- Joined
- Nov 14, 2017
- Messages
- 19
- Purraise
- 34
Hi all. This is my first post on this website... this is regrettable, because I wish I had had a presence here when my little man was healthy, but I didn't know about these forums. I need to talk about Hanzee, my short time with him, and my feelings about his passing. This is very long. I'm sorry.
I adopted Hanzee in February of 2017. I saw his picture on the humane society's website, under the name they gave him, Sparrow. Although full-grown, an estimated 10 years old, he was tiny; he had a crinkly ear from a past hematoma, was missing tufts of hair all over his body, had only four teeth, and a recently removed ulcer on his tongue that left it scarred for the rest of his little life. He had been brought in off the streets in December of 2016, and had lived in the infirmary at the humane society for the two months he was there due to recurring respiratory infections, which turned out to be feline herpes... needless to say, the little dude had issues. Something about this little guy pulled at my heart strings though, and I had to meet him. I went to the shelter, I walked out to the infirmary building with an employee, and met him. He purred and he drooled all over us as we petted him, and he smacked at us through the bars when we closed his kennel door (the first indicator of what I would come to know and love as his very cantankerous, semi-feral personality). I adopted him a week later, after prepping my apartment for his arrival.
I lived 8.5 months with him, went through college graduation, marriage, moving, and separation with him at my side. He was my little feisty companion. After graduation, about 6 months into his time with us, we learned that he was in stage 3 kidney failure. We knew that this would not reverse, but we had the, I thought, reasonable expectation that he would live at least another year or two with special foods, medications, subq fluids. Instead, after a couple of months, he declined rapidly, starting about a week and a half ago. He lost a pound each week, and was only 3.5lbs when I had him put to sleep yesterday evening. He would no longer eat, and laid in my bed all day. He would get up to use the litter box and occasionally drink some water, after which he would immediately return to the bed, wobbling as he walked, barely making the jump onto the bed. He had one accident a few days ago in which he simply peed where he was laying on the bed. While I already knew he was nearing the end, this, along with the fact that he no longer met me at the door, no longer purred, no longer did much of anything, was a heartbreaking sign that his time had come. Giving him a peaceful end to this suffering was the most loving thing I could do for him. Rather than stick him in the carrier, I held him in my arms when we took him to the vet yesterday. He didn't squirm, growl, smack at me anymore, as he had in his hateful prime. I knew he wouldn't try to escape.
The vet confirmed what I already knew, that this was the kindest decision for him, and it was one last gift I could give him, after giving him his (I assume) first and only home, and the best care possible. I chose not to watch the process. I had already seen all of the light leave him, and I didn't want to be there when the last bit of life did too. I paid for a private cremation. I get his ashes back later this week in a little, wooden box with a leaf pattern carved on the top. I plan on having a bit of his ashes made into a ring, so that I have something pretty to keep a bit of him with me all the time.
I know this was the right thing to do, but I am heartbroken. I feel almost ashamed to be so overwhelmed by grief when other accounts I have read about cats crossing the rainbow bridge had been with their humans their whole life, and I was only with my little man for 8.5 months. But he captured my heart nonetheless. While I don't feel guilty, I also feel sad that he was only around 10 years old instead of fulfilling a more full 15 year lifespan. I hope he does not think that I gave up on him. I just couldn't let him waste away and hurt until he died on his own, which would have almost certainly happened only a week or two down the road. I am processing a lot of hurt emotions. Does this sound similar to your feelings when you lost your baby?
I adopted Hanzee in February of 2017. I saw his picture on the humane society's website, under the name they gave him, Sparrow. Although full-grown, an estimated 10 years old, he was tiny; he had a crinkly ear from a past hematoma, was missing tufts of hair all over his body, had only four teeth, and a recently removed ulcer on his tongue that left it scarred for the rest of his little life. He had been brought in off the streets in December of 2016, and had lived in the infirmary at the humane society for the two months he was there due to recurring respiratory infections, which turned out to be feline herpes... needless to say, the little dude had issues. Something about this little guy pulled at my heart strings though, and I had to meet him. I went to the shelter, I walked out to the infirmary building with an employee, and met him. He purred and he drooled all over us as we petted him, and he smacked at us through the bars when we closed his kennel door (the first indicator of what I would come to know and love as his very cantankerous, semi-feral personality). I adopted him a week later, after prepping my apartment for his arrival.
I lived 8.5 months with him, went through college graduation, marriage, moving, and separation with him at my side. He was my little feisty companion. After graduation, about 6 months into his time with us, we learned that he was in stage 3 kidney failure. We knew that this would not reverse, but we had the, I thought, reasonable expectation that he would live at least another year or two with special foods, medications, subq fluids. Instead, after a couple of months, he declined rapidly, starting about a week and a half ago. He lost a pound each week, and was only 3.5lbs when I had him put to sleep yesterday evening. He would no longer eat, and laid in my bed all day. He would get up to use the litter box and occasionally drink some water, after which he would immediately return to the bed, wobbling as he walked, barely making the jump onto the bed. He had one accident a few days ago in which he simply peed where he was laying on the bed. While I already knew he was nearing the end, this, along with the fact that he no longer met me at the door, no longer purred, no longer did much of anything, was a heartbreaking sign that his time had come. Giving him a peaceful end to this suffering was the most loving thing I could do for him. Rather than stick him in the carrier, I held him in my arms when we took him to the vet yesterday. He didn't squirm, growl, smack at me anymore, as he had in his hateful prime. I knew he wouldn't try to escape.
The vet confirmed what I already knew, that this was the kindest decision for him, and it was one last gift I could give him, after giving him his (I assume) first and only home, and the best care possible. I chose not to watch the process. I had already seen all of the light leave him, and I didn't want to be there when the last bit of life did too. I paid for a private cremation. I get his ashes back later this week in a little, wooden box with a leaf pattern carved on the top. I plan on having a bit of his ashes made into a ring, so that I have something pretty to keep a bit of him with me all the time.
I know this was the right thing to do, but I am heartbroken. I feel almost ashamed to be so overwhelmed by grief when other accounts I have read about cats crossing the rainbow bridge had been with their humans their whole life, and I was only with my little man for 8.5 months. But he captured my heart nonetheless. While I don't feel guilty, I also feel sad that he was only around 10 years old instead of fulfilling a more full 15 year lifespan. I hope he does not think that I gave up on him. I just couldn't let him waste away and hurt until he died on his own, which would have almost certainly happened only a week or two down the road. I am processing a lot of hurt emotions. Does this sound similar to your feelings when you lost your baby?