Yesterday, I lost my first cat since 2007. He was 17 years old, and seemingly fine, his usual loving, playful, food-and-treat-loving self, and on Tuesday night, in a second he changed. It was like he wasn't "there" any more. I thought he had a stroke. Then he seemed to come back a little. That was at night, so the next morning I took him to the vet because he seemed off again and wouldn't even eat treats, his favorite thing in the world. The vet diagnosed him with congestive heart failure. I was in such shock I couldn't bear to put him down then and there, so the vet told me to take him home and have some quality time with him and let me know when we were ready. He remained in his "off state." He hated me giving him meds (he was always so easy to medicate; this cat was an angel, I think.)He was hiding under the bed, so that night I slept on the floor holding his paw. On Thursday morning, when he wouldn't eat food or treats or drink water, I called the vet and she came a few hours later and euthanized him.
So now the awful Monday morning quarterbacking: Was I terribly selfish to bring him home for one more day? I don't think it mattered to him at that point where he was as long as he could hide. I've had other cats who seemed emotionally connected till the last moment, but he was gone. And then, stupidly,I feel guilty the other way - like should I have given him another day to be home where he could listen to the birds outside?
I forgot how hard it is.
So now the awful Monday morning quarterbacking: Was I terribly selfish to bring him home for one more day? I don't think it mattered to him at that point where he was as long as he could hide. I've had other cats who seemed emotionally connected till the last moment, but he was gone. And then, stupidly,I feel guilty the other way - like should I have given him another day to be home where he could listen to the birds outside?
I forgot how hard it is.
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