Friday, January 21, 2011

Another hard day...

I arrived early one morning at the vet clinic where I used to work to find a box of kittens in front of the door. I carried them in, mewing and purring. The first one out of the box was a little bit of nothing black and white fluff. He looked me in the eye as if to say "Well, Here I am! Are you going to feed us or what?"
Little cat with a big attitude. Inside the box were 4 others, all flame point siamese. Someone's show girl kitty must have gotten loose one night and had a party.
Of course the little odd one came home with me. He was MO, for "one mo' cat or no mo' cats" but of course that didn't happen either. But he was always the alpha cat in the house. He was the first one out to greet people, popping up into their laps to say Welcome. He was the eternal kitten~ given to wild running jags through the house, leaping into the air from chair to chair...
He loved to play with toys, chasing things for hours. He graciously accepted others into the house but always let them know he was the boss.
He and Buddy Love were the bonded pair. Always snuggled together, sharing a basket, a sunbeam, a bed. For years the two of them slept with me and the hubster, curled between us, purring us to sleep.
As the years went by, both Buddy and Mo began to age. To slow down a bit. But still strong personalities making known that they were the top cats.
Buddy finally succumbed to renal failure last year at age 22. Mo seemed a bit lost without his life long Buddy. Suddenly it seemed to us, Mo turned into a little old man cat. He slept more, played less. Didn't harass the other animals as much, even stopped hissing at Jake.
Then he became ill, a serious round of pancreatitis that nearly did him in. He lost a lot of weight. He was never over 8 pounds but was now down to 5 pounds. He spent lots of time purring my husbter through cancer treatments. He spent hours in Mum's lap as she stayed with us, knitting or crocheting away the long hours as the hubster fought his battle and won.
Just a few weeks ago I started fluid therapy with Mo. I started enticing him with anything he would eat, boiling chicken gizzards, livers, whatever he could eat and keep down. He seemed to enjoy the special food, the extra attention, but not the pills, not the fluids.
Finally this week he began to tell us it was time. He would walk up to us, and stare at us and silently meow. Asking for something that we couldn't or didn't want to discern...
The past few nights, I knew. I knew the time for release was coming.
I didn't want to let go. We have lost so very much in the past 2 years. Family, friends, pets, our home, and came close to losing others...
Death has been once again too close a presence in my life.
And now, I had to turn over my kitten to that presence.
Last night the hubster brought Mo into the bed for a last cuddle. He slept curled against me, a very faint purr lulling me to sleep. This afternoon I sat and held him, soaking him with my tears, petting him, loving him, telling him how I would never forget him, how I loved him, how much my heart was hurting. He lay quietly, occasionally reaching with his paw to touch me.
We drove the snowy roads to the clinic. The hubster being so brave for us. We entered the room where we have been before awaiting the same outcome...
The doc who has taken care of our babies since Molly Dawg, came in the room. He knew by my face all was not well. We talked about symptoms, the decline in the past week. He gently examined Mo, noted the weight loss, the fluid buildup and confirmed what I knew in my heart. My Little Mo was dying. All the time, the Doc kept petting him, gently and softly. He explained the ritual again, knowing that we knew, but somehow easing the pain by telling the details once again. He expressed his sorrow, shared a few stories and then left us for some time together after giving Mo an injection to make him sleepy.
The Doc came back, this time with "the pink shot". He gently took Mo's leg, injected the pink stuff and stood quietly with us petting him as his life slipped away. Again I cried, my heart breaking. The Doc allowed the hubster and me some time alone with our little Mo. I left so the hubster could say goodbye. The staff stood by, eyes glistening sharing our pain.
It was over.
Home to an ever more empty house. It has been a long time since we have had so few animals in our life. Now just 2 cats and an insane Golden Retriever. Both the girls, Kizzie and Maggie are getting older too.
I know the cycle of life continues, Death does not conquer Love. But somehow this one day was the hardest of all. It felt like something ended when Mo slipped away...
I don't know what ended today. I do know we couldn't let him linger or suffer. That would have been unfair to him. He gave us too much happiness and joy to let him suffer one more moment of pain. With breaking hearts we said goodbye, hoping that there is a place in heaven for little cats with a big attitude...


Mom said...

I'm so glad you called me before I read this. I'ts hard to see what I'm writing through the tears. I, too, will miss Mo. He sat on my lap so much when I was there so much last year. It seems funny to say last year, like it was a long time ago, even though it was April through October. I love you both and send my love and sympathy.

Jennifer said...

I was afraid to read this because I knew I would end up sobbing. And I am.

Sweet Mo, sweet so many. Our pets make a house our home... I really feel your pain, and I wish you comforting memories of a wonderful spirit. And the courage to love and adopt again :)