This week, I’ve made the agonizing decision to put Meatbag, killer and provider of leaves, anchor of open newspapers, and terrorizer of vets, on kitty death row. It pains me, and I have times when I want to change my mind, but I think it’s the right thing.
My parents called last Thursday to tell me that Meatbag was not doing well and that I should come home. To her utter disgust and fury, I took her to the vet, where she was too feeble to actually maim anyone but gave it her all (she’s one of those cats with a big red sticker on her chart that means, danger, homicidal and does not take prisoners). The next day, the vet called and said that Meatbag was in severe chronic kidney failure. I talked to one of the vets at work, who said that her numbers meant that she had less than 5% kidney function left and could be expected to live 4-5 months at most.
Friday evening, I went home and brought the Meatbag out to the country to stay with me and the Silly Cat (who adopted me last fall). This went over like a turd in a punchbowl, to quote a friend. Meatbag HATES cars, almost as much as she HATES going to the vet. Nevertheless, to the country she came, and I have been doing subcutaneous fluids twice a day for almost a week.
The fluids have perked Meatbag up quite a bit, although she is still weaker and creakier than I remember her. She could probably be maintained on fluids for a while. She is enjoying life out in the country being doted on, and Silly Cat and Meatbag quickly came to a mutual agreement to avoid and ignore each other as much as possible.
However, I will be moving back to my parents’ to go back to school in a month. If I were to bring the Meatbag back with me, it would mean another hour-long car ride, plus repeated trips in the car (eek) to the vet (double uck) for rechecking bloodwork, check-ups, and the final, miserable trip to send her to the Litter Box in the Sky.
I have decided (more or less) to send her up to be with Og in a few weeks while we are still living in the country. One of the vets from the practice where I work and a friend who is a small animal tech can come to the house here and euthanize her at home in a familiar environment, instead of making her last half hour filled with dread and terror. I am pampering her as much as possible to make her last weeks happy, and I will bury her on a dear friend’s farm up here where I can come “visit”.
It pains me so much to lose her, the cat that I have had since I was a young girl, especially when in theory she might survive as long as until the new year, but I know that she does not know she is on death row and does not know the life she will be missing. Intellectually, I know it isn’t fair to make her soldier on and deprive her of the opportunity for a peaceful death, but the emotional little girl in me wants to hold on to her for every last possible minute.
I have to say I don’t understand those who want to play God. I am given the choice, nay, the responsibility, to play God with the animals I am responsible for, and nothing weighs more on my conscience this month.
Go hug your kitties extra tightly for me; I will be here doing the same.
Yes, I know the rule about cat threads, but I don’t have a picture of Meatbag online at the moment.
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