The first time I touched Cody, it was to comfort him in a very scary place for him: the local animal shelter. (See my first post on Cody, here.)Even in the middle of that place, with dogs barking in the background, when I stroked his face, he leaned in to my hand and began to purr - a sputtering, deep-throated muttering.
Twelve years later, the last touch of which he was aware - today - was mine. It was a loving touch, meant to communicate comfort in what was a very scary situation for him. The vet sedated him, and put him in my arms. Over the next two or three minutes, he relaxed as I stroked him. He didn't even have time to start to purr. It was straight from fear to a relaxed state, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
My touch, my voice was with him as he entered a state of mind free from stress. Once he had relaxed, I placed him gently on a little hand-towel we'd placed on the examining table, and I kept stroking him until the vet came back in with a pair of clippers. I didn't see a needle. As arranged, I left the room and my hubby supervised the actual euthanasia. He told me it was handled tenderly, lovingly, and with great compassion.
Over the past few months, he had not been feeling very well. He lost weight; he began to drink more and more. The last month, he started to follow us around and meow at us. He wanted to be with us; if prevented he would become irritated and take out his frustrations by urinating on our clean laundry, on carpets, on beds. He was less and less contented and more and more demanding. Finally I called the vet. As I described his symptoms, it became more and more clear that he was getting less and less comfortable and that something was definitely wrong.
Which brings me to today. A brief examination showed that although he was drinking over three times more than a cat his size should have been drinking, his veins had almost collapsed from dehydration. Only one thing could do that. "Cancer - most likely of the kidneys."
That explained the meowing. "Mom - make it stop. Please."
Given his age - 16 - he would not survive an operation. Without one, he would have been in more and more pain, and not survived the winter.
It was the right decision to have him put down. But that didn't make it any easier, nor did it make me hurt any less.
But at least now, after 18 or so months of recovery, I can allow myself to hurt. I can allow myself to feel the sadness, and instead of lashing out at my loved ones and hurting them I can be there to share in their sadness. Together, we will emerge from our grief and retain the good memories.
Somehow, I cannot help but picture Cody in all his glory curled up in the Master's lap. Purring.
Received from a friend today:
ReplyDeleteHere is something that I read after we sadly had to euthanise our Ruby two years ago. I thought the gist of it was beautiful. My thoughts and deepest sympathies are with you.
Beyond The Rainbow
As much as I loved the life we had and all the times we played,
I was so very tired and knew my time on earth would fade.
I saw a wondrous image then of a place that's trouble-free
Where all of us can meet again to spend eternity.
I saw the most beautiful Rainbow, and on the other side
Were meadows rich and beautiful -- lush and green and wide!
And running through the meadows as far as the eye could see
Were animals of every sort as healthy as could be!
My own tired, failing body was fresh and healed and new
And I wanted to go run with them, but I had something left to do.
I needed to reach out to you, to tell you I'm alright
That this place is truly wonderful, then a bright Glow pierced the night.
'Twas the Glow of many Candles shining bright and strong and bold
And I knew then that it held your love in its brilliant shades of gold.
For although we may not be together in the way we used to be,
We are still connected by a cord no eye can see.
So whenever you need to find me, we're never far apart
If you look beyond the Rainbow and listen with your heart.