Learning the value of letting go.
Anyone who says a beloved family pet isn’t like a child has never had either. There is no way to underestimate the emotional pull of these animals or the strangely, shockingly profuse pain you’ll feel when you have to purposefully end their life to preserve the quality of that life. But having just done all that, while agonizing over the decision and questioning it endlessly, I am now truly a teacher in the school of thought that sees euthanasia as a gift. One I wish we’d extend more readily to humans.
Though pets can’t tell you directly, somehow you just know when something isn’t right. And we’d started to see signs of inevitable and indisputable decline in Desi. He was 17 years old after all. As we liked to say, “he had 90 lives, not nine.” This badass beast had experienced a lot, even in his comfortable domesticated existence. But he was diabetic now, and as a result had to be subjected to two insulin shots a day. He was losing weight, not eating like he used to. His meaty paws and fluffy belly were now somehow a little ragged and withdrawn, his body somehow bony, his prowling gait more labored, his gaze more fuzzy than fierce. He was still there, still himself, but for how long?
He was and will always be a magnetic, multi-colored example of the breed with incredibly symmetrical markings and a big bushy tail that was his true signature. Rarely was there a time we took him to the vet when a staffer didn’t say, “wow, he’s a gorgeous cat.” We inherited him as a named kitten from my sister-in-law, a rescue she couldn’t keep after learning the hard way my nephew was allergic. We’d just moved to Kansas City from Los Angeles with our one-year-old and while I’d never owned a cat (nor honestly wanted one), it just felt right to take him in — for our son Eamonn as well as us.
Little did I realize how instantly we would appreciate and acclimate to each other. Desi instantly became part of the daily household routine, claiming his own spaces, creating his own habits, even ingratiating himself and accepting lap affection (the latter point, we learned later with other cats, is never a given). While autonomous as cats are, he was also social. Not yet being well versed in the feline arts, we also gave in to his instinctual desires and let him become an inside/outside hunter and gatherer.
And man did he hunt. Deposits of decapitated, gutted and otherwise destroyed rabbits, chipmunks and other small woodland creatures would appear regularly on the back patio, heartfelt yet disgusting gifts of which it was most decidedly up to me to dispose. Neighbors remarked how they’d regularly see him cruising our street as his own domain and how magically the number of critters in their backyards had decreased.
Those carnivorous urges led to many a late-night coming and going. And if he was going to be somewhat nocturnal, then I damn well had to be too. Which meant my sleep patterns had to begrudgingly bend to his nightly meowing at the door for entry or exit. To this day, the only times my body allows for an uninterrupted sleep is when I’m away from home.
Yet somehow, I came to embrace those quirks of behavior in the ways only parents can. Maybe it was also a sort of respect. And certainly a love that had deepened over the years. But we all know at some point those years that make up a life’s journey have to end. His time had now come. Thankfully, we caught on early and stifled the selfish urges to deny the reality we were seeing just to somehow keep him around longer.
So we set him free from his pain, gave him lasting peace and said a final goodbye. I struggle ferociously with knowing how any veterinarian can do this with frequency. But she was everything we sorely needed. Calming, professional, direct but reassuring. Kitty snacks were given, comfort provided, my 14yo son Gabriel somehow the rock of the situation. And as Desi lay still while we pet him, the drugs quickly took effect. His pupils dilated, his breathing slowed, his heart stopped and the light of his spirit went out.
As I took it all in and tried to stem the flood of sadness, I could only see him in the best possible place. Stout of mind and body. Lounging in the grass or under a hosta on a hot day as he loved to do. Running after bunnies. All I know for sure is we did the right thing and we’re all far better people for having had him in our lives.
