Rest In Peace…1991-2004
If you are fortunate to be able to lead a life of any length at all, eventually you are going to have to say goodbye to a friend or loved one. Death is part of the cycle of life; it’s a reality as unchanging, harsh, and immutable as anything one will face in this world. Unfortunately, being cognizant of that reality hardly serves to soften the blow.
Yesterday, we said goodbye to Tabby. She was 13 years old, and had clearly been on the back side of the bell curve for some time now. We all knew that she was not long for this world, but finding oneself at the moment of decision is never something that can be planned for, nor can it’s impact be minimized.
Tabby had been blind for the better part of the last two years. Because of this, she rarely left the front yard, and in fact her world could be traced within a three-yard radius of the tree in front of our house. She would come in twice a day to be fed, and then she would go back out to her patch of Earth near the tree. Over the past two years, we’ve essentially become a feeding trough for Tabby. The routine was nearly identical every day, twice a day- come in, eat, and leave. Every now and then, she would curl up and fall asleep on the kitchen counter where we fed her, but it was clear that our role was primarily to feed her and let her be.
On occasion, Tabby would surprise me by curling up in my lap and going to sleep. Just when I’d begun to give up on her acting like a “normal” cat, she’d show me her sweet and loving side. Because of her blindness, maneuvering in the house must have felt like tapdancing through a minefield, but when she wanted some affection, there was little that was going to stop her. Though she will never be remembered for her sweet disposition (I didn’t call her “Crabitha” for nothing…), she did have her moments when she could be astonishingly sweet and loving.
Over the past week or so, I’d noticed that her vision seemed even worse than usual. She would run into walls at full speed, which she had not done previously. She’d always managed to avoid serious collisions by employing something close to radar, and though she ran into things, it was usually in her hurry to rush out of the house and back to her front yard.
Yesterday, I brought her in to feed her as I normally do in the morning. She polished off the usual can of bad cat food, jumped off the counter onto the floor and made a beeline for the front door. As she was doing so, her front legs went out from under her in a way I hadn’t seen before. I was leaving with Salem the Wonderdog to go to the groomer, so I didn’t really notice anything terribly amiss in the way that Tabby laid down in the driveway after her pratfall. She seemed tired and listless, but I passed that off to her age. In retrospect, I recognize now that something was terribly wrong.
When I came back from the groomer, Tabby was laying in the same position as when I’d left. While Tabby had always been known for economy of motion and conservation of energy, I knew immediately that she was in bad shape. I kneeled in front of her, and while I could see her moving her eyes as if she was trying to look at me, nothing else moved. She did not seem to be in any sort of pain, but she was clearly unable to move. Suddenly, it dawned on me what was happening. Tabby had reached the end of her road.
I went into the house and told Susan that something was very wrong with Tabby, and when she looked at her there was no disagreement about what needed to be done. With Tabby clearly unable to move, the only other option available to us was to let her die of starvation and/or dehydration. Neither of us wanted to see her suffer, so we made the only decision we could.
I found a wicker basket, put a towel in the bottom to make certain Tabby would be something resembling comfortable, and then put her in the basket for her last ride. In picking her up, Tabby offered none of the whining and/or growling that was so typical of her. It was almost as if the only thing that remained in working order was her brain. I could see her eyes trying to follow me, but beyond that and a heartbeat, there was no response. I arranged her in the basket as best I could, set the basket gently in the front seat of my truck, and began the two-mile drive to the vet’s office.
Thankfully, once I arrived at the vet, they didn’t keep us waiting. I was ushered into one of the exam rooms, and after a cursory exam, the vet determined that my assessment was correct. Tabby had simply reached the end of her journey, and it was time to say goodbye.
After giving me a few minutes alone with Tabby, it was time to do what needed to be done. As I cradled Tabby’s head, the vet pushed the viscous pink sedative into Tabby’s vein as I wondered to myself if I was doing the right thing. Within a few seconds, Tabby stopped breathing and I felt her go limp. Just like that, she was gone.
The vet left me alone with Tabby, and once I finished a few minutes of crying, I wrapped her in the towel and placed her in the basket for the trip home. The trip home was short, though I was too numb to really remember anything about it. I couldn’t decide if I had done the right thing, or if perhaps there might have been something- anything- I could I have to keep Tabby with us. On an intellectual level, I knew that there was nothing else that could have been done. Emotionally, though, I was a wreck, and I found myself feeling responsible for killing our cat. Now I had to go home and bury her.
Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny day…in fact, it was an absolutely perfect day to bury Tabby next to Makis on the lakeshore in our back yard. Once I had finished, I sat next to Makis’ grave and Tabby’s final resting place and just listened- to the ducks trolling for food, to the cheers of the football game at Seabrook Intermediate School, but mostly to my own thoughts. I sat there for perhaps 30-45 minutes before yielding to the ducks. They were hungry, and my presence was clearly impeding their search for food.
When I looked outside later this afternoon, Boo was curled up asleep on the chair I’d left next to Tabby’s grave. Paying his last respects? Who knows? Somehow, it seemed as if that might just be the case.
Tabby will never be remembered as Miss Congeniality. While she did have moments when she could be sweet and affectionate, she more often than not could be prickly, crabby, and just downright ornery. Still, she was a member of our family, and she was Eric’s first pet. Saying goodbye is never easy.
Living with pets means outliving them. It’s the natural course of events. They brighten our lives, enrich our experience, and make a home feel…well, like home. They create memories and leave us with smiles as we look for our lint rollers and/or paper towels to clean up the hairballs. The price to be paid for this is having to say goodbye far sooner than we would choose if left to our own devices. Having to make the decision to have a pet put down is a terrible, gut-wrenching decision that can feel somewhat akin to playing God. It’s a final, irreversible decision that never feels good. Today is the fourth time I’ve had to make this decision with one of my cats, and it NEVER gets any easier. It is always an emotionally wrenching and draining experience. I still feel empty and very, very sad. I know that we did the right thing, but it’s hard to feel that way. A heavy heart becomes lighter with the passage of time; that’s how these things work. Life goes on, as it must…after all, what’s the other option?
I will miss Tabby. She had this annoying habit of sitting in the driveway as I was trying to park my truck. She would sit in the glare of the headlights, regally refusing to move as if she was asserting her dominance, which I suppose in a way she was. “You want to park that thing? Sure, but I’m going to make you get out of that damn truck first.” And, yes, she usually won that battle. I’ll miss our test of wills.
Shalom, Tabby. You may not have always recognized this, but you were loved, and you will be missed. I miss you already….
UPDATE: This week’s Carnival of the Cats is dedicated to Tabby’s memory. To say that I am grateful would not begin to express the depths of my emotions….
