet began injecting the meds into his catheter Tiger gave out a "Grrrrrrrr" noise. The vet said "You had to have the last word, didn't you big guy?" I'm not sure if that sound was one of those involuntary things that happens but I want to think he was saying goodbye. I stared into his eyes the entire time, waiting for a light to go out or something. I don't actually know what I expected. Four seconds after the "grrr" he was gone. The vet touched his eyeballs and.....nothing.....no blinking...nothing. That's when I broke down.
Anyway, RIP Tiger. You taught me so much about life and survival. You had more fight in you than some people I've met. All through it you kept your head up. You put up with us sticking needles in you. You hated your pills and I had to push them down your throat to get you to take them and even then you still fought (I have the scratches to prove it) but you always forgave me and purred when I would hold you afterwards. I'm going to miss sitting with you on the ottoman while I watch TV. I'm going to miss the way you greet me at the door when I come over. I'm going to miss the plaintive "mew" you always gave when you asked for food. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more for you. I only hope that when it's my time to go I do it with as much dignity and grace as you showed me today. I love you.
