My sweet Williecat would have been 11 years old this coming Friday, July 27. I remember like yesterday the weekend after 9/11, going to the rescue to pick up my girl. Such a surreal time it was, the world shocked and stunned. She played hard all weekend, then curled up on the sofa with me as I was glued to the tv news coverage. Somehow, that little ball of warm fur made me believe we'd all be ok, that we'd come out of those terrorist attacks and be stronger than ever. She weighed 1 lb 4oz, was the runt of the litter and her foster mom called me a few weeks earlier to say she wasn't likely to make it and I should prepare myself. She kept me company when my then boyfriend decided to join the army the following week and through the long months of his training and deployments. Poor dear moved all over the country with us after we got married, grudgingly accepted each new baby we brought home and even accepted her kitty brother Gus. Almost anyway.
Last summer she started peeing outside her box, something she'd never once done before. Bloodwork showed she had hyperthyroidism and had dropped from a healthy 13lbs to 8lbs. I drove her 6 hours round trip for a radioactive iodine treatment and a few days later I did another 6 hour trip to pick her up. Thirty days after her treatment I held my breath as her thyroid levels were rechecked. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when her vet told me every level was well within the normal range. But then he paused. He told me her BUN and creatinine levels were elevated and he wanted to see her again. Round after round of blood work showed her kidneys were failing. She had chronic renal failure and the best I could hope for was to give her happiness for as much time as she had left.
I learned how to administer her shots, how to pill her and how to give her sub-q fluids every other day. I bought her baby food, expensive Rx food and even her favorite cheeses and yogurt, trying desperately to get her to eat anything. She withered down to 6lbs but was just as spunky as ever. Each time she needed bloodwork, she had to be sedated and kept all day because she would not dare let someone as lowly as a veterinarian touch her. :lol3: She rallied a few times, crashed a few times, and visited her buddy Dr. S a few times a week. Then came the general decline I knew was the end.
The morning of January 19, I was rushing the kids to school and almost out the door when I had an odd feeling that she hadn't come out all morning. I knew she slept a lot and didn't move much, but she almost always greeted me with a few mows as I got dressed. We were late, but I had to check on her just in case. She wasn't in any of her usual hiding spots so I got a flashlight and started looking in all the dark corners and under the beds until I found my girl.
She was under my 5 year old sons bed, way back in the corner where she had never gone before. She looked at me but would not come out. I piled the bed from the wall and picked her up. She'd lost control of her bowels and when I put her down, she slumped down on her left side. She tried to slither away, but her legs weren't working and she kept falling. I scooped her up, saw she was drooling and peeing, and off to the vet we went.
I will always be grateful to whatever higher being that Dr. S was there that morning. We'd grown very close over the months, I had his home number and he called me most weekends to check on "our grumpy old lady". Willow and I were in the office at least once a week from September to January, often a few times a week. I'm not sure I would have had the strength to do what I knew had to be done if he wasn't there there to tell me it was time. He checked her over and said it looked like she had a stroke. He asked me to look in her eyes and decide if she wanted to contine fighting. All I saw was her pleading with me to help her. I knew then that she was done, that her will to keep going was gone and I had to honor that.
I talked to Dr. S about what would happen, how it would work and arranged services with the crematorium. I spent time with her after the sedative, just holding her, talking to her and carrying her around in her blanket. He came back in, gave her the final shot and checked her heartbeat. He put his hand on my shoulder as he left the room and I saw a tear in his eye too. I spent some more time with my girl and eventually had to leave. That was one of the hardest parts, to walk out of the room knowing I wasn't coming back for her.
I say good night to her ashes every night and she visits me in my dreams sometimes. Every once in a while, I'll wake up and for a fleeting second swear I can feel her weight on my back. I never knew I could love an animal like that and I miss her constantly. She's waiting for me at the bridge, laying stretched out in a sunbeam. I miss you Willie-girl, I'll see you when the time comes and give you all the chinny-chin-chin scratches you want. I love you.
Last summer she started peeing outside her box, something she'd never once done before. Bloodwork showed she had hyperthyroidism and had dropped from a healthy 13lbs to 8lbs. I drove her 6 hours round trip for a radioactive iodine treatment and a few days later I did another 6 hour trip to pick her up. Thirty days after her treatment I held my breath as her thyroid levels were rechecked. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when her vet told me every level was well within the normal range. But then he paused. He told me her BUN and creatinine levels were elevated and he wanted to see her again. Round after round of blood work showed her kidneys were failing. She had chronic renal failure and the best I could hope for was to give her happiness for as much time as she had left.
I learned how to administer her shots, how to pill her and how to give her sub-q fluids every other day. I bought her baby food, expensive Rx food and even her favorite cheeses and yogurt, trying desperately to get her to eat anything. She withered down to 6lbs but was just as spunky as ever. Each time she needed bloodwork, she had to be sedated and kept all day because she would not dare let someone as lowly as a veterinarian touch her. :lol3: She rallied a few times, crashed a few times, and visited her buddy Dr. S a few times a week. Then came the general decline I knew was the end.
The morning of January 19, I was rushing the kids to school and almost out the door when I had an odd feeling that she hadn't come out all morning. I knew she slept a lot and didn't move much, but she almost always greeted me with a few mows as I got dressed. We were late, but I had to check on her just in case. She wasn't in any of her usual hiding spots so I got a flashlight and started looking in all the dark corners and under the beds until I found my girl.
She was under my 5 year old sons bed, way back in the corner where she had never gone before. She looked at me but would not come out. I piled the bed from the wall and picked her up. She'd lost control of her bowels and when I put her down, she slumped down on her left side. She tried to slither away, but her legs weren't working and she kept falling. I scooped her up, saw she was drooling and peeing, and off to the vet we went.
I will always be grateful to whatever higher being that Dr. S was there that morning. We'd grown very close over the months, I had his home number and he called me most weekends to check on "our grumpy old lady". Willow and I were in the office at least once a week from September to January, often a few times a week. I'm not sure I would have had the strength to do what I knew had to be done if he wasn't there there to tell me it was time. He checked her over and said it looked like she had a stroke. He asked me to look in her eyes and decide if she wanted to contine fighting. All I saw was her pleading with me to help her. I knew then that she was done, that her will to keep going was gone and I had to honor that.
I talked to Dr. S about what would happen, how it would work and arranged services with the crematorium. I spent time with her after the sedative, just holding her, talking to her and carrying her around in her blanket. He came back in, gave her the final shot and checked her heartbeat. He put his hand on my shoulder as he left the room and I saw a tear in his eye too. I spent some more time with my girl and eventually had to leave. That was one of the hardest parts, to walk out of the room knowing I wasn't coming back for her.
I say good night to her ashes every night and she visits me in my dreams sometimes. Every once in a while, I'll wake up and for a fleeting second swear I can feel her weight on my back. I never knew I could love an animal like that and I miss her constantly. She's waiting for me at the bridge, laying stretched out in a sunbeam. I miss you Willie-girl, I'll see you when the time comes and give you all the chinny-chin-chin scratches you want. I love you.
