So yesterday, early morning, I was still up--this past week I've been going to bed at 6 AM, I guess part of me wanting to stay up and keep an eye on Bones. Ended up with a head cold. Anyway, Sherry had been restless all night, frankly--giving me signs that I should take him to be put down. Fernando woke up for work at 5 AM, and a little while later Sherry started meowing and meowing and that's when I finally faced the music.
I had my Big Ugly Crying while Fernando called in sick and got dressed etc. Meanwhile Sherry was laying on the floor in a room where the lights weren't on. Then I saw him get up and head for my bedroom.
Now, I don't know why I think that when a cat is very sick they'll hide out in a dark, solitary spot -- other than because that's what Ernie would do, my first cat.
So when I saw Bones sitting in the dark room, and then get up and go to my room, I knew he would be heading for under-the-bed. I grabbed him just in time.
Me - I get the hint already! We'll call the cab!
Sherry - Hurry up! I'm in pain motherf***er!
I had already decided that the best way to put him down would be to leave him in his cage, and just take the lid off, and give him the injections like that. So we tucked him into the cage, and off we went in the pouring rain. (Pathetic fallacy!)
Weirdly, the cabbie remembered Fernando from 12 years ago when he sometimes picked him up at mine & Delyriam's old place, to take him to work.
We didn't have to wait too long at the emergency clinic, but then I had my first experience ever of my Mother Bear side. I don't have kids, so I've never seen the Mother Bear in my own character. I've seen it in friends and relatives with kids (especially my Aunt Sandy, who is the patron goddess of Mother Bears). Apparently if you try to thwart my Carefully Thought Out Death Plans for my cat, to bring this out in me.
Apparently when you order a Regular Assisted Euthanasia it goes down like this:
- client signs forms
- client pays money
- cat taken away to be prepped, without owners there
--> which I gather means, cat gets arm shaved and needle put in arm without owners there
- owners brought in and left alone to say goodbye
- vet comes in and injects the Death Juice
- left alone with body
- end of story.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Like I'm going to leave my cat alone for the MOST traumatizing part, the injection of the needle????????? What the hell am I assisting if I'm not assisting him in distress!!!!!
It was bad enough when I had to leave Sherry there for tests last week. At my local vet, they always do whatever tests right away, so I was always present for them. When Nombly had a bit of his chest shaved for his heart ultrasound, I was there. When they had to stick a needle in his bladder to get a pee sample, I was there. But when Sherry had his whole belly shaved (and he HATES being touched on his belly), and had x-rays, I couldn't be there.
And now they were going to take him away again?
Fuck that.
Fernando handed over the cage to the technician, just as I was realizing what was happening. My credit card was still being processed, while she was walking off with Bones. I immediately put up a stink. Where are you taking him? I don't want anything done without me!
The receptionist tried to deny me, but I insisted--urgently, cause Sherry had already disappeared--and she finally scurried off. She came back and said they wouldn't start without me. Then I told her I wanted Sherry to be left in his cage for the procedure. Once again she was all "I don't think..." GO TELL THEM!!! She scurried off.
Fernando kept trying to calm me down, tell me how night staff are always overworked and less experienced, etc. But I tell you, you can't work in retail for 15 years without picking up a few tips from Pissy Customers. I wasn't rude, but I was determined to get my way.
I was soooooooooooooo pissed.
The receptionist came back, said it was fine, and we were led to one of the examining rooms. They eventually brought in Bones' cage. We took the top off, and then the two techies worked on him. As soon as the razor turned on he started fighting--of course he knew the sound, because of last week. Poor guy.
And then the needle in his tiny little pink arm. Ouch.
He put up a decent fight. I told him I was proud of him for fighting until the last. I couldn't believe he still had that much spunk in him. It also confirmed why I'd wanted to put him down the way we did Ernie--with a sleepy drug administered at home. The vet (last week) had told me: Usually when the animal is brought in, they're so sick, they don't notice anything -- and I'd told her she was wrong, because Nombly was very upset when we took him in. And sure enough, she was wrong wrong wrong!
Cause there was Bones, heeding the advice of Dylan Thomas.*
Once that was done we settled him back onto his blanky. I told the techs we'd only need 2 minutes. I'd done my big goodbye at home, and I didn't want him to be in pain much longer. We petted and cooed and scratched him until the vet arrived. I held Bones' head in my hand, until it grew heavier, and I gently laid it down in the cage bottom. He looked like he was asleep.
We spent a few more minutes with him, and cried a bit, until he started to turn cool. And then we left.
I remember when Nombly was put down--I have a new word for the moment of injection: Grelief. Because you feel relief that the cat is no longer suffering, but then you realize you're going to go home without him, he won't be there, you won't ever ever cuddle him again, ever play with him, ever get mad at him, ever plant unwanted kisses on his little face. It's over. As Gilby would say: He's out! Out forever!
Each experience is a little different, though. In Nombly's case, he had so many health problems that we'd expected him to die anytime the last two years. So even though the crisis came on very suddenly (embolism in the lungs), I was somewhat emotionally prepared. Whereas a month ago Bones seemed fine. Eating tons of food, and running around. I didn't expect him to go this year. But I did have about a week of crying, so that helped me hold it together at the actual moment of putting him down.
I'm glad I have a couple days off work, though. All day yesterday Fernando and I felt bleak. We just slept and watched Burn Notice and felt depressed. I don't like to be Ms Poopy-pants when I'm at work, so I tend to compartmentalize--I stuff my fear or grief into a little box, and Act Normal. I wouldn't have wanted to do that. It feels disrespectful to the cat.
I'm still a bit pissed over the super-bureaucraticness of the emergency place, though. Something else to factor in when Haley gets sick one day--try to bring her in during hours when the regular vet is open. In honour of Sherriana Bones' last fight, here is Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night":
*
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
