I ran through a list of cliches with which to introduce this post, and realized all of them would cheapen the story. Even that first sentence alone doesn’t feel like the right fit but I’m leaving it, if only to get to the next part.
Two weeks after I posted about visiting the vet in Germany, with the goal of writing in my normal lighthearted and fairly humorous style to make general information on a mundane experience more interesting,
Toby died.
The post about the vet was published while I was visiting the vet with Toby, multiple times. The original version was scheduled for earlier in the spring, after their checkups, but life got in the way. As it turned out, we would be returning to the vet much earlier than planned, which is why that post was timed the way it was.
This post is me trying to work through my grief. There are also plenty of cat pictures at the end to try to take away some of the (my) sadness. Ultimately I needed to say this all, to talk about what happened in just a little over a month’s time, and though I’m not sure why I feel so strongly about writing it out, I thank you for being a part of this moment with me if you continue on to the end.
When returning home from a vacation in early summer, it was apparent he was suddenly much lighter than before I left. I assumed it had to do with the stress of visitors having just been in the house, then everyone being gone for two weeks, and it was also just starting to get hot. After about a week and a half of tempting him with treats and tuna, I made an appointment with the vet to see what was up.
The vet gave him some metabolism boosting shots and some iron supplements and sent us home with a cat protein shake and some pills. He took to the protein shake right away, but still wasn’t interested in other food. The vet trips turned into an every other day occurrence, with more shots and more tests and more refills on the protein shakes. After each round of shots he perked up for the next day but was sluggish again.
It was hard to tell if the rising heat was really getting to him or not. He seemed to need to lay down a lot more and he would breathe heavier than normal for a few minutes after walking around for a few minutes, but nothing out of the norm for someone or somecat who was hot and tired. Finally a new test was run a week and a half later and it was goodish news – it was just worms and a slight respiratory infection! These are treatable. We went home again with some pills which he refused to take, even when ground up in food, he knew they were there.
This lasted for a week, when it was back to the vet because he clearly wasn’t gaining weight, nor receiving the benefits of the pills. So it was time for a new shot and though this one was painful for poor TobyCat, he seemed to get better almost over night. He got his second shot a few days later, and over the weekend, he was almost playful again, and interested in food. It seemed like he would do anything to avoid the vet again.
The next Tuesday, I came home and his breathing was not right. He was extremely sluggish, not moving very much, definitely not eating. Zach and I had dinner and watched him to see if he would react to cat nap but he just laid quietly and breathed heavily. We made the decision to take him to the emergency vet and hurried over.
We waited about ten minutes or so before we were called back. When the vet saw him she seemed very concerned and said she wanted to do x-rays right away to check for pneumonia. She also said it was very dangerous for a cat in his condition to go through the procedure, but it honestly sounded like overly cautious German. We waited another ten minutes before we were called back again. The x-ray showed his lung capacity had shrunk to about 10% of its normal volume due to a large build-up of fluid. The poor boy was really struggling to breathe and it looked like this was definitely pneumonia. She wanted to do a puncture test to check the fluid, again warning us it could be dangerous. But there was no doubt he needed this test so we went back to the waiting room.
After 15 minutes or so, the vet walked back out, completely avoiding eye contact with us, and passed by. I just, knew.
A short time after this, a new vet came to call us back to another room. When we walked in the door, there was a vet standing by an ultrasound machine and another vet holding Toby on the bed. Before the door had even closed, we heard “I am so sorry, I have very sad news.”
Toby had heart cancer, and it was extremely advanced. The cancer had already infiltrated his heart chambers and the entire organ was being constricted by the enormous tumor. There was no possibility of recovery or a peaceful end. I had to make the decision to have him put to sleep that night, as the vet advised he was in distress even if he wasn’t showing the most outward of signs.
But as I looked at him, with his wide eyes and heaving sides, I knew he was suffering even if he couldn’t tell me. I knew we would have to say goodbye that night so as not to prolong his pain any longer. It would have been selfish to take him home for an undetermined amount of days.
We had some time with him before they came to take him back to put the catheter in his leg. In this time we held him, let him explore the room, gave him all the pets and tempted him with treats. He seemed like normal Toby, focused on the door after he determined there was no other way out. I imagined he was already picturing himself back at home and out of this silly vet’s office. Imagining those scenes I knew he couldn’t be still broke my heart.
When they returned with him with the catheter, the room started to feel far away from me. Everything moved slower, which I appreciated as more time with him. The vet left once more to retrieve the drugs and we pulled him out of his carrier. He was so unhappy with that little tube in his leg and it took us some time to calm him down. He finally laid down and was comforted by me stroking his neck and back and Zach sat in front of him so Toby could see a familiar face.
A few minutes later, the drugs were administered and he gave his last purr.
Since that day, just two weeks ago now, I have gone through the familiar sensations of grief. That being said, this is probably the most intense grief I’ve ever gone through, and I have felt some guilt about that. I struggled with feeling so strongly about an animal, when losing friends and loved ones “should” be much worse. But, Toby has been my loyal and loving friend for 7 years, and we were separated for only one of those years. He had his habits and routines which overtime I had made my routine. He was every much a loved family member and friend to me as I wanted him to be. The morning after, I had to put down one food bowl instead of two, and I felt like laying down on the kitchen floor to cry while Mallie ate her eats. The first night Zach and I had to come home from work after he was gone, we called each other to meet at the bottom of the stairs. We walked into the door together to greet the empty space where he so dutifully always waited for us. It was like losing him all over again.
Each first since then, as life slips back into routine and I no longer reach automatically to pet him in the cat tree by the bedroom or see an empty box he used to sit in, has been like another little stab in the heart. Sometimes the realness of what’s happened seems so bizarre, like it can’t possibly be true. This odd in-between states feeling passes quickly and suddenly so that I’m rocked back into reality without him. I’ve gotten used to seeing shadows around the apartment and knowing he’s no longer hiding in them.
And again, I was worried in the first few days if I was being overly dramatic and emotional, not keeping events in perspective. Who lays in bed for a day crying over a cat? Who writes an entire blog post about it? And you know what, it turns out I do. The idea of Toby being “just a cat” is totally foreign and wrong. He was in my family. If anyone else is googling “should I grieve my cat?” like I did, I hope you found my post and I hope you give yourself permission to feel out the depths of emotions you probably have. Grieve what you want to grieve, how you want to grieve, when life gives you a sad situation.
There’s one more hurdle, and that is collecting his ashes to bring home. Eventually they will return to Virginia where he lived most of his little life, enjoying the outdoors.
I know there will be more moments over the coming year, maybe years, when I will feel a little more sad or blue, and that’s ok. Today I can smile about him and think about him in happier times, and the really tall waves of sadness are gone, replaced by ripples which just break the surface.
Looking through pictures of this post was both happy and exhausting. I ended up picking many more than planned and decided to display them all, because he was too perfect to water down to just a handful of pictures 🙂 I don’t know if there’s truly a process to grief, but writing this down was cathartic for me, since I still get too choked up to really talk about him. I hope, after having shared this, I feel better able to talk about him and keep him present in my life, in happy memories in my heart.
We miss him very much, and MallieCat seems to be looking for him, so I know she misses him too.
2 Responses
My dear Audrey, how very sad for you both. We’re never ready to say goodbye to our pet family members. I loved Toby, even though he would attack my ankles at times! A great chipmunk chaser, I’ve never seen a cat get so much of their body into a chipmunk hole.
I understand the grieving, I think most people with pets grieve them more than human family members. You and Zack will grieve at your own pace, it’s the only thing you can do.
You gave him the greatest gift by being with him at the end. Sending you love and comfort.
Thank you Nancy, that was really sweet of you to write. It’s a comfort knowing others feel and understand.
Thank you also for sharing that memory of him, I had no idea he actually tried to get IN the holes! One thing that Zach and I keep talking about is how much he did love to curl around feet and ankles 🙂