It's tough saying goodbye to a friend with whom you've lived, cuddled, shared tuna sandwiches and homemade cheddar cheese soup, and battled over possession of the softest pillow for 15 years.
No, I'm not talking about my husband.
Our oldest cat, the diabetic to whom we've been giving twice a day insulin injections for over 4 years, has been battling cancer for the last few months. How long she's actually had it, we're not sure; we only found out about it in late August, when she had to have some dental work done and our vet sent a sample of suspicious-looking tissue from her upper jaw to the lab. We've tried to keep her as happy and pain-free as we can, but now the tumor is interfering with her ability to breathe, eat and drink, and our vet agrees that it's almost time to let her rest. With the help of some heavy-duty pain medication, we're hoping to get her through the weekend as comfortably as we can.
She frequently used to sleep on my pillow, wrapped around my head and using me as her pillow, her purr lulling me to sleep as she contentedly drooled into my hair. Over a month ago, she stopped doing that and won't stay on the pillow if I place her there. Now she either sleeps near my feet, or somewhere off the bed entirely. I miss having her close while I drift off; even the raspy snore she'd developed was comforting (if not exactly sleep-inducing), in that I knew she was still alive and breathing.
We've all been watching her closely for the last few weeks as the tumor has continued to expand in both her nasal passages and her mouth. Her breathing's become quieter as she's shifted from breathing through her nose to her mouth, and when she's sound asleep, she doesn't rouse as easily as she once did, so we find ourselves checking to make sure she's still with us.
I do find myself half hoping that maybe she'll just peacefully drift off to sleep and . . . away, so that I don't have to make the decision again. I've had to make it too many times over the years, for too many pets. I hate having to say yes, it's time to put my little friend to sleep, I die inside a little myself every time I have to say the words, but I know it's the last act of kindness I can do for them, when there are no other options left, no other way to ease their pain or prevent them from suffering.
It's hard, saying final goodbyes and holding them as they cease to breathe, as their hearts slow and stop. But harder still is finding them when they're cold and lifeless, knowing that I wasn't there with them in their final moments.
The time is coming soon to part ways until we rejoin at the
Rainbow Bridge. But not today. Not today....