I didn’t have it in me to post on Monday. We woke up that morning and Watson was almost gone. We called the vet and went that morning to help him pass. It was heart wrenching. Only one of us could go into the vet (thanks, COVID), and Mike immediately told me to go – he was my cat through and through, and I had to be there at the end.
In some ways it was awful. They had gotten his bloodwork back not long before we got there, and his kidneys just weren’t working at all. They had totally failed. As such he wasn’t perfusing properly, and it took an IV and then a butterfly needle into another vein, two shots, and more time than I would have liked. But it was done. And I was a mess.
Mike waited in the car, and he said when I came out it was more than obvious what had just happened – I must not have got all of my eye makeup off the night before – and this poor woman walking into the vet apparently just stopped and clutched the carrier she had her cat in to her chest before she allowed herself to be led into the building.
I hate to do it. But I know now, and I knew then, that it was for the best. He was in so much pain. The only water he was getting was what he would let us rub on his gums. Friday night he stopped eating and drinking, so by the time we got to the vet on Monday he was even more dehydrated than he was.
I’m doing ok. I went to work on Monday night, but took Tuesday off so I could allow myself just to fold in and grieve. I still keep expect to see him snoozing on the couch, or for him to come flying into the room when we turn the bathroom faucet on or put the wet food bowls on the kitchen counter. And that cat conned me into more naps by laying on my chest and purring when I sat down on the couch than I’d care to admit to.
I loved him fiercely.
I’m glad he’s not in pain anymore. No one – animal or human – should have to live like that.
One really sweet thing did happen Sunday night.
We adopted Watson and Newton together; they came from a hoarding situation and came as a package deal, pretty much. They were incredibly close when we brought them home. Watson was a quivering ball of anxiety, and let Newton be his confidence. Once we brought Rosie into the house, I thought their bond had weakened a bit since Newton was all about her.
But I was wrong, and I learned that Sunday night. Sometime in the evening, Newton crawled into the nest of blankets and heating pads that we had made for Watson to be in, and never left until we took Watson to the vet on Monday. We have a number of really sweet pictures of Newton curled around him, Newton laying next to him with his head on his side, etc. It just goes to show that that bond never died. And it brought a lot of comfort to me knowing that he was with Watson. I had been sleeping on the couch since Friday night just to be there in case he needed anything, and I slept a lot easier on Sunday night knowing that Newtie was on watch.
I didn’t realize until after the fact, but since Friday the cats had all been very subdued. With five of them in the house there was always mayhem and running around of some sort going on. But since Friday, everyone was quiet and calm. And since then Mike and I have literally not been left alone. We always have a cat companion near us. That also has been a comfort.
In some ways I wished we could have ended Watson’s pain earlier. But at the same time I’m glad we had the weekend at home. Even though he faded throughout the weekend, we were still able to spend time with him, cuddle him, love him. And to be honest I think it helped the other cats.
I’ve promised Mike that I’ll be careful over the next few weeks. Episodes tend to come on the heels of tragedies, so I have to be vigilant. But I’m doing ok. I’m sad, but I’m bound and determined, after taking Tuesday to grieve and just be, to get back into the swing of things today. It’s ok to be sad. I’d be more worried if I wasn’t, but I can’t let that sadness consume me.
In the meantime, goodbye, sweet one. I hope that there is such a thing as the rainbow bridge and you get to meet all of our cats that came before you. I hope there are lots of bathroom sinks for you to play in, and new friends to make. I hope that some day we can meet again and you can con me into another nap that I don’t want to take. Until then, I’ll keep loving and missing you.