Goodbye Big Kitty

Yesterday I lost my sweet Kitty. It was so unexpected and out of the blue.

My heart feels so conflicted. Part me is like “it’s just a cat” the other part feels like I lost a family member. The hurt is real. The pain intense. It comes in waves. I am trying to embrace it, to understand it, to appreciate the grief.

He was a healthy cat for the most part. He only had one issue and that was a Urinary blockage. Three months ago he was meowing in pain so I took him to the Vet. His bladder was huge and he hadn’t peed in three days. They immediately put him and under and drained his bladder. We had to transport him to the ER to have the blockage removed. I dropped him off around 530pm and went home. It was weird not having him there. No treats before bed or late night toy tossing. I knew it was temporary. I would see him the morning.

The next day I picked him at 7am from the ER and dropped him off at the Vet so he could be monitored for the day. That was a long day without my buddy.

I picked him up around 5pm. He was in a cage with a cone around his neck. He also had a catheter that was tied to his tale to keep from falling out. I had strict instructions to keep the cone on and keep him in his cage.

I brought him home and as soon as we enter the house he started to panic. He tried ripping his cone off. He was scared. I could see it in his eyes. So I took him out to my office. He had never been out there, so my hope was that he would calm down in a strange place. As I left him in the cage in the shed, he left out a small defeated meow. I looked back at him. He looked so defeated and exhausted. His shoulders hung low. I don’t know how cats can communicate with their eyes but his told me volumes. With out words I knew he didn’t want to be alone. He needed me. The big tough demeanor was gone and he was just a scared little kitten.

I decided to spend the night in the office with him. I had to hand feed him food and console him. He ate little and continued the let out a little defeated meow.

Can you let me out? Please. Each meow pleading to be free. I could tell he just wanted to crawl into his bed at the foot of my sons bed and sleep. But I couldn’t.

The only thing that seemed to help was putting my hand inside the cage where he could rub his face against it. He purred and rubbed his whole body against my hand. I feel asleep that way with his continued meows begging me for freedom. Please.

The next morning I woke up to big Kitty staring at me with shame in his eyes. I looked at and realized he had pooped his caged. He looked so ashamed. I told it was ok and cleaned him up.

I dropped him off at the vet that morning to have his catheter removed and would pick him up later that afternoon.

For the next week I had to give him his pain meds and antibiotics. He would fight me but never run away. I know they tasted awful.

But we got through it! And our bond was never closer. He trusted me. I would wake up in the night with him cuddled on my feet. Or I would look at my office window to see him in the window of the back porch looking at me. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning and his favorite toys would be in pile on the floor next to my side of the bed. It was his way of saying thank you.

That was the only issue we ever had. He was a good kitty. Well behaved and low maintenance.

The night before he died I was cleaning up the back yard from a guys night of cigars and bourbon. I would walk out side grab some glasses and bring them in. He would be sitting on the couch look at me, waiting for something. Each time I came in I would give him a little pet and say “Hey Big Kitty, you a good boy?” Or “ What do you need, Big Kitty?”

Around 11:30 I finally cleaned up and sat on the couch. Our nightly routine consisted me petting him and asking how he was doing. He rarely purred or stayed long. It usually was more of check in than anything. But not tonight. He purred loudly. And would shoulder check me. That was his way of rubbing up against me. We did that for about 15 minutes. That was about 13 minutes longer than normal. I told him good night and gave him one last pet and told him he was a good boy.

You never know when the last pet will be.

4:44 am – Jamie comes running into the room. I hear Big Kitty meowing in fear and pain. I rush towards the sound. He is in the boys closet on his side foaming at the mouth.

I grab the cat carrier from the garage and gently place him in. I grab my wallet and keys and hop in the car, placing him in the passenger seat. I begin driving as fast I can toward the ER.

He meows the whole way. The 15 minute drive seems like an hour. I tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay.

I have a weird feeling that it’s not going to be okay.

I burst in to the ER and explain what’s happening. They whisk him away and I fill out the paperwork. I can hear his meows down the hall as I wait.

15 mins pass but it feels like years. They pull me into a side room and begin to ask me about his history. I can still hear his cries coming from the other room. The doctor leaves and says she will be right back.

5 mins pass and a male doctor enters. He says it’s not good. He asks how old Big Kitty is. I say he turned 5 in December. That he is pretty young. Doctor shows me an X-ray of Big Kitty. His lungs are black and covered in cancer. He can’t breath. I ask what my options are. There is only one.

To say goodbye.

I tell the doctor not to prolong it but I want to see him and say goodbye. The doctor says ok and he is going to prep him and come get me in 2 mins.

The door shuts. I lose it. I cry hard. I can still hear Big Kitty meowing in the next room. I call Jamie and try to explain but I can barely speak. I hang up and the doctor comes back in and says it’s time. It’s not going to be pretty, he says, Big Kitty is struggling to breathe.

I walk down the hallway. It feels like slow motion. Every step echos. Every one of my heart beats is like the ticking of a clock. I notice the nurses are in tears and as I try to make eye contact they look away.

They take me to Big Kitty. He is behind some plexiglass in a box designed to provide him oxygen. He try’s to stand up but falls down. Panic in his eyes. They plead for me to help him. I can’t. There is nothing I can do. He try’s to stand up again and falls. He is lungs are suffocating him. I put my hand on the glass and I tell him through my tears that I’m sorry and that love him. That he was a Good Boy. My heart bursts.

I nod to the doctor and say please make it quick and I leave the room.

The drive home was quicker than I wanted. So many questions going through my head. I’m not mad or angry, just sad. I just miss him.

I open the door to the house. Jamie and the boys are on the couch. Paxtons asks how Big Kitty is doing. I tell him he didn’t make it and we collapse into a sobbing puddle on the floor.

I sometimes think I see him out of the corner of my eyes. Or I think he is about to walk into the room. But his presence is missing. I ask myself if there was something I could have done to prevent his death. Did I see any signs of his declining health?

No. There was nothing I can do or could have done.

I wish I could hold him one more time and tell him he was a good boy.