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rest in peace
My little Calico cat is gone.
Chelsea phoned me in work at lunchtime, in tears, to say there was something wrong, so I took the afternoon off and went straight there. She'd been fine this morning - jumping up into and out of the sink - but came home at lunchtime in distress and barely able to move. We think she must have had a fall and broke her leg, one of the hind legs that were weak and arthritic already. By the time I got there she was perfectly calm, so the initial distress seems to have been shock and probably the trauma of trying to get home, rather than pain.
She was completely content, as usual, and totally alert, as usual. She just couldn't stand.
Dad came and we took her to the vets. She wouldn't go in the box, so I held her on my lap in the car, which she thought was marvellous - wouldn't lie down, because she wanted to see out of the window! At the vets, she curled her paws around my neck and cwtched in close, but was immediately the centre of attention from everyone else in the waiting room, which, again, she thought was marvellous.
But our initial fears were confirmed. She'd broken her leg, and at her age there was just no way it was going to heal. The treatment would be too distressing for her, and she already had a weak heart. So there was nothing to do but let her go peacefully. One injection to put her to sleep and another to stop her heart, and that was it. She cwtched up, rested her head on my arm, and then she was gone.
We took her home and buried her in the back garden. We'll go to the garden centre on Sunday and buy a little tree to plant over the grave. And then that's that.
I've had that cat since I was twelve years old. I'm just so glad I had that long weekend with her, just the two of us (and Chess). I had a feeling then that I needed to make the most of every moment, and it turns out that instinct was absolutely right.
Chelsea phoned me in work at lunchtime, in tears, to say there was something wrong, so I took the afternoon off and went straight there. She'd been fine this morning - jumping up into and out of the sink - but came home at lunchtime in distress and barely able to move. We think she must have had a fall and broke her leg, one of the hind legs that were weak and arthritic already. By the time I got there she was perfectly calm, so the initial distress seems to have been shock and probably the trauma of trying to get home, rather than pain.
She was completely content, as usual, and totally alert, as usual. She just couldn't stand.
Dad came and we took her to the vets. She wouldn't go in the box, so I held her on my lap in the car, which she thought was marvellous - wouldn't lie down, because she wanted to see out of the window! At the vets, she curled her paws around my neck and cwtched in close, but was immediately the centre of attention from everyone else in the waiting room, which, again, she thought was marvellous.
But our initial fears were confirmed. She'd broken her leg, and at her age there was just no way it was going to heal. The treatment would be too distressing for her, and she already had a weak heart. So there was nothing to do but let her go peacefully. One injection to put her to sleep and another to stop her heart, and that was it. She cwtched up, rested her head on my arm, and then she was gone.
We took her home and buried her in the back garden. We'll go to the garden centre on Sunday and buy a little tree to plant over the grave. And then that's that.
I've had that cat since I was twelve years old. I'm just so glad I had that long weekend with her, just the two of us (and Chess). I had a feeling then that I needed to make the most of every moment, and it turns out that instinct was absolutely right.
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