About four hours ago, I had to say goodbye to one of the dearest, sweetest little souls God ever placed on this earth.
Dagwood showed up in the parking lot outside my office building 17 years ago, a gentle stray with a sweet disposition who wanted only to be loved. He was a dark grey tabby with a swirl pattern coat and deep-set, soulful eyes that were slightly crossed. He became the work cat, content to live outside the office in a cat box the building's owner had built for him, grateful to have a dry place to stay and plenty of food. Eventually, he came home with me to live in the house that would be his home for the next 17 years.
Dagwood was a wonderful cat with a soft, sweet voice and a temperment to match.
About two years ago, Dagwood's crossed little eyes began to cloud and his eyesight began to fail. A large cat after reaching maturity, Dagwood began gradually losing weight and his movements slowed as arthritis crept into his hips. All natural things for a cat of 16 to undergo.
Several weeks ago, his left eye developed what looked like a bad infection. Dr. White prescribed an aggressive regimen of oral and topical antibiotics. Despite the weight loss and nasty looking eye, Dagwood's heart was strong, his lungs clear, and he was about as healthy as an 18 year old cat can be, even though he was down to six pounds. Throughout the trauma of applying antibiotic salve to the eye and shoving oral antibiotics down his throat twice a day, Dagwood remained sweet and loving.
Today was Dagwood's checkup. The eye had barely improved and had actually swollen more than a week earlier despite the antibiotics. There was obviously a tumor growing behind his eye, most likely malignant. Dr. White gave us three options: Remove the eye to buy him some more time, treat him with salve and pain killers to make his remaining days as comfortable as possible, or end his pain and let him go. The proper decision was obvious, yet still so horribly painful to make.
I drove over from work to the clinic to say goodbye. I stroked his frail little body and whispered in his ear that I loved him as he purred and rubbed his cheeks against my hands. Many human tears were shed, by me, my wife, and the vet techs who came in to check on us from time to time.
Dagwood is gone and the 17 years he spent with us seem as if they passed in a moment. The tears are not stopping and I wish I had five more minutes to spend with him, five more minutes to hold him, five more minutes to look into those sweet, crossed little eyes.
Goodbye, Dagwood. I love you, my little friend.
Dagwood straying the heavens
Dagwood showed up in the parking lot outside my office building 17 years ago, a gentle stray with a sweet disposition who wanted only to be loved. He was a dark grey tabby with a swirl pattern coat and deep-set, soulful eyes that were slightly crossed. He became the work cat, content to live outside the office in a cat box the building's owner had built for him, grateful to have a dry place to stay and plenty of food. Eventually, he came home with me to live in the house that would be his home for the next 17 years.
Dagwood was a wonderful cat with a soft, sweet voice and a temperment to match.
About two years ago, Dagwood's crossed little eyes began to cloud and his eyesight began to fail. A large cat after reaching maturity, Dagwood began gradually losing weight and his movements slowed as arthritis crept into his hips. All natural things for a cat of 16 to undergo.
Several weeks ago, his left eye developed what looked like a bad infection. Dr. White prescribed an aggressive regimen of oral and topical antibiotics. Despite the weight loss and nasty looking eye, Dagwood's heart was strong, his lungs clear, and he was about as healthy as an 18 year old cat can be, even though he was down to six pounds. Throughout the trauma of applying antibiotic salve to the eye and shoving oral antibiotics down his throat twice a day, Dagwood remained sweet and loving.
Today was Dagwood's checkup. The eye had barely improved and had actually swollen more than a week earlier despite the antibiotics. There was obviously a tumor growing behind his eye, most likely malignant. Dr. White gave us three options: Remove the eye to buy him some more time, treat him with salve and pain killers to make his remaining days as comfortable as possible, or end his pain and let him go. The proper decision was obvious, yet still so horribly painful to make.
I drove over from work to the clinic to say goodbye. I stroked his frail little body and whispered in his ear that I loved him as he purred and rubbed his cheeks against my hands. Many human tears were shed, by me, my wife, and the vet techs who came in to check on us from time to time.
Dagwood is gone and the 17 years he spent with us seem as if they passed in a moment. The tears are not stopping and I wish I had five more minutes to spend with him, five more minutes to hold him, five more minutes to look into those sweet, crossed little eyes.
Goodbye, Dagwood. I love you, my little friend.
