Last days of Evil
Our cat Evil (a.k.a. "Evil Ralph", "That Cat", or "Chat") has been with me for the past ten years. He arrived at my doorstep one day in California with Ralphie, peering around the corner like her evil twin (thus the name) as she did his bidding and came to the door begging for food. Despite his name, though, he's actually a very affectionate and sociable cat, whose evil side only manifests itself through loud, persistent meowing in the middle of the night.
A little over a year ago, we came home to find that one of his teeth had fallen out. We took him to the vet, who found an infection and a benign tumor in the upper part of his mouth, which had pushed the tooth out. He prescribed antibiotics for the infection, but told us that there was nothing to do about the tumor; in was inoperable because of the location, and would either stay the same size or grow slowly over time.
Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago it became obvious that it had grown, when Evil's eyes started watering and he ate less and less each day. We went back to the vet, who confirmed that it was now blocking off part of his nasal passages and causing him too much pain to eat. There were only two options: put him to sleep, or try a regimen of wet food and analgesic injections. The latter would probably give him a week or so without much pain, but only for a short time. It was a tough choice, but since Evil was still being affectionate and sociable for much of the time, we decided to try the injections.
He started eating more almost immediately, and even managed to gain back a little of the considerable weight he had lost. He seemed less uncomfortable at first, but still has occasional moments when he jumps and bats at his face with his paws. At this point, it looks likely that this will be the last week, since we don't want him to suffer unnecessarily.
It's funny: over the years, I can honestly say that Evil and I have had a love-hate relationship, antagonizing each other and making up again in turns. But despite the occasional frustration, he's been with me longer than most of the people I know, through upheavals, life changes, and intercontinental moves. I don't know if any of this is what he expected when he showed up at my door a decade ago, but I'm glad we've had a few extra days to say a proper goodbye.
A little over a year ago, we came home to find that one of his teeth had fallen out. We took him to the vet, who found an infection and a benign tumor in the upper part of his mouth, which had pushed the tooth out. He prescribed antibiotics for the infection, but told us that there was nothing to do about the tumor; in was inoperable because of the location, and would either stay the same size or grow slowly over time.
Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago it became obvious that it had grown, when Evil's eyes started watering and he ate less and less each day. We went back to the vet, who confirmed that it was now blocking off part of his nasal passages and causing him too much pain to eat. There were only two options: put him to sleep, or try a regimen of wet food and analgesic injections. The latter would probably give him a week or so without much pain, but only for a short time. It was a tough choice, but since Evil was still being affectionate and sociable for much of the time, we decided to try the injections.
He started eating more almost immediately, and even managed to gain back a little of the considerable weight he had lost. He seemed less uncomfortable at first, but still has occasional moments when he jumps and bats at his face with his paws. At this point, it looks likely that this will be the last week, since we don't want him to suffer unnecessarily.
It's funny: over the years, I can honestly say that Evil and I have had a love-hate relationship, antagonizing each other and making up again in turns. But despite the occasional frustration, he's been with me longer than most of the people I know, through upheavals, life changes, and intercontinental moves. I don't know if any of this is what he expected when he showed up at my door a decade ago, but I'm glad we've had a few extra days to say a proper goodbye.
posted by greg at 2:56 PM
2 Comments:
Greg, I am so sorry to hear about your loss. Many years ago, while doing laundry in the basement of my building with one of two cats (an enormous fan of watching the machines rock back and forth, my cat jetted off to the sound of crying. Behind an old wooden door clamped shut with a metal bolt was a cat, desperate to get out. After unsuccessfully looking for help, I finally took my shoulder and rammed against the door at full force, revealing a medium sized tabby with enough singing power serenade the entire city. Hence, his name maestro.
This cat was amazing, sweet and loving. And unlike my other two cats, he would sit on my chest every night with his nose under my chin snoring. I absolutely loved him with my entire being.
But a year later, after jumping out of a second story window twice, a rather impulsive move that proved disastrous, he damaged his internal organs so badly that his blood began to coagulate. Over 24 hours, he lost all sense of reality, balance and hunger. And to put him down was one of the hardest I've ever done; as much as I know that it was for the best.
Ironically, I only was able to have 365 days with him, dissimilar to my other animals that have spanned over a decade with me, but there was something about him I connected with more profoundly than even most humans.
Greg, I'm so sorry. Such a heartbreaking thing to go through, and it seems like there's been entirely too much of it lately.
You're such good pet-parents, trying for the extra time. If you want to talk, let me know. It's the least I can do, after the comfort your words gave me after Sugar's death.
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