A Far Better Resting Place
I brought my cat Miu to the vet to be euthanized today.
We've had cats die on us before. My familiar, Jet, died two years ago from old age complications at home. Our little silver Persian Sterling died from old age at home, too. Smokey-Oh-Ki was our enormous Maine Coon/silver tabby mix. He was an indoor/outdoor cat, and was struck by a car during one of his jaunts about eight years ago. Puddins, our purebred Maine Coon, died from old age when we first moved out to the East End about twelve years ago.
So why am I so broken up about Miu's passing? I've never felt this terrible about a pet's passing because I've never been the one to pass judgment on another life before. His vet told me that he had pneumonia and his heart was arrhythmic and he had extreme hypothermia due to his organs inexplicably shutting down. I couldn't bear to see him in pain, so I asked his vet if there was any hope. There was not. I made the decision to put Miu to sleep, and that decision tasted like shit in my mouth. What right do I have to pass judgment on any living creature, whether that creature was suffering or not? I know in my head that the decision was a sound one, and that Miu isn't in any more pain, but it still hurts like fire in my heart.
My black/white Harlequin Saashi is curled into a ball next to the simple, sturdy cardboard coffin that the vet had so graciously given us to bury Miu in. I can't bear to look at Saashi right now. She's proof positive that animals mourn, and anyone who says otherwise need only look at Saashi bump her little head against that simple cardboard coffin and curl so protectively next to it. I'm glad she isn't a very vocal cat. If she gave voice to her grief my heart would probably shatter into a million pieces.
--
Miu was not an old cat - he was seven or eight years old, max. We're unsure, because when Andy found him he was stunted and kitten-like and looked much younger than he really was. I say 'when Andy found him', but 'when Andy nearly ran him over with the car' is a lot closer to the truth. He hadn't changed at all since we found him, except for his size. He became a gigantic version of his kitten self as he grew up, right down to the tufts of hair on the tips of his ears and his white toes.
I remember when we first brought him home. He was a feral little monster. No one could approach him except for our other cats. He would sit under our china cabinet and hiss at whatever pair of legs was passing him. My office door was right next to that old china cabinet, and the door was always open. I had stopped trying to befriend Miu at that point, as he was hostile for almost an entire month and we were unable to domesticate him. Andy had already tried his best. He had even given him his moniker - so named because he never lost that kitten squeak.
So it was a bit of a surprise when I heard that telltale squeak at my feet one sunny afternoon, while I was writing at my aforementioned dinosaur of a computer. I looked down at Miu. "What's up, Buddy?" I said to him.
"Miu!" he said, and jumped in my lap; again, a bit of a shock. He looked up at me - sort of gauging the weather, so to speak - and flopped on his belly in my lap. I sat there in silence for a full minute, looking down at the little tyrant in my lap, before I tentatively reached down and stroked his mackerel stripes. He started purring like mad. He looked up at me again, and trilled to me, and that...I guess that's when he really became my friend. It was on his terms, and when I let him make the first move, he gained enough trust in me.
And he never stopped hanging out with me at my desk, either, right up to the very end. He was a pretty massive cat, so the sight of him draped across my lap with his legs hanging to either side and almost brushing the floor made almost everyone laugh. When he was in a particularly squishy mood, he'd jump on my desk between me and my keyboard, as if to say "Okay, Ma. Time for affection. Write later," and he would hook his chin over my shoulder and purr. When he did that, all was right in the world...at least for Miu. I'd usually end up with a mouthful of his fur. But still, when Miu hung out with me at my desk, life really was good. The simplicity of a nuzzle and a kitty-kiss during the wee hours of the morning taught me that.
--
It's a nice day today, sort of like the day Miu first decided to be my friend. The sky is a bright, cheery blue; the weather is mild; the sun is gonna set tonight like it always does, and it'll rise again in the morning. Life is gonna march on. I think we're given the opportunity to befriend creatures like my Miu to give us a better perspective on life and its meaning. Love is forever, and love keeps memories alive forever. Our memories make our existence sweeter, richer - and maybe the memories of those that have passed make us gather those left behind a little closer.
Still.
I couldn't take Miu's pain away without resorting to taking his life, and that knowledge hurts. He'll never keep me company in my office ever again, and that realization hurts. I have to be strong for Andy, who is inconsolable right now. I have to come to terms with it, because dead is dead, but the great whistling hole in my life where Miu once was still hurts.
It'll all make sense one day, but for now...God, it hurts.
We've had cats die on us before. My familiar, Jet, died two years ago from old age complications at home. Our little silver Persian Sterling died from old age at home, too. Smokey-Oh-Ki was our enormous Maine Coon/silver tabby mix. He was an indoor/outdoor cat, and was struck by a car during one of his jaunts about eight years ago. Puddins, our purebred Maine Coon, died from old age when we first moved out to the East End about twelve years ago.
So why am I so broken up about Miu's passing? I've never felt this terrible about a pet's passing because I've never been the one to pass judgment on another life before. His vet told me that he had pneumonia and his heart was arrhythmic and he had extreme hypothermia due to his organs inexplicably shutting down. I couldn't bear to see him in pain, so I asked his vet if there was any hope. There was not. I made the decision to put Miu to sleep, and that decision tasted like shit in my mouth. What right do I have to pass judgment on any living creature, whether that creature was suffering or not? I know in my head that the decision was a sound one, and that Miu isn't in any more pain, but it still hurts like fire in my heart.
My black/white Harlequin Saashi is curled into a ball next to the simple, sturdy cardboard coffin that the vet had so graciously given us to bury Miu in. I can't bear to look at Saashi right now. She's proof positive that animals mourn, and anyone who says otherwise need only look at Saashi bump her little head against that simple cardboard coffin and curl so protectively next to it. I'm glad she isn't a very vocal cat. If she gave voice to her grief my heart would probably shatter into a million pieces.
--
Miu was not an old cat - he was seven or eight years old, max. We're unsure, because when Andy found him he was stunted and kitten-like and looked much younger than he really was. I say 'when Andy found him', but 'when Andy nearly ran him over with the car' is a lot closer to the truth. He hadn't changed at all since we found him, except for his size. He became a gigantic version of his kitten self as he grew up, right down to the tufts of hair on the tips of his ears and his white toes.
I remember when we first brought him home. He was a feral little monster. No one could approach him except for our other cats. He would sit under our china cabinet and hiss at whatever pair of legs was passing him. My office door was right next to that old china cabinet, and the door was always open. I had stopped trying to befriend Miu at that point, as he was hostile for almost an entire month and we were unable to domesticate him. Andy had already tried his best. He had even given him his moniker - so named because he never lost that kitten squeak.
So it was a bit of a surprise when I heard that telltale squeak at my feet one sunny afternoon, while I was writing at my aforementioned dinosaur of a computer. I looked down at Miu. "What's up, Buddy?" I said to him.
"Miu!" he said, and jumped in my lap; again, a bit of a shock. He looked up at me - sort of gauging the weather, so to speak - and flopped on his belly in my lap. I sat there in silence for a full minute, looking down at the little tyrant in my lap, before I tentatively reached down and stroked his mackerel stripes. He started purring like mad. He looked up at me again, and trilled to me, and that...I guess that's when he really became my friend. It was on his terms, and when I let him make the first move, he gained enough trust in me.
And he never stopped hanging out with me at my desk, either, right up to the very end. He was a pretty massive cat, so the sight of him draped across my lap with his legs hanging to either side and almost brushing the floor made almost everyone laugh. When he was in a particularly squishy mood, he'd jump on my desk between me and my keyboard, as if to say "Okay, Ma. Time for affection. Write later," and he would hook his chin over my shoulder and purr. When he did that, all was right in the world...at least for Miu. I'd usually end up with a mouthful of his fur. But still, when Miu hung out with me at my desk, life really was good. The simplicity of a nuzzle and a kitty-kiss during the wee hours of the morning taught me that.
--
It's a nice day today, sort of like the day Miu first decided to be my friend. The sky is a bright, cheery blue; the weather is mild; the sun is gonna set tonight like it always does, and it'll rise again in the morning. Life is gonna march on. I think we're given the opportunity to befriend creatures like my Miu to give us a better perspective on life and its meaning. Love is forever, and love keeps memories alive forever. Our memories make our existence sweeter, richer - and maybe the memories of those that have passed make us gather those left behind a little closer.
Still.
I couldn't take Miu's pain away without resorting to taking his life, and that knowledge hurts. He'll never keep me company in my office ever again, and that realization hurts. I have to be strong for Andy, who is inconsolable right now. I have to come to terms with it, because dead is dead, but the great whistling hole in my life where Miu once was still hurts.
It'll all make sense one day, but for now...God, it hurts.