The Hardest Part
I watched Clueless as I fed him this morning. I paid attention to more than just the food this time. I realized that he’s eating only to please me. Perhaps he even eats because he remembers there was joy in it. But he doesn’t eat because he wants to.
Today he was sound asleep in his cat bed when I walked into the kitchen. He didn’t even hear me approach, but woke with a start when I touched him. He stayed in his cat bed and watched contentedly while I slopped the other two hogs. I put his morning pill in a small ball of liverwurst again, which he showed interest in, and swallowed with an audible gulp. Even while he watched me prepare his own dish, though, he never got out of bed.
Instead of placing the bowel in its usual place by the door, I set it next to the cat bed. That confused him. He knew the food wasn’t supposed to go there. He got up, stretched his legs, and wandered over to where the food was supposed to be. Like a diligent Servant, I moved the bowel to its proper place.
He picked out the bits of liverwurst from between the kibbles. He chewed at a few pieces of last night’s pot roast I’d added as extra enticement, but left most of it behind. He never touched a kibble, save the two I offered him from my hand.
He seems happy enough. He wandered over, sat in a beam of sunshine, then settled back into his cat bed with its view of the outside world. He’s still Clueless, but a new, laid-back and tired Clueless. He still wrestles for a minute or two with the Kitten, though he’d much rather just sit around and groom her. He seeks me out more often now, sitting by my side in the living room or coming to bed to sleep on my legs. There is no sign he’s in pain. He has just become very slow, very sleepy, very imperturbable.
I haven’t given up on him yet, but I realized this morning … really realized … that there’s an excellent possibility that I will have to. It’s a long good-bye, this dying by degrees. I’m glad for it, because it’s a chance to say farewells. I can see to it he has a chance to revisit old favorites, to sleep in the sun and get the best treats and be groomed for an hour with the soft, useless brush he likes me to use.
I was there myself, not all that long ago. Waiting for a liver that had no guarantee of arriving, it was also a death by degrees. I’m glad of that too. I got a chance to get my affairs in order, do a few things that I wanted to do, revisit some things I’d always enjoyed. I didn’t find it difficult, and I wasn’t particularly afraid of death. I have a better sense of what those around me felt, though.
Dying is easy. The hardest part is watching something you love die. The hardest part is getting ready to let go. I’m good at dying. Apparently I’m shit lousy at letting go.
I was looking back in my hard copy journal the other day at the signs I was losing my Robbie.
Low appetite, loose stools, apathy. That was a month before …..
there, I cannot type it.
And it’s been almost a year.
I was with him for 14 years. That’s a long time.
If we let go easy it wouldn’t be real. It would not acknowledge all that we have shared.
And we shared a lot.
Here’s a hug from me….
(((( ))))
This entry made me cry. I can only imagine how sad you’re feeling when you see the changes in Clueless.
This entry made me cry. I can only imagine how sad you’re feeling when you see the changes in Clueless.
Oh. 🙁
I thought because Clueless came home that he was on an upward swing healthwise compared to last week. As for pill disguise, after liverworst, isn’t there bratworst and all kinds of worstes and other things that can be done with chopped liver? Your kind concern will lead you to knowledge of what to do each step of the way (a way leading to what we still hope is improvement) as you and CW go through each step together.
I’m approaching that stage with Indigo, and partially keeping my head sunk in denial about it. It’s hard to face losing anyone, 2 or 4 legged, that you love.
Alli
Dearest Sal,
I’m back after a few days business trip, catching up on your entries. I’m sitting here with tears streaking down my cheeks, celebrating and mourning a cat I have never met. My heart breaks for you. I know what it is to watch someone you love die by degrees. My heart goes out to you. I wish there was something I could say to make it better, but there is nothing. Just know that you and Clueless are in my heart, thoughts and prayers. Give him a bite of liverworst from me, along with a good ear rubbing.
Hugs
I wish I had some *emotional liverwurst* to make this bitter pill of a situation go down easier for you. Just trust that you will know when the time comes. I’m still hoping for a recovery, though. I’ll send him my good thoughts. Little Big Cat looks almost exactly like him, so I’ll give him extra pets, too.
Hugs,
~Cali
I know this place. I know the feeling of watching a beloved creature getting tired, slowly letting go. I’ve felt the knowledge that he’s only bothering, only eating, only making the effort to go on *living* because he loves you, and because he’s aware of your love for him. Kimi-cat shared our lives for 18 years, and at the end he told us when it was too hard; when he just wanted to go to sleep and not have to face waking up to more discomfort.
With Sura it was a horrible shock: he went from being a healthy, active 16-year-old kitten to being a desperately ill cat within days. With Kimi-cat we had months. We watched him like a hawk, waiting for the signs that he no longer had a quality of life. And we made sure that his last months were as happy as they could be.
I’m glad you’re having this time with CW, when literally every minute is precious. I haven’t given up hope: cats are remarkable come-back kids. But if he is sharing a long goodbye with you, I’m glad you know to value the time.
People who haven’t experienced the love we share with our companion animals have a huge gap in their lives. We are the lucky ones.
I don’t know who is good at letting go. People who might seem to have an easier time than others will probably still cry in their pillow in the dark, but somewhere noone can see.
Letting go is tough. But you will have people and shoulders to lean on when the time comes.
More thoughts on Clueless:
Have you tried "Cat Milk"? It’s a milk altered so that the things cats often can’t tolerate have been removed. It also has nutrients added. Our two both loved it as an occasional treat, and we started getting it again late in Kimi-cat’s life. He kept enjoying it to the very end, when he could no longer be bothered eating.
And please forgive me for saying something that is almost certainly not useful, as it almost certainly has been checked: has the vet checked CW’s teeth/gums? We risked the removal of some bad teeth in Kimi-cat, and the response was amazing. He hadn’t eaten for several days (apart from Cat Milk). He woke up from the anaesthetic and (as the vet phoned to tell me) pushed the vet’s hand aside to get to his food bowl and chow down a whole small can of food.
It didn’t extend his life by long, but it did improve his quality of life dramatically.