We put my cat, Pippin, to sleep today. That’s hard. He’d been my constant buddy for 15 years when I adopted him as a kitten. Strangely I’ve known Pippin longer than I’ve known my wife. It’s very hard to keep in perspective.
We often took Pippin for granted. Domino was the one who would die first: he’s overweight, he relishes eating things that will kill him, and he’s used up at least 7 of his 9 lives. In contrast Pippin was just Pippin. He was relatively skinny, he never had medical issues, he was just the quiet, solid one.
However, his kidneys decided they’d had enough. It snuck up on us because he’s quite stoic. We could tell he was skinnier, but his in-house vet checkup this year showed he’d lost 25% of his bodyweight. She told us that it was likely something shutting down but given Pippin’s fear of vet offices and the implication that whatever it was would be untreatable we decided to just keep him home and enjoy him. He kept losing weight, and wouldn’t eat his regular food anymore so we decided to actually get him tested to see if, by some chance, it was something treatable like diabetes. He’d lost another 2 pounds in one month’s time and they came back with a result of kidney failure. Nothing really to be done, it’s terminal.
It’s been a hard couple of weeks since being back from Disney. It’s never easy to know when to say enough is enough. Is he happy? Is he in pain? Until this week I think we felt like he was obviously not feeling great but still got pleasure from being with us. When we sat down he worked his way over to us and laid on our laps, purring very softly. He didn’t go off to hide, he stayed with us.
One thing you have to understand especially if you’re not a cat person is that Pippin didn’t keep with the common cat lore of being aloof and distant. Pippin needed us, especially me. He craved our attention. When I sat down on the couch, I immediately had Pippin walking up and looking up to see if it was okay for him to jump in my lap. Every time. When it was time for bed, Pippin made his way upstairs and inevitably slept between Cat and I. At Julia’s bed time Pippin wandered between us as we lay on the floor for story time, bumping his head against our legs or hands or noses if offered. As he lay on my chest or lap he’d look at me with half-closed eyes and slowly reach his neck out and rub noses with me (“nose hugs” in our parlance).
So if my kitty still makes his way over to me when I sit down, still can get some comfort from getting contact I didn’t want to put him down. Just the night before last while getting ready for bed we turned around and there was Pippin! He’d somehow struggled up the stairs — he’s painfully skinny and he walks stiffly and slowly, meandering and losing his balance — and was sitting there looking at us. It broke our hearts to think of the effort he put into getting up there to be with us. I put him in bed, wincing at the feel of his backbone sharply defined against my hand where I held him. He slept with us the entire night. The last time he’d do that, actually.
Yesterday he seemed even more diminished and I decided that we’d take him in today. That night I brought him up and put him on the bed, but he got up soon after and wanted to go back to his blanket downstairs. I carried him down and laid him there which is where we found him this morning. He reacted ever so slowly to everything, as if every move hurt. He still purred when I lightly pet him, but I could only tell by feel. He made his way ponderously to the water dish every once in a while but couldn’t find it in him to drink. That’s no way to live.
I can still picture him sleeping in my lap on the car ride the day I got him. I can picture him slowly investigating his new home at my apartment, so small his back didn’t reach the bottom of the fireplace. At lunchtime I’d go visit him so he could sleep on my chest, where he was always the most comfortable. I can still picture my first nose hug, him standing eye to eye with me on my chest, 3 inches away from my face and leaning in and sliding his face along the side of my nose. I can still picture him flying inside from off the patio of my apartment, defying gravity as he ran across the couch back (and, not coincidentally, my chest), a look of manic desperation on his face due to the bee that was still holding onto his nose. I can still see his face in the window, meowing, as I drive home from work while he waits for me at the door. I can still see his searching look as he gazed up at me for the thousandth time, longing to sit on my lap for the thousandth time. That’s what I want to remember.
I’ll miss you, sweet kitty.
(from a happier time)
4 Responses to “Rest in peace, little friend”
I know how hard it is to do this. You have my sincere condolences.
Oh, that’s rough… I’m so sorry.
Really sorry to hear this about Pippin. What a sweet kitty he was.
I’ve done it three times and it tears your heart out every time.
My wife and I have taken to opening a bottle of champagne as soon as we can. It helps change the mood to one more celebratory. They had good lives, and we have many happy memories.
My sincerest condolences.