The answer to the question we don't want to ask

Do not view the following video if you are easily upset.

However, many cat owners ask what it's like to have your pet put to sleep. The decision to do it is a hard one, and one thing uppermost in our minds is that we don't want to cause more suffering.

The video is of a beloved 10-year-old tabby kitty who developed untreatable bone cancer. Her owner made the tough decision, and a caring vet carried out the request. If you watch it, you will see the cat suffered not at all, and was gone almost like switching off a light. The video ends, not surprisingly, when the owner starts to break down (as would most of us).

Poor Peaches goes to the Bridge

Yes, I've heard of a few gone bad.

We didn't stay for Snoopy, our first cat, and I have always regretted it. We did for Wickett, and I'm glad we did. In fact, there's a poem around here somewhere about it with him.

This may sound sexist, but I'm glad the vet who did Wicket was a woman, and both the doctors at my current clinic are women. They seem to be more empathic, somehow.

Here's the poem I wrote about Wickett, our big gray bundle of fur who got mouth/throat cancer and we had to have put to sleep.

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I look down at you,
Curled up in my arms,
For one last time.

I remember the day you were born.
You and two brothers,
To a stray taken in
By a neighbor.

I remember when you
And your brother Truman
Came into our home.
Five weeks old.
I have a photo of that day,
Both of you in one ceramic bowl.

You both grew up,
Changing from kitten to cat.
Then Truman suffered that stroke
And you were left alone.

You were fearless.
You climbed the ladder behind me,
Surprising me on the roof.

You rode for hundreds of thousands of miles
In our big truck, curled up on the seat
Or on the dashboard.
You always bravely stuck your nose out
When strangers came to admire you.

We called you the "concrete block cat."
Size, weight, shape, color and intelligence
Of a concrete block.

But that wasn't fair.
You were never agressive,
Always gentle, inquisitive,
Friendly to everyone.

Now I look down and see that cruel invader
On your chin and throat.
It's a strangler, taking your strength
As it absorbs your nutrition,
Even stealing your breath.

The vet said she could remove it, maybe.
You might live a few more weeks.
But I've seen those bright green eyes
Go dull as the moon behind clouds.

That gray silk that was your fur
Is now dry and mussed.
That dark gray nose is hot
And cracked.

So now we're here at the vet's again,
But only to end this hell you're in.
Each of your breaths drags,
And you barely open your eyes
As the vet approaches.

She slides the needle into your vein,
And eases the plunger home.
Another tear runs down my nose,
Splashes on your fur,
Followed by one from the vet.

You take two more deep breaths,
Then a shallow one,
Then nothing.

I feel relaxation come to your tired muscles,
And I feel your struggle to breathe end.
I feel the pain and strain
Ebb from your tired body.

We will take you home,
And lay you beside your brother again,
Under the dogwood tree.

And I can only think how lonely we will be tonight,
When the lights are out,
And the wind sighs through the pines outside,
And you are not on the foot of the bed,
Purring.

Sleep peacefully at the bridge.
Purr softly, play gently
With those who have gone before you.
Wait patiently for those of us
Who will soon come behind.

You think I wasn't?

I think, if you listen carefully to the last 5 seconds of the video, he begins to lose it, as would I, probably. In addition, it sounds like it affected the vet or vet tech, too.

But Wickett was so bad off when we had him done that he was in supreme misery. We waited too long, wanting to put off that terrible experience. Had we known it would be so peaceful and gentle, we would have done it several weeks sooner. Looking back, that is our only regret.