MNeedham73
04-14-2008, 06:32 PM
Especially when you have to make the decision to end the pet's life.
I came home last night from being out with friends to find my 19 year old cat, Scotch, lethargic and with his stomach bloated. I was able to get him to drink and to eat, but he wouldn't or couldn't use the litter box. I started preparing myself for the possibility that it was his time to go.
I stayed up with him as long as I could until I fell asleep. This morning when I woke up, he was in the same spot he was in when I fell asleep. He was still alive, but hadn't moved at all. He was still getting up to drink, but wouldn't eat, until my mom brought over some canned food. He still wouldn't or couldn't use the litter box. I called in sick to work, something I almost never do, no matter how sick I am.
So, I took him to the vet's office, hoping for the best, but preparing myself for the possibility that I might have to make the decision no pet owner wants to make. If I needed anything else to tell me something was very wrong, it was the trip to the vet. Scotch hated car rides and would cry, scream and carry on the whole trip. This morning - not a sound.
The vet ran blood tests and noted that Scotch's gums were white and his eyes were sunken in, signs of dehydration. She took him in back brought back a huge syringe of blood filled fluid that she had drawn from his abdomen. I'm not sure the capacity of the syringe, but it was probably 6" long and had a diameter of nearly an inch. Vet said she could probably 2-3 more of those out of him. Blood test came back showing cancer. Vet informed me that due to Scotch's age and weakened state, he probably wouldn't survive any kind of treatment.
I made the decision I had to make. I stayed with him until the end, petting his head, telling him that I love him. He looked at me, started purring, and then he was gone.
It feels like I've lost my best friend. Which, in a way, I have. It's hard to believe that until today, Scotch had been part of my life since I was 16 years old. And here I am, a few days short of 35. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have a pet live so long. But, right now, I'm in too much pain to feel lucky.
I came home last night from being out with friends to find my 19 year old cat, Scotch, lethargic and with his stomach bloated. I was able to get him to drink and to eat, but he wouldn't or couldn't use the litter box. I started preparing myself for the possibility that it was his time to go.
I stayed up with him as long as I could until I fell asleep. This morning when I woke up, he was in the same spot he was in when I fell asleep. He was still alive, but hadn't moved at all. He was still getting up to drink, but wouldn't eat, until my mom brought over some canned food. He still wouldn't or couldn't use the litter box. I called in sick to work, something I almost never do, no matter how sick I am.
So, I took him to the vet's office, hoping for the best, but preparing myself for the possibility that I might have to make the decision no pet owner wants to make. If I needed anything else to tell me something was very wrong, it was the trip to the vet. Scotch hated car rides and would cry, scream and carry on the whole trip. This morning - not a sound.
The vet ran blood tests and noted that Scotch's gums were white and his eyes were sunken in, signs of dehydration. She took him in back brought back a huge syringe of blood filled fluid that she had drawn from his abdomen. I'm not sure the capacity of the syringe, but it was probably 6" long and had a diameter of nearly an inch. Vet said she could probably 2-3 more of those out of him. Blood test came back showing cancer. Vet informed me that due to Scotch's age and weakened state, he probably wouldn't survive any kind of treatment.
I made the decision I had to make. I stayed with him until the end, petting his head, telling him that I love him. He looked at me, started purring, and then he was gone.
It feels like I've lost my best friend. Which, in a way, I have. It's hard to believe that until today, Scotch had been part of my life since I was 16 years old. And here I am, a few days short of 35. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have a pet live so long. But, right now, I'm in too much pain to feel lucky.