Thursday, July 10, 2003 She’s gone. Lucky’s gone. She’s in heaven right now, with Pepper and Lola and Boney and Rusty and Maggie and all of the other guys we’ve lost. I’m sad.
Yesterday, I force fed her A/D. I gave her fluids. I put ointment in her ears. I brushed her. I loved her. I tried to get her to eat pieces of filet mignon last night. I knew, though. I knew. I knew she was tired of fighting. I knew she was ready to die. Barring a miracle, I knew I’d be taking her in this morning. Last night, she cuddled with me for a little bit on the sofa, but she got up and made her way back to the hallway litterbox, then she was back in the catcam chair, where I found her sleeping this morning. I gave her a little turkey Fancy Feast on a plate, which she ate, but she didn’t eat much. It was obvious there had been no miracle during the night. I called the vet’s office at 8:05 and spoke with Charlene (I can’t hardly call it speaking, I was crying heavily) and she said to come in at 9:00 because that’s when the vet is supposed to be there. Brian didn’t go because he had a meeting at nine and I wanted to get Lucky in as early as I could, to help her feel better one way or the other. I just couldn’t stand seeing her so uncomfortable yesterday. When he grabbed his keys, I told him to say goodbye to her. He came back to the office to get his paperwork and didn’t want to bother her because she was sleeping. He leaned over the blanket around the camera chair and whispered “goodbye, Lucky”. When he looked away, he was crying. We both were.
I let her stay in the chair until it was time to go to the vet’s office. Her last picture is on the webcam page, below Pepper’s last picture. She cried a little in the carrier, but she wasn’t upset. I think she knew. In a teary voice, I let her know that she was going to be okay. That she would feel better, soon. I’d cut a stalk of catnip for Choo, the vet’s office cat and I gave it to him when I got there. It made me smile to see him eating it. Lucky cried for me when I sat her carrier down on the bench and I sat next to it, putting it on my lap. She just looked at me. Charlene put us in an office and I opened the carrier door. The vet wasn’t in yet, so we had to wait, but it wasn’t long. While we were waiting, I got down on the floor and put my head in the carrier. I left Lucky in there because that’s where she was most comfortable. I told her that one day, we’d meet again and we would all be one big happy and healthy family. And with any luck, we’d have a much bigger family than we do now. I scratched behind her ears, which she really seemed to like. But she didn’t purr. Sometime within the past few days, she had lost her purr. Like Lola, she was ready to go. She’d said her goodbyes and was just waiting now.
We weighed her and she’d lost two pounds since April, a really bad sign. The vet felt that her kidneys had shut down. He told me sixteen was a good age for a cat, a long age. He looked her over and there was no discussion about any kind of treatment for her. He knew this was the right decision. Charlene had put down a soft towel for Lucky and I set her on it, the vet put the sedation needle in one of her back legs. Lucky was standing at the time and she got really sleepy and I laid her on her side. When she was deeply sedated, the vet found a vein in one of her front legs and administered the euthanasia fluid. She was gone within seconds. I petted her once more and he covered her with the towel. And she was gone.
*sigh*
*tears*
I hate this part of loving. The saying goodbye part. It’s so hard. It hurts so much.
You know, Lucky wasn’t a real affectionate cat. She wasn’t a real social cat. She pretty much kept to herself, for the most part. With the other cats, there are certain situations where I think of them. Lola, when I whistle. Pepper, when I vacuum. Maggie, at night when I get the cats in. Rusty, on my pillow. Bobby, on the sofa. No, Lucky didn’t really have a spot (well, she did like to lay on the stove, I’m sure I’ll miss moving her off of it when I cook). And she rarely came up to sit on a lap to get loved. I don’t know of any “I miss you, Lucky” triggers. All I know is that there is a huge hole in my heart right now. I know she’s not here any longer. Maybe I’ll miss her in the bathroom, looking for food. Maybe I’ll miss hearing her play with the cat track in the middle of the night. I don’t know. I can’t think right now.
I’m aching for her. I’m aching for them all.
I just realized what I’ll miss. I’ll miss her voice. I’ll miss her talking to me. I’ll miss her calling me to the bathroom. I’ll miss her saying “hey” from the stovetop. I’ll miss her welcoming me into a room. I’ll miss her little “row wow?”. I miss her already. I keep hearing her in my head. I miss my little Lucky Boots. I miss her so damned much. I’ll miss her running over the keyboard and locking up the computer. I’ll miss seeing her on one of the pillows by my desk. I don’t want her to be dead. I want her to be alive and healthy. I want her back.
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