Putting her down - When the time comes to put a beloved cat down.

    When I was a young man, I was surrounded by dogs.  In fact, it always seemed like dogs were just part of my growing up.  Buttons was a toy collie mix who loved to run after rabbits and to this day my dad and I laugh at a slow motion chase scene that was out of a cartoon.  

     She spotted the rabbit in the high grass of our neighbors home...she looked at my dad quizzically.   "Go" he said and she was off.   Chasing after this poor bunny.   Buttons was able to catch up to the rabbit on the straightway, but didn't have the cornering ability of the rabbit.  Well this rabbit decided to run directly towards my dad and I as we stood near our home...the dog so close that we wondered what Buttons would do if she caught the rabbit.

    Bugs the bunny got so close to the house that he jumped and bounded off the wall, that's where things went into slo-mo and become a cartoon.  Buttons applied the breaks her tongue flapping as she leaned as far back as she could her front legs trying to act as brakes, then lowered her ass to the ground to provide friction.

    SMACK!  Into the wall.   

    Taffy was my brothers dog, she was inseparable from him.  He had her so well trained that she be in bed and ready to sleep by the time he counted ten no matter where on my parents acre property she was as we grew up.  

    When I moved from Pittsburgh to Charlotte for my first "real" job out of college, I decided it wasn't fair to have a dog in a small 550 foot apartment.   

    Thus started my love affair with cats.  Breezewood was named after a local Pittsburgh band from the late 80's that sang a song about the town of Breezewood, PA.which happened to be the song that that the cassette player in my car was playing on the drive home.   My still unnamed tabby kitten got of of the box as I was driving, climbed onto my lap and immediately bit my finger, drawing a small amount of blood, when the refrain of "Breezewood, Breezewood" roared through the speakers.  

    A punk name for a punk cat.  It was meant to be.

    Breezewood or "Breeze" became my best friend over the next 20 odd years.  He was there for my first marriage, my first divorce.  He was there when I decided to move back to Pittsburgh, and through a few moves into ever larger apartments   He was there for my successful second wedding, when I finally bought a house and was there for me to talk to when that fell apart as well.

    He would purr so loud that the timbers would shake and be so relaxed at times that he forget how to meow...just mouthing it as he sat on my lap, his eyes closed in peaceful bliss.

    I had a second cat at that time too, named Furball that my roommate found lost or abandoned in a Wal Mart parking lot.  Together we nursed her back to health.   She was a little idiot of a cat but managed to bring a smile to my face as well.  She preferred the company of woman, and in particular loved my fist wife Anna, where as Breeze, well he was my cat. 

    Sadly when things went to shit in 2007-2008 his health started to fail.  I was living paycheck to paycheck and dealing with the fallout of my second failed marriage.  Breezewood hung in there for me, even though I knew he was dying.   One day he emerged from his hiding hole and went to the door...I knew it was time.

    I didn't let him out, but instead held him and cried like a baby as he passed in my arms.  I swear that I heard him say it would all be okay when he died.  I regret not being able to help him pass painlessly. 

    For a few years after that I didn't have a cat or dog that was truly mine.   Cocoa and Mischief, two playful black labs were more my second wife's (Teri) dogs than mine and they went with her as my marriage broke apart and my house was lost..   It seemed that I was one step up from living in my car at the time...yea, things were bad.

    Then slowly they got better.  I met Sue.  I decided to move to Florida and then quickly found a job in management, which lead to me owning my own business and later still....earning my insurance license.   I've not looked back.

    Tipper and Sparky entered out lives.   Tipper was a dark tortie that was somewhere between 3 to 5 years old when we adopted her from the animal shelter.  She had been returned twice for unknown reasons and although she took over a year to warm up to us, she has been a loving cat ever since.  She was named for the white tip at the end of her tail.

    Sparky, a lighter tortie, actually belonged to our former neighbor Bob.  He passed away, and when he did so one of his 3 cats ran away, the other was taken by his daughter and we ended up adopting Sparky.   She was about 3 at the time and we have had her for at least 5 - 7 years already.  She's a light tortie.  Tipper had been our only cat for about 2 years at that point.

   

They got along as sisters after a night.

    I tell this story because we are facing an issue.  Tipper is having trouble controlling her bowels and throwing up food.   She's still active, she's still eating and not hiding from us.  This morning she sat on my chest purring as I lay in bed considering what to do.  We figure that Tipper has to be anywhere between 18 to 20 years old.  Which is well over the life expectancy of a indoor cat.  

    She no longer has much control over her bowels, she tends to throw up her food as well.  The other night we found blood in her stool.  At least she is eating.  She is not hiding, something that Breeze did during his last days.  She is a bit more anxious but that could be do to having a kitten (named Bobble due to a swimmer's leg) running around the house.  I know that's affecting Sparky in a negative way.

    We may have to put our cat down sooner than later.   She did have a stomach illness before and some meds did help put weight back on her.  The question for me is should we?   While I agree that we can't have a cat pooping on the sofa or in the tub, is that really a reason for euthanasia?

    We will take her back to the vet, have blood work done this time and determine if there is any cancer or other terminal illness...that will make my decision easier.

    Breezewood was about the only rock I had at one time in my life.  The only stable element.  He was there when both marriages fell apart, he was there for me to talk to when I was alone and depressed.  He would crawl up on me and purr when the weight of the world was to much.  

    He was there when I was undergoing a bankruptcy and working paycheck to paycheck at a job that I hated and felt frozen in place as a deep depression drowned me.  He was there and even though he was just a "stupid cat", he supported and helped me.

    When he lay dying, I should have put him down a lot sooner.  He should have died painlessly.   I should have found a way but I was to selfish and needy.

    It's a regret I carry to this day.

    I don't want that to happen to any animal...or anyone I love.  

    Tipper deserves better.  It's just a matter of time and although logically I understand that it's natural and a quick painless death is a fair option...he's still "my cat."   I'm not ready to put her down...but it will have to be sooner than later.