[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — My S.O. and I put our cat to sleep last week. Although I knew we absolutely made the right decision, once we made it, I began obsessing over the details. What would it be like? Did I want to be there? Did S.O. want to be there? How long would it take? Could I handle it? After looking for info on the internet and talking to friends, we decided to talk to our vet, Dr. A, about what would happen, and decide from there.
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We had scheduled the appointment so that there were very few patients in the office. When we came in, the woman at the desk greeted us knowingly, and I cried. That small gesture gave me comfort. We talked about logistics (No, we didn’t have to pay now, they would bill us, don’t worry about that, yes, cremation, no, we didn’t want the ashes).
They called us back into an exam room. We had to wait a few minutes while they finished x-raying a dog’s leg. Shelby stayed in her carrier, very relaxed. She even purred while we pet her. She seemed at peace. I noticed that the doctor had already put a towel on the table in case she lost control of her bowels. It gave the hard steel table a soft touch.
We talked about what would happen. It would be just one injection, in a vein in her leg. Dr. A said it would be quick. I was concerned because of Shelby’s history of difficult blood drawings. Dr. A said that it would be easier because something was going in, not coming out. I took her word for it.
The Hour at Hand
Then the moment arrived. Dr. A and a tech came in and put Shelby on her side so her leg would be exposed. The worst part was when they had to shave her leg to see the vein. Shelby didn’t like that and I didn’t like it either. We all held her in position, and S.O. and I cooed to her, petting her head. Then came the shot. Guess what? Dr. A didn’t get it the first time! It actually wasn’t too bad because I think some of it went in. But the second time around, it did go in. Shelby meowed a little, as if to say, “What the…?”, and then, just like that, she was gone. Very fast. No loose bowels, no twitching, no screaming. She was asleep. At least she looked like she was asleep. Her position was exactly as if she had fallen asleep on a hot day, stretched out. I had read that the eyes don’t close, and I thought I’d be really freaked out about that, but actually, they were sort of half closed, so she really did look like she was content and very relaxed. Dr. A listened for a heartbeat, and said that there was none. It was over. She asked us if we wanted some fur because some people wanted that, but I told her that I had already saved one of her furry mats from her once, so we didn’t need any more. She said she would give us a few minutes to be with her, and she went to the front of the office.
S.O. and I petted her and told her we loved her. She was so soft, which was surprising to me for some reason. I don’t know what I was thinking, rigor mortis or something, but I was very happy that I could pet her and really feel like she was just sleeping.
We went to the front, and the lady behind the desk and Dr. A both hugged me, which was so nice. I thanked them very much, and we left. We cried a little in the car, and then drove for an hour to go see S.O.’s mom, who’s been in a rehab facility. Nothing like trading one emotional experience for another! That kept our minds occupied all day. Then the bad part happened.
Where Was She?
When we came home that night and opened the door, Shelby was not there to greet us. That’s when I really lost it. I went to sit on the couch, and I couldn’t help but look at all the spots on the floor where she used to lie; my eyes wouldn’t go anywhere else. For the first time in my life, I took a Valium to help me sleep. It worked.
I miss our girl. It’s interesting how not having her here has changed the way we can do things. We can grind coffee, run the vacuum cleaner and open plastic bags without scaring her. I’d rather drink tea, have a messy rug and use a paper bag. We can get a new rug to replace the one we had to throw away because of Shelby’s accidents. But I sort of like the hardwood. We can leave the back door open when we go downstairs to the laundry room, and leave the front door open to check the mail. But the privacy of a closed door is nice; who needs to see all of our business? We can eat our meals without a cat begging for our food. I’d give anything to let her lick my plate one last time.
I sometimes think I’ll pass her in the hall, or that she’s sleeping under the bed. It’ll take awhile to get adjusted. I might just pretend she’s in another room all the time. Then I’ll get that final bill. Ugh.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
