The hardest thing I will ever write about is losing a pet. Nothing in the world makes losing a pet easier. Knowing their days are limited, old age taking its toll, medical issues, medical mysteries—it never gets easier. In fact, it seems to get harder. At least for me, it seems to get harder.
We were recently in the tough position of making decisions with limited available information and no input from the life that it was affecting. Before I get into what happened, I'm going to give a little bit of Vera's background.
Vera - the cat that never should have been. Gene went on vacation, and the day he left, I went to Philly and picked up a cat in need. That's exactly how it went - no conversation, no mention of another cat coming into our home. Every time I talked to him while he was away
- no mention of a new cat. He comes home from vacation while I'm out with friends.
Caught red-handed with a new cat in the bathroom - he's no fool, and I'm not one to just give in. The phone call goes a little like this: G "Whose cat is in the bathroom?" M "What do you mean?" G "The door is closed" (cardinal signal for introducing a new cat to the house) M "That must have been an accident." G "There's a cat in there; it's not ours." M "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm out with the girls." G "We'll talk about this later."
We're still waiting for "Later." Vera came from Philly, where she was the last of her outdoor colony and a half inside, half outside cat. She was getting bullied by the newcomers to her
neck of the woods. I was asked if I could take her in and let her enjoy an outside/inside life since we have some land. Absolutely! Read on below for the many chapters of Vera's start at our house.
First, she (and Gene) decided that she was NOT going outside ever again. She truly had no interest in seeing the vast land she had to explore. Why go out when you get food and water delivered round the clock, temperature control, lots of love, and more? Part of my decision to bring her in was based on the idea that she likes to be out; she wouldn't be inside ALL the time. That backfired on me.
It's well known that cats pick their "person." Nothing humans can do will change who they
pick. Vera chose Gene (a bad choice for her because he was EXTREMELY mad about her being in the house). She followed him everywhere, stayed by his side anywhere he went, guarded his office door, and was the most friendly to him, much to his disgust as he was still trying to get her out of our house.
She started her stay with us with a bang. Finally out of the introduction phase, she took up camp in Gene's office, her primary hangout spot—her second spot was our bedroom. These are the two places where Gene spends all of his time. As a present to Gene for allowing her to stay, she got destructive. She chewed right through his speaker cord for the computer. She got more cords—dust buster cord, fan cords, any thin cord was her go-to for a little munching. She just preferred the higher-priced items to chew cords on. I told her if she didn't stay away from the cords, Gene would make sure her days with us were numbered.
Needless to say, she stayed and cut back on the cord chewing until we got Verizon Fios, when she, along with the kittens, chewed that cord one Sunday afternoon. Gene was not a happy camper to have no internet when we got home on a Sunday.
Vera, or Vera Wang as I would sometimes call her, made a long-lasting impression on us. At any given time, if you looked at her, she had RBF (Resting Bitch Face) and always looked cranky. Push past that just a bit, and there was a loving cat who just wanted pets and to be loved, which she got all the time. Another lovely thing with her: chronic bronchitis. Such fun—every year, maybe twice a year, she would get put on meds for it. One to two weeks at a time. Solitary confinement so she could get all her meds.
We notice Vera doing her usual coughing, heavy breathing, congestion, etc. Off to the vet we go. By this time, she is just now heavy breathing. Full exam - no concerning sounds in her chest/lungs. She actually sounds the best she's ever sounded at the vet's office. But her breathing so hard was concerning - off for x-rays we go. Miraculously, she let them take all the views they needed. We thought maybe fluid in the lungs - easy enough to handle.
We couldn't have been further from the truth. Yes, it was a lung issue, but it was a bigger
issue. She had air around her lungs, a pneumothorax. Say what now? Air around her lungs coming from a collapsed lung, which is usually only seen in trauma, like a fall from really high up (three floors or more), being hit by a car, etc. In this case, that would have been preferable. She fell into the category of spontaneous pneumothorax, meaning an uninjured lung collapse.
Treatment for that—in the high thousands. Treatment involves oxygen therapy, pain medication, air removal, and surgery to reinflate the lung. Due to her chronic bronchitis, she could have scarring on the lung that collapsed, or potentially she had some cancer on that lung. The only way to know—get the CT scan, which again alone is several thousand dollars. Combine her chronic bronchitis, age, potential cancer, if we did all that treatment, there was a high percentage her lung would collapse again. Maybe immediately, maybe the next time she coughed or breathed a little harder. With no voice, just her eyes looking at us, we had to decide what to do.
Knowing she was in pain while we made decisions, figuring out what options we had with our financial abilities, killed me. Nothing about this was easy. No decision was made lightly. Crying and cursing and wishing for things that weren't possible - 72 hours of research, vet appointments, deciding how much we could squeeze from our budget for treatment.
We made the hard decision, with all the facts, to let Vera join her siblings on the other side of the rainbow bridge. I ugly cried, Gene cried, and we're both struggling with this loss. The
hardest decision is letting go when you know you have done all you can but wish you could do more. Even harder - we were at the animal hospital, not our regular vet's office. I didn't trust that we could get her private cremation there and get the right remains, nor did I trust we could leave her there until I could take her to our vet's for the cremation the next day.
I did the only logical thing - once they put her down, I took her home. Which was hard for so many reasons. Taking her home meant finding a place to keep her until my vet's office opened. I made room in our big freezer for her. Bawling while I'm moving food around to fit her in, apologizing to her for this entire situation. I get her situated, close the door, and head to my house-sitting. Come home to find the door didn't fully close - so the freezer ran all night, she was cool, but not frozen. I head to our vet's office with her in the cat-sized body bag, trying to hold it together. I lose it completely as soon as I get to my vet's office doors.
We will never stop missing her, her antics of chewing cords, having RBF all the time, and keeping all the other cats in line if she didn't want them near her. She holds a special place in our hearts and home. Her ashes will be coming home soon to rest with Rollie, Peppermint, Clara, Jasper, and all the others.
If you were blessed to meet her, share your stories and photos with us.
Till our tails cross again,
Mel
