Today has been, maybe, the worst day I've ever had in my entire life ... and in my 4 decades on this earth, I have seen some horror.
30 hours awake straight, then 4 hours sleep, then last night, 1 hour sleep. I am coming apart. This has been my nightmare for many years now, and today it came true. My little devil, Diablo, is gone up to heaven.
I met him about 15 years ago. We've never been too sure about his age but the vets have estimated it at around 18. My roommate brought him home one day. He'd taken him from a house full of street kids, at the request of a girl that lived there, who had said he was being abused pretty badly. We actually met her years later, completely by coincidence, she had come over to our home with a mutual friend, what a small world it can be. She said our cat looked very fine, and we told her his story, and she just broke down in tears and shock when she realized it was him. I wish now that I had some way to get hold of her. I wish she could know that he got to live a long, happy life
When he first came to our house, he was basically feral. My roommate loved cats, he had two, and he meant to keep Diablo. But tiny little Diablo was like a demon and went at his two cats as if he was straight out of hell, this tiny little kitten scaring the wits out of even the giant, lean, muscular Tigreu, so I agreed to keep him in my room overnight. We let him be for a time but when I had to go to bed, he bit me, and kept coming at the nearest body part like some sort of wolverine. I had to use some candles around myself to stop him from trying to come near. He finally got exhuasted and calmed and I was able to make first contact but he decided to sleep in hiding.
The next day I woke up and he was sleeping next to me. From that moment he has never wanted to be away from me. He would follow me everywhere around the house. Despite my roommate's plans, Diablo had other ideas; I was to be his owner, whether I liked it or not. And this was a cat that got what he wanted. The most determined, relentless creature I have ever known.
His feral side remained for a few weeks, growling if anyone came near his food, but once he recovered a bit and realized he was safe, his true personality began to come out. What a personality it was ... I had many pets growing up and every one feels special, but this cat had a truly larger-than-life personality.
We had the television sitting atop this old wooden box (maybe a big speaker once) which had a circular hole just below the television. He used to climb in there and try to outdo the television with his own performances, usually succeeding. He did many, many things like this, always trying to be the center of attention in a room. This was what gave him his name because some of the things he would do, would drive everyone nuts - although the genius behind some of the things he did made everyone who lived with him, love him to bits, even as they were going crazy. He didn't see himself as merely an alpha cat, but simply an alpha. He never, ever quit once he set his sights on something. That included me, and eventually his 'mom', who he met a few years later.
I am so, so proud that he chose me. This force of nature that captured hearts wherever he went. I've learned a lot about living - and now about dying - from him. From a cat! Who would think? Diablo loved life and loved being in this world so much, and his love was a fierce thing. It's totally crazy but we looked up to that cat. He could win even people who hated cats. It wasn't much different with other cats either - and even some that didn't tolerate other cats, seemed to be comfortable with him. How, I will never know, because he would drive them to their limits of sanity too and just the same as with humans they seemed to love him for it.
He became an extension of me, so tightly he bonded to me. I used to call him "my tumor" because it was as much physical as mental, and he grew on me so much. I've never understood why he chose me, except that I guess that first night with him, it must have seemed to him that I'd made magic happen for him, and from a nasty and brutal life he had been delivered (even though it was my roommate who'd done it) into a life where he could be his amazing self.
Today, he's gone, and the hole he left behind is as big as the personality he had. It's killing me.
We'd taken him to the vets a few days ago because he had suddenly become very lethargic, his balance was a bit off, and his breath smelled really bad. He was also constipated and not terribly enthusiastic about food, and drinking a great deal of water. We figured he had gotten another dental infection and he needed some work done and some antibiotics because that had happened a couple of years ago and it looked very similar. But his vet found mouth ulcers instead of cavities and with some of the other symptoms, wanted to do blood work.
When he called us a few hours later, it was severe renal failure. We were in disbelief ... although his appetite was not good he was still eating. The vet was amazed that he could because the indicators on the bloodwork were off the scales.
We suspect he'd been fighting the symptoms with all the determination he brought to everything, hiding them from us, trying his best to live life to the fullest all the time. Looking back they were there but not in a way you could tell the difference from simple aging, except in hindsight. But then some days ago he just couldn't fight the symptoms anymore and then things began to progress extremely rapidly. He grew worse almost by the hour.
I didn't let it go far. The vet did not think flushing would help for long with the levels he had, and to do a flush might take days rather than hours. I couldn't bear to think of him going through that and using up the time he had left in what he would consider a nightmare, likely for nothing.
The vet thought putting him to sleep was a reasonable option but we couldn't decide. This was on Friday and the vet was not certain whether he'd survive til the Monday. We couldn't decide before they closed. But it was getting worse so fast. By Saturday morning, he was limp, drooling blood, stumbling, and just sitting there not moving with his head down for hours on end. He still wanted to try to eat but couldn't. He couldn't sleep because he couldn't rest his head, because of the mouth ulcers. His personality was still trying to show through in small degrees but just a tiny, faint echo of what it was. With things progressing so rapidly I knew it was time.
So we found a vet just outside of town who was open and got him in. I lost some family pets when I was young, but I'd never had to make the call or be there for it. This was new for me, and I was so worried about so many things, and it was so hard to make the decision with this cat who loved living so, so much.
I thought it might be indifferent, hasty, functional. Or that something might go wrong, or he'd just be terrified out of his wits. But he didn't seem to be, although I know from being in the carrier he was still capable of being anxious; he was always really scared when trapped, whether in a room or in his carrier, and it was no exception when we put him in to get him to the car. But they let us bring him without the carrier, we got to take him out once he was in the car before we left, and he made no complaint other than when we were carrying him in the carrier to the car.
One of the things Diablo did was that he preferred to sit on my hand rather than be pet, I guess part of his dominant personality. Not that he didn't like to be petted but that was better. He got to go sitting on my hand and I got to lay my head down and face him and say goodbye as he drowsed off from the anesthetic. I told him how strong we knew he was no matter his condition, told him he was still the chief, told him he was going to feel better soon and he just drifted off peacefully with no panic or anxiety.
When I'd thought about this day, I'd dreamed of it going just that way, with my face gently smiling being the last thing he saw, but didn't really think it was realistic. I guess it wasn't so far-fetched in the end.
But me, now, I'm in this living hell. I've mourned pets before but this is, I don't know. I feel like I'm not, physically even, going to make it through this. I can't sleep or eat, I just have no idea what to do to stop my mind. The only relief that works is to overload my grief til it becomes numb but even that does not help for long. I know he wouldn't want me to be like this and I'm trying to fight it but I'm losing.
My special boy. My Diablo. Oh God this hurts.
30 hours awake straight, then 4 hours sleep, then last night, 1 hour sleep. I am coming apart. This has been my nightmare for many years now, and today it came true. My little devil, Diablo, is gone up to heaven.
I met him about 15 years ago. We've never been too sure about his age but the vets have estimated it at around 18. My roommate brought him home one day. He'd taken him from a house full of street kids, at the request of a girl that lived there, who had said he was being abused pretty badly. We actually met her years later, completely by coincidence, she had come over to our home with a mutual friend, what a small world it can be. She said our cat looked very fine, and we told her his story, and she just broke down in tears and shock when she realized it was him. I wish now that I had some way to get hold of her. I wish she could know that he got to live a long, happy life
When he first came to our house, he was basically feral. My roommate loved cats, he had two, and he meant to keep Diablo. But tiny little Diablo was like a demon and went at his two cats as if he was straight out of hell, this tiny little kitten scaring the wits out of even the giant, lean, muscular Tigreu, so I agreed to keep him in my room overnight. We let him be for a time but when I had to go to bed, he bit me, and kept coming at the nearest body part like some sort of wolverine. I had to use some candles around myself to stop him from trying to come near. He finally got exhuasted and calmed and I was able to make first contact but he decided to sleep in hiding.
The next day I woke up and he was sleeping next to me. From that moment he has never wanted to be away from me. He would follow me everywhere around the house. Despite my roommate's plans, Diablo had other ideas; I was to be his owner, whether I liked it or not. And this was a cat that got what he wanted. The most determined, relentless creature I have ever known.
His feral side remained for a few weeks, growling if anyone came near his food, but once he recovered a bit and realized he was safe, his true personality began to come out. What a personality it was ... I had many pets growing up and every one feels special, but this cat had a truly larger-than-life personality.
We had the television sitting atop this old wooden box (maybe a big speaker once) which had a circular hole just below the television. He used to climb in there and try to outdo the television with his own performances, usually succeeding. He did many, many things like this, always trying to be the center of attention in a room. This was what gave him his name because some of the things he would do, would drive everyone nuts - although the genius behind some of the things he did made everyone who lived with him, love him to bits, even as they were going crazy. He didn't see himself as merely an alpha cat, but simply an alpha. He never, ever quit once he set his sights on something. That included me, and eventually his 'mom', who he met a few years later.
I am so, so proud that he chose me. This force of nature that captured hearts wherever he went. I've learned a lot about living - and now about dying - from him. From a cat! Who would think? Diablo loved life and loved being in this world so much, and his love was a fierce thing. It's totally crazy but we looked up to that cat. He could win even people who hated cats. It wasn't much different with other cats either - and even some that didn't tolerate other cats, seemed to be comfortable with him. How, I will never know, because he would drive them to their limits of sanity too and just the same as with humans they seemed to love him for it.
He became an extension of me, so tightly he bonded to me. I used to call him "my tumor" because it was as much physical as mental, and he grew on me so much. I've never understood why he chose me, except that I guess that first night with him, it must have seemed to him that I'd made magic happen for him, and from a nasty and brutal life he had been delivered (even though it was my roommate who'd done it) into a life where he could be his amazing self.
Today, he's gone, and the hole he left behind is as big as the personality he had. It's killing me.
We'd taken him to the vets a few days ago because he had suddenly become very lethargic, his balance was a bit off, and his breath smelled really bad. He was also constipated and not terribly enthusiastic about food, and drinking a great deal of water. We figured he had gotten another dental infection and he needed some work done and some antibiotics because that had happened a couple of years ago and it looked very similar. But his vet found mouth ulcers instead of cavities and with some of the other symptoms, wanted to do blood work.
When he called us a few hours later, it was severe renal failure. We were in disbelief ... although his appetite was not good he was still eating. The vet was amazed that he could because the indicators on the bloodwork were off the scales.
We suspect he'd been fighting the symptoms with all the determination he brought to everything, hiding them from us, trying his best to live life to the fullest all the time. Looking back they were there but not in a way you could tell the difference from simple aging, except in hindsight. But then some days ago he just couldn't fight the symptoms anymore and then things began to progress extremely rapidly. He grew worse almost by the hour.
I didn't let it go far. The vet did not think flushing would help for long with the levels he had, and to do a flush might take days rather than hours. I couldn't bear to think of him going through that and using up the time he had left in what he would consider a nightmare, likely for nothing.
The vet thought putting him to sleep was a reasonable option but we couldn't decide. This was on Friday and the vet was not certain whether he'd survive til the Monday. We couldn't decide before they closed. But it was getting worse so fast. By Saturday morning, he was limp, drooling blood, stumbling, and just sitting there not moving with his head down for hours on end. He still wanted to try to eat but couldn't. He couldn't sleep because he couldn't rest his head, because of the mouth ulcers. His personality was still trying to show through in small degrees but just a tiny, faint echo of what it was. With things progressing so rapidly I knew it was time.
So we found a vet just outside of town who was open and got him in. I lost some family pets when I was young, but I'd never had to make the call or be there for it. This was new for me, and I was so worried about so many things, and it was so hard to make the decision with this cat who loved living so, so much.
I thought it might be indifferent, hasty, functional. Or that something might go wrong, or he'd just be terrified out of his wits. But he didn't seem to be, although I know from being in the carrier he was still capable of being anxious; he was always really scared when trapped, whether in a room or in his carrier, and it was no exception when we put him in to get him to the car. But they let us bring him without the carrier, we got to take him out once he was in the car before we left, and he made no complaint other than when we were carrying him in the carrier to the car.
One of the things Diablo did was that he preferred to sit on my hand rather than be pet, I guess part of his dominant personality. Not that he didn't like to be petted but that was better. He got to go sitting on my hand and I got to lay my head down and face him and say goodbye as he drowsed off from the anesthetic. I told him how strong we knew he was no matter his condition, told him he was still the chief, told him he was going to feel better soon and he just drifted off peacefully with no panic or anxiety.
When I'd thought about this day, I'd dreamed of it going just that way, with my face gently smiling being the last thing he saw, but didn't really think it was realistic. I guess it wasn't so far-fetched in the end.
But me, now, I'm in this living hell. I've mourned pets before but this is, I don't know. I feel like I'm not, physically even, going to make it through this. I can't sleep or eat, I just have no idea what to do to stop my mind. The only relief that works is to overload my grief til it becomes numb but even that does not help for long. I know he wouldn't want me to be like this and I'm trying to fight it but I'm losing.
My special boy. My Diablo. Oh God this hurts.
