Two days ago we said goodbye to our sixteen year old cat. Her turn for the worse actually began three years ago, when a severe urinary tract infection led to kidney stones. We opted, at that time, to have her undergo major surgery (draining what we were calling our "Peru Account" because we had been saving for vacation). The surgery was a success and our little girl received a second lease on life. Of course, she survived the next three years with the new nickname, "Machu Pichu."
Then about six months ago, we had another scare, this one far more severe than the first. Again, she suffered from a urinary tract infection, which we were able to treat with antibiotics, but soon after she started to improve she had what we now think was a stroke. She lost, temporarily, complete use of her back legs, and was unable to lift her head. It happened late in the night, so Chris and I took turns, sitting up with her, until morning when we could take her to the vet. Again, she recovered, but was never quite herself. There were good days and bad days but she was often off-balance, confused and listless. Then, a few weeks ago, the seizures began.
It's been a really rough few months, and the last two or three days have been some of the hardest to date. We knew that our little girl was trying to tell us it was time to go, but neither Chris or I could say the words out loud; until Monday. Thank God, for my beautiful husband, who called me at work saying that she had had an accident (not the first), and that she was showing signs of a quick decline. We called the vet and made an appointment for Wednesday.
I knew it would be hard, but not like this. The turtle, Chris and I were with her until the end. The vet and his staff were amazing and the few minutes (because that's all it took) were so quiet and peaceful. But I miss her so much. And just when I start to think I'm feeling better, I remember that she's gone and I can't stop the hurt.
I know, she was just a cat, but for so many years she was our only baby. She provided so much comfort and joy. She rode along side us as we drove our UHaul cross-country, she sat in my lap as we watched the world tumble around us on 9/11, she perched on countless windowsills in Jersey City, Murray Hill, Harlem and Astoria, she chased away the NYC vermin from our homes, she was my dearest companion during Chris' long stretches away from the city. She was, in many ways, how I have survived being an "actors wife" all these years.