Still devastated

I haven't been able to look at my blog since she died. Sometimes I try to peek, but I see her picture and the tears start to flow.

I wanted to write, however, about that day, the day she died. I had gotten up in the morning to go to work, and I offered her a fresh, open can of tuna. She turned her head away. I knew then I had to do something. At the time, I wasn't thinking of euthanasia; I just wanted to get her to a vet and I thought maybe they could put an i.v. in her or something (to hydrate and nourish her).

In the early afternoon at work, I was able to get an appointment for a cat doctor to see her. I went home at 1:00 and I picked her up from where she was sitting (she was still in the same place as when I left her at 8:00 am) and took her upstairs and put her on my lap. I patted her rump, something she always liked, and waited for the appointment. I even fell asleep at one point. Had I known then that that would be the last time I would have her on my lap, I wouldn't have slept! I would have cherished every moment.

When it was time for the appointment I put her in her carrier and told her, "no matter what happens, YOU WILL FEEL BETTER". In the car I told her how much I loved her, how pretty she was, and I sang to her the Bug-Bug song (where I chant Bug-Bug-Bug, Bug-Bug-Bug etc. to the tune of Jingle Bells). I often sang the Bug-Bug song to her (from her name, Ladybug) since the time I got her.

Normally on trips to the vet, she would protest (meow or jiggle the door), but this time she just sat there, her beautiful eyes looking out the windows. I will never forget that.

At the vet, she didn't like when the vet was examining her. She tried to get back in her carrier. When the vet was finished, she gave it to me straight: Ladybug was at death's door and would probably not live another two days. At the moment, she was not in much pain - but she would be soon. She was jaundiced, dehydrated, anemic, and weighed only THREE pounds. When the vet palpated her abdomen, she couldn't even tell the organs apart - the cancer was seemingly growing them together into an indistinguishable mass. I knew this was it.

As soon as we decided that she was to be euthanized, Ladybug laid down on the examining table looking around. She was so calm. I was wondering why she wasn't trying to get back in her carrier. Maybe it was just because the vet was no longer touching her, I don't know. While the vet went to get the paperwork for me to sign, I crouched down and talked to her. I asked my guardian angels to please look after her. I asked Ladybug to please come and visit me. When I was talking to her, she looked straight at me, and then looked above my head and then to her left. I wondered if she could see anything, or was she just looking at the posters on the wall??

The vet injected her in her hind end, and then placed her on a towel and handed her to me. I sat with her until she was asleep. She was in a deep sleep, and the last time I ever saw her was when the vet took her from me and I saw that her eyes were wide open, yet she was asleep. In another room the vet administered the final injection and then came to tell me she was gone. It was probably the most devastating thing I had ever gone through. Not even the deaths of my grandparents or a friend from high school affected me as much. I cried as I have never cried before. When I got home my husband was afraid to leave me (he had an evening meeting to go to) for fear I would do something to myself. He had a friend call me to make sure I was ok.

I am grieving deeply for Ladybug. I miss her so much, that sometimes I don't want to live without her. I know I must. I have people and other animals that need me. But I wish I could just be in spirit too so I could be with her. I cry almost daily. What is also distressing is that I had asked for her to visit me when she was in spirit, but I have not detected anything from her. Not even a dream. My husband said that one night he could feel a cat walking on him (NOT my other cat Cricket - she weighs 15 pounds and he would have known the difference) and the other evening he saw a cat jump on a table out of the corner of his eye, but there was no one there when he looked directly.

If that is her, why is she not appearing to me? I do want to believe that this life is not all there is, but it is so hard to when you don't see/hear/smell/sense any evidence.

On top of all this is the guilt I have for various reasons: 1) I should have tried harder to help her. When she was first losing weight I should have kept questioning what the vets were telling me (her blood tests were always perfect, so they told me it was probably nothing to worry about) and 2) I should have paid more attention to her. When I got the dog, I was so tied up in all his health problems that I virtually ignored her. And 3) I am grieving for a cat, when there are thousands of people dying every day in this stupid war in Iraq, in Darfur, Afghanistan, you name it. Also the hundreds of thousands of people that have no place to live, or live below the poverty line, etc. etc. I could go on and on.

So grieving for a cat may seem silly, but it is my reality and it HURTS.

~ 1994 - October 9, 2007

Rest in peace my baby.

Is the waiting the hardest part?

She is slowly dying. She still wants to eat, but when she tries she loses interest almost immediately. When we cook, she cries for the food, but when we give her some she tries to eat it but can't. She is still drinking, but spends the rest of her days sleeping. I occasionally find poop on the carpet; evidence of painful elimination (thus she avoids the litterbox). She can jump up on some furniture, but not all. And when she jumps down she usually lands on her side and then struggles up.

So I continue to administer prednisone to her; I force-feed pumpkin to her (to help soften her bowels) and have her sit on my lap so I can pat her stomach. She seems to really like that. This is all I can do for her - and wait. Wait for her to let me know it is time (as some people have told me will happen - I doubt that), or wait for the day I wake up and find her gone.

When she is gone, will I still cry every day? Or will a weight be lifted from my shoulders - she will no longer be suffering, and I will no longer have to see her like that. Will I feel guilt and anguish for not figuring out sooner what was wrong with her? or having to euthanize her?

Today my husband asked me how my life will be different without her. I don't care how my life will be; I just care about her life. Will she go to a better place, or is there just nothing? If she does go to a better place, will anyone be there to take care of her?

She's still hanging on...

Every day I wake up and wonder if she is still alive. She is hanging in there. She had been taking two doses of prednisone every day, but I reduced it to only one, because it was making her feel sicker. Now she will actually eat a little bit every day and seem interested in food. And I decided to let her eat whatever she wants. The vet said to feed her a raw canned food diet, but she was turning her nose up at it. It think it's better to eat a little bit of crappy food, than no food at all. After all, we're talking about quality of life. The raw food diet is supposed to slow the growth of the cancer, but if she is not eating it, then what is the point?

Ladybug is now so light, that when I put her on my digital scale, it stays at "0".

BTW, please ignore my ugly mug. I wasn't exactly "made-up" for the camera.