I know that isn’t always the response to having to put an animal down, so let me explain.
We got Puck 14 years ago. My wife (then girlfriend) went into a corner pet store to pick up some supplies. Being passed around the customers was this sweet little black kitten. He seemed boneless at the time, just melted in your arms. A few little mews and purrs later he had won our hearts. We took him home minutes later.
After he settled in to our house, he lived up to his mischievous name. A mouser by trade, vocal by hobby, and destroyer of screen doors, he was a handful. He played solid for the next 10 years. Later, he earned the title of my daughter’s first cat. I had my cat, my wife had hers, but Puck became my daughters.
Puck was one of those head-butting cats. You know the type. They’ll mash their forehead into you for hours at a time, purring and drooling. He’d only stop the head-butting long enough to massage his claws into your leg or arm.
About a year ago, at about 13 and his jet black coat graying around the edges, Puck started to show signs of aging. He dropped some weight and started sleeping a fair amount. He started to get a distant look to his eyes. The vet confirmed our thoughts, his kidneys were failing.
My wife and I are supporters of “Quality of Life”. We could start feeding him pills, taking him to treatments and later inject him with this and that investing thousands of dollars to extend his life a few months or a year… or we could take him home and let him live out his natural life. We could make him as comfortable as possible, spoil him, and let his last days/months/years as happy and natural as we could. At a time when he gets uncomfortable or in pain, then we’ll help him on his way.
We decided to spoil him.
We bought lots of little cans of food and decided to feed him when ever he wanted. After a few weeks he started picking up some weight and started being more active. Last summer we lived on the river and Puck took up a part time job as a river mouser and bird catcher. He wasn’t as speedy as he was in his youth, but he was damn patient. He’d wait for 30 minutes, holding perfectly still, and waiting for just the right time to reach out and nab his prey.
Except for being thin, drinking lots of water and peeing a lot (thankfully not inside) he was mostly back to being his old self. The year went by.
Two days ago, he crashed.
He stopped eating. He was having problems walking. He pretty much wanted to sleep huddled in the corner of our bedroom. We made a vet appointment and the soonest they could get us in was the next day (today).
This morning, it was pretty obvious he was at the end. At the appointment the doctor took a look and confirmed what we thought, good old Puck was at the end of his comfortable life. We could try to extend it, and we might selfishly squeeze a few more months, or we could let him go.
He was always there on my lap when I was sick or not feeling good, and this last month with my car accident injury he was right there by my side head-butting me back to health. I wanted to be next to him as he passed. The doctor took him back and put in an IV catheter. My wife and I waited in “the comfort room” – a room with couches and overstuffed chair designed to be more homey instead of a cold, clinical examination room.
My wife and I sat, silently letting tears roll down our faces, holding hands while we waited for Puck to come in. We were sad, but knew it was the right thing.
The doctor came in with Puck and told us to take our time. I said we didn’t need it. We sat on the floor with Puck and said our goodbyes. I started petting him until he settled down. As he relaxed, he laid his head on my hand. He started to purr. The doctor slowly injected him and I could feel his purr on my hand get weaker, weaker, weaker,…. and then nothing.
Puck was gone.
The doctor sat on the floor with us for a good 10 minutes and we all pet him. She listened to our stories of his mischievous life. Puck being the first of our cats to accept our first dog. How he became our “littlest dog” by insisting to walk to the mailbox with us next to the other dogs. How he’d sit and wait with the dogs for treats.
Back home hours later, the house seems a bit emptier. I’m sure tomorrow when I walk to pick up the mail I’ll think of him fondly.
I’m sad. I miss him. But I’m pleased he went out with a purr.
