In sunlight and in shadow

Yesterday was Fig's last. His gradual decline of the past week took a turn for the worse by late weekend when he stopped eating altogether - the tastiest handfed treats could no longer tempt him. We forcefed him on Tuesday evening, but it was evident that his kidneys had succumbed to the cancer at last, and he was growing weaker. It seemed a part of him had already left us, as it was difficult for him to interact with us and our touch seemed to bother him. So we let him decide how to spend his last day, and he chose to spend most of it outside on the deck, soaking up the sunshine, watching the birds at the feeder, and sniffing the cool February air in between naps inside.

Fortunately the vet I spoke to last week was able to come out the same evening, so we took our final pictures, said our last goodbyes, and smiled bittersweet smiles as the ever gentlemanly Fig walked stiffly to the door to greet the vet and her assistant as they entered, his tail plume held high one last time. He then returned to his place on the rug near the fireplace and waited. The vet quickly administered the shot and put him in my arms, where he passed away peacefully at 7:20pm on February 10, 2010. His death was totally without fear, struggling, stress, or pain - only gentle compassion to guide him from the sunlight into the shadow.

I was surprised to find a sense of peace when he died, along with the certainty that we had done absolutely the best thing for him. He had 6 months of life, almost all of it quality time with the ability to enjoy his normal activities, beyond the vet's original prognosis. He never had to suffer the trauma of another vet visit and its attendant poking and prodding after September. And honoring the decisions we had discussed and made beforehand regarding letting him go when the quality of his life declined, we did let him go in the gentlest and most dignified way possible. I have never had a pet euthanized at home before, but now I can't imagine doing it any other way, circumstances permitting.

Yes, there is a hole in my heart today, and I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. I sob intermittenly, and I miss the sight of him curled on the cushion by my desk or looking out the patio doors at the birds. But I have loved a magnificent friend, and been loved by him in return, and the pain of my loss, and the grief work ahead of me, seem a worthy price to pay for the gift of that love.

Rest in sweet, sweet peace, my dearest Fig. I will never forget you, or the life lessons you shared with me.

Taking charge

Today I called the vet who does home euthanasia to inquire about how much lead time she needs. Even if it isn't yet time, that day will come when Fig's cancer robs him of his ability to enjoy life, and I don't want him to suffer. When I think about it, though, I wonder if that choice is selfish or loving - if given the choice, would Fig prefer additional days of life, even if he was in pain or felt sick, over being euthanized soon after his quality of life is significantly diminished? That seems like such a philosophical question, beyond the realm of the feline mind. My hunch is that Fig, like other living beings, wants to hang onto his life - it is a biological imperative programmed into us. Yet is that the right thing to do, when euthanasia is an option? When I search my heart honestly, there is no black and white answer, only positions I choose to adopt or reject. It's not easy.

In any event, after making the call, I wept. My heart is breaking at the prospect of losing such a beautiful spirit in my life. My home will seem a little less like one without his furry presence, my mornings a bit emptier without his company in the kitchen as I put on the water for tea and prepare his breakfast. The simple comfort of his soft, sweet fur against my cheek or the joy of looking into his expressive eyes will be gone. What will remain is a wealth of memories, over a decade of them.

I've lived with pets my whole life: dogs, cats, hamsters, mice, birds, goldfish, turtles, snakes, and even a rabbit. While I've had bonds of varying intensity with my animal companions over the years, they have each enriched my life.

Now I find myself facing the possibility of being without animal companionship. Much in my life, my future, is still in the process of unfolding and it may be that I am unable to make a 10 to 15 plus year commitment to another cat. In the past I would have adopted a kitten or cat after some period of time, and fallen in love all over again. Not replacing the original pet, but allowing my need to nurture and bond with an animal to find expression. Right now, that path is not as clear cut.

It is time to begin considering other options, though. Perhaps a shorter lived pet - another adult cat or a rodent, for example. Or perhaps fostering, although giving them up to their permanent homes would be difficult. Tomorrow I am visiting a wildlife rehabilitation center. Maybe I can continue to connect with animals during this life transition as a volunteer who works with them. Lots to think about.

Signs of change

Fig is definitely slowing down. Over the past 10 days he has begun to walk a bit more stiffly, and his appetite has fallen off enough that I pushed up the schedule for his next steroid injection, since that treatment usually stimulates his appetite. Sadly, it has had only a moderate effect this time, and he has only shown real interest in handfed slices of deli ham. He follows me around the house when he is not looking out the patio doors at the birds, and looks imploringly at me with his big, bright eyes as if I must know what he wants. If only I did!

It is probably time to contact the home euthanasia vet to see how much lead time she needs to come out, and to acquaint her with our situation. I find myself loathe to make the call, though, as if by acknowledging that Fig is closer to death than he was a month ago I am hastening the reality, making it more concrete. Ah...the recurrent battle between the rational and emotive minds.

A friend commented that Fig is fortunate to be ignorant of his fate; he is free to live each day without worrying about his death. I have wondered if Fig does have a sense that he is dying, and if he does, what that means to him. Surely he doesn't have a "bucket list" of achievements to be checked off before he dies. Fig is a much more temporal creature - he is focused on whether or not he'll get bonito flakes with his food, if his litter box is cleaned promptly, if there are birds at the feeder, and what might be of interest in the garage. He is more of a "live for today and tomorrow will take care of itself"kind of guy.

Worrying about the future seems to be more of a human preoccupation. Well, if you consider the preparations for winter that squirrels and their kin make, perhaps we can include them. But they are more likely reacting to a genetically programmed reflex to shortening days. And they are taking action, rather than succumbing to anxiety-induced paralysis - a good example for all of us.

There is a balance to be struck between living mindfully in the moment and prudently preparing for the future. A balance that Fig cannot model for me. But he is a cat, after all, and has more important things to think about: "Are you done with your computer yet? I want some more ham - now!"