Before you know it, you're the crazy cat lady in the scary house

Tuesday

July 07, 2005 ... 3:37 p.m.

We put Tinker to sleep Tuesday. He had gotten very, very sick very, very fast. It was a real shock because he had been healthy for 21 years. At the same time, he was 21-years-old. That’s old.

He started to lose function in his hind legs Sunday. We couldn’t call a vet on Sunday or the next day -- a national holiday. He got worse and worse, he couldn’t sit up very long to eat or drink and, when he tried, he’d end up flopping on his side, completely exhausted. His kidneys were shutting down, but he struggled to his box anyway and, after a little piddle, he’d lie down in his box exhausted. He stopped eating, he would not sleep -- he wouldn’t even close his eyes.

We knew we had to make a decision. Make him as comfortable as possible here or put him down. I didn’t want to take him to a vet, with all the strange animals and strange smells and strange sights and sounds and a strange man poking and prodding him. At the same time, I couldn’t just let my kitty suffer. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted Mom to tell me what to do, but she said she’d go along with whatever we chose. Which was the right thing to do, he was ours after all, but she’s my mom, she’s the boss, she always knows the right thing to do. Bootsie seemed to want to follow my lead.

I had always thought the decision itself would be fairly simple -- your pet is in pain, you put him out of it. Duh. The reality is polar opposite. Am I doing the right thing? And then you start remembering every time he wanted to be picked up and/or held and you didn’t feel like it and all the times you tripped over him and had an ugly thought or all the times you wrote in your journal and called him evil or said he hated you and he never was and he never did but all these people in cyberspace think that of him when he was really a wonderful, wonderful cat.

I prayed Sunday night for God to tell me which decision to make or take the decision out of my hands. Then I told him losing Tinker was going to leave such a huge hole in my heart that “You have to give me something, You have to give me something, You have to give me something ...” and I remember repeating those six words over and over, until I fell asleep. I am a firm believer that God never gives us more than we can handle, but this time ... He was pushing it.

You have to understand ... I am 28, my sister isn’t 25 yet. My mom bought Tinker when he was 4 weeks old and she was only 5 years older than I am now. Do you see? We have loved this furry little being since I was 7 and my sister was just 3½. I barely remember anything pre-Tinker and he is all she has ever known.

Monday came and I was confused still. And nobody would help me. Mom was deferring to us and my sister was in a daze and just wanted to hold him. I was feeling the crushing weight of that terrible choice and had no-one to turn to. We made it through Monday and, that night, I told my sister that we had to make a decision in the morning. Again I prayed and prayed. Then I got sick all over my bed and my sister and I stayed up with Tinker all night. At about 5:45 am, my sister put him by his food bowls and went upstairs to sleep. I kept hearing some noises and went see what they were. What I saw was devastating. He was desperately trying to get up and his back legs were completely paralyzed and he would just lie there after an attempt. I picked him up and realized he had wet himself. Oh God.

Cat people will understand this. Cats are proud animals. Tinker wouldn’t even relieve himself outside. Box or bust. Can you imagine how humiliating it was to him to have to lie down to rest in his litter box? And then the absolute indignity of wetting himself?

At that moment, I knew we had to put him down. I cuddled him for almost an hour and sang to him. I sang “Stay Awake” from Mary Poppins, “Once Upon A Dream” from Sleeping Beauty, “Beyond The Sea”, “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” and Elvis’ “Don’t Be Cruel”. Even though he didn’t like Elvis and even though I am a really bad singer, he seemed to calm down. And, after everybody woke up and we put him on the table and we all sat and talked, everyone agreed it was for the best. Not that that made it any easier. I looked up clinics and pet crematoriums...

We decided to have cremated because none of us could bear the thought of insects or digging him up when we moved or, God forbid, leaving him behind...

and I found two, all the rest were a ways away, and I thought I could handle it, but the second place didn’t list their address and I needed to know how far we had to take him and I lost it, so Bootsie called the first place. She was great and made an appointment to bring him in. She called the second place anyway, but lost it, and I took over. Turns out they come to your house to do it. God bless them. My kitty could be in his home with his people. It was an answer to my prayers.

We spent the day loving him up. Mom carried him around the house, just to survey his kingdom one last time. By this time he had lost most of the use in his front legs and he could barely meow. But my sister had run an errand and he meowed for her. I think he knew his time was short and he wanted all his people around him. When she came home, we all took him outside and set him in the grass. It was a perfectly beautiful day and Bootsie laid him in a sun dappled area. He was so peaceful and seemed happy -- he loved being outside. When we brought him inside, we put him on a green afghan (that my aunt who passed away 11 years ago made) with my pink sock for his pillow.

That was his blankie. And, when he would lie down, he had to be on something. Anything. A piece of paper, a book, a plastic sack -- it didn’t matter. But, for whatever reason, he loved my pink sock and I needed him to ‘take’ something of me with him.

As the time got closer and closer, and Tinker grew increasingly lethargic and started wheezing, I began to feel panicky. I was second-guessing myself and each minute that went by was one less I had with my baby, one less kiss on his head, one less stroke of his tail, one less smell of his belly. I had crazy thoughts of hiding him or not answering the door. But I didn’t. The vet and his wife came and made over Tinker and told him was a good boy. Which he was. The vet explained the procedure -- the first shot was an anasthetic, and the second shot was the drug that would put him to sleep. The vet petted him for a minute, and I held his paw, then he gave Tink the first shot and Tink panicked and tried to get away. I was bawling. All I could think about was that, at that moment, Tinker must’ve thought I turned on him, and what had he done so bad that I would let a strange man hurt him so? We took turns holding him as he fell asleep, so the last thing he saw were the faces of the people who loved him and that he had loved for a long 21 yeas. And then it was time for the next injection which, because he was so dehydrated, had to be straight into his little heart.

As the vet struggled to do that, Tinker let out the four horrible sounds, like he was choking. It was ... I don’t know ... I kept asking if they were sure he was asleep. They said yes, but I still have some guilt issues and little part of me thinks he might have felt it. I don’t know if I’ll forget that sound. And I lost it, just wailing. I thought my sister would do that, but it was me. I just felt extremely sad, guilty and I was worried that Bootsie would resent me for the decision and a little part of her would hate me forever. I also knew that Mom was upset, because she loved him too, but also because of how bad we hurt and I had wanted to be brave for her, for Tinker, for Bootsie and I failed miserably. The more I thought about it, the worse I was. I was a mess.

And then he was gone. We held him one more time and then the vet wrapped him up with his sock in his blankie, just like a baby and left.

The vet told mom that it took everything he had to get the second needle in because the sack around Tinker's heart was so full of fluid. The vet said one more day would have been excruciatingly painful and, as it was, every breath was like a heart attack, and he did not know how Tinker was still with us or why he had lived so long. But we know. We loved him and, although we didn’t want him suffering, we wanted him with us. He loved us and, although he was hurting, he didn’t want to leave. He has always, always hated to see us sad or hear us crying.

Wednesday was my mom’s birthday, but my first waking thought was “My baby comes home today”, because they were bringing his ashes back. As I went into the bathroom, I caught myself looking for him. And, in the kitchen, I just kind of sat there. I realized I really wanted to hear a meow -- not necessarily Tinker’s -- or the thud of a jump from the counter. It was quiet. Everybody else was asleep, but the quiet was different -- it felt wrong, somehow. Bootsie had to work that day and Mom had to help my grandparents and, for the first time in my entire life, I was completely alone and I didn’t like it. At all. It was only about 20 minutes later, however, that the vet’s wife dropped Tinker’s ashes -- in two pretty boxes -- off and I set them on our table. As I made a cake for my mom, I talked to him as though he were here, just like whenever I cooked before. And, I swear to God, I heard him jump from our table to the counter. It made me both sad and happy.

I know it is a sad topic, but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. And I’ve had spinal surgery, people.

The vet's wife offered us a kitten and I almost accepted. But it's too soon. I need more time. I mean, if a kitten showed up on my doorstep then, yes, I would keep it and love it and maybe name it Stan. Or Chubby. That way, it comes to me (and we all know I am powerless to resist the cute balls of fluffiness that are kittens). I can't go out to find one, though. I'm still a little raw. And to even think about going out and getting one feels ike I'm cheating on my Tinker.

I just miss him, you know? I did some laundry this morning and his litter box used to be in there. The room just wasn’t right. We all went to the grocery store today and, usually, Tinker is sitting on the table waiting for us. He wasn’t there today. He won’t be there ever again.

I miss him a lot.

Currently Reading: The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell

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