Life - When death becomes a release

Not too long ago, I was forced to make a difficult decision.

I had to decide whether to continue to sustain the life of my cat, Kisa, or finally put her down.  What was once considered a very difficult decision was made easier by how much I could tell she was hurting.

The signs were all there.  By the time she was settled into a sitting position, it was time to move again.  We barely saw her (some of this attributed to Payton, but Pook runs from her and still is seen a lot during the day), she was peeing on just about anything that was on the floor, she was barely eating, and she wasn't drinking much either.  You could look at her and tell something was wrong with her.

The initially possibility of putting her down was raised earlier this year.  We took her to the vet, had her checked out, and got a relatively clean bill of health all things considered.  We put her on a wet food diet and she seemed to be rebounding some.  She didn't come out much still, but when we did see her, she looked a lot better.

That didn't last long though.  She slowly started to thin out again and the rate that she was peeing on things was steadily increasing.  It was getting to the point that it was a surprise when we didn't find something peed on, usually in Payton's room.  Then, a couple of months ago, we were fortunate enough to see a kitten running around outside.  This kitten became Goobie, had a worm in her head, and became Pook's new best friend.  Kisa started to come out more, but it was mostly because Goobs liked to run under the bed.

A few weeks ago, it was decided that it was time.  I let my mom and sister know and took a Friday off of work so I could take her up to Rachel's work and have the final act done.

On September 14th, Kisa took her final breath and was removed from her pain.

I've had plenty of time to reflect on this moment, reflect on what happened.  I've been able to think about the memories I shared with this cat, and marvel at the fact that she lived nearly 19 years.  She went from a petrified kitten hiding under my bed, to my constant companion no matter where I lived, to barely being seen in her final months.

When she was a kitten, she was extremely tempermental.  Yes, she played like most kittens, but everything was on her terms.  If she was laying on you and you moved, you received one growling warning, then you were clawed and she'd jump down in disdain.  She bit my mom the one and only time my mom attempted to give her a bath.  In fact, my mom was bitten by Kisa on two different occasions, the only time the cat seriously bit anyone.

Okay, so there was the one time when I was holding her (something I did frequently until she got older and decided she didn't like it anymore) and she was licking my nose (a Kisa trademark), when she suddenly decided she wanted down.  Her way of letting me know?  Chomping down on my nose and then jumping down.

I was clawed a few times, usually in the brief moments that she did decide to play, but other than that, her preferred bonding method was to sleep right up against me every night.

In short, she was a good cat.

Until she got older, cranky, and decided that displaying her mood meant peeing on things.

In that regard, putting her to sleep was easy.  I was tired of constantly washing clothes that had been peed on, tired of finding the spots on the carpet.  It had reached the point where it was a burden on me, in addition to be an annoyance to Rachel as it was usually hers or Payton's clothes that Kisa decided to whiz on.  Her best days were behind her and keeping her alive didn't serve any purpose other than to have to clean up more messes.

Even so, it wasn't easy to do.  My sister was there, and as often is the case with her, was a tad emotional during the event.  The hardest part for me was after it was done, she was buried and we went home.

It's been those quiet moments where I'm either the only one still awake, or by myself, and I think about her.  I think about her giving one last annoyed meow as the vet injected her.  I think about her breathing just stopping, eyes still open, and it hurts my heart everytime I think about it.  I sit and wonder what she's thinking as her body functions shut down almost instantly.

It tears at me, mostly because for more than 18 years, this cat was the one constant in my life.  Work could stink, family could be gone, friends could be busy, but there was one thing I could count on when I was at home in my room, and that was that Kisa was going to be there, and she was going to be happy to see me.

The last year and nearly four months have given me something else constant: a loving girlfriend and her daughter, but saying goodbye to those 18 plus years wasn't easy.  Luckily, there's a lot to look forward to.  I do have Rachel, Payton, Pook, Shenzie, Goobie, and Turk.  I still have family and friends who have been there for years now.

Her death was a challenge, but I'll never forget Kisa and what she brought to my life.  Her death was a release for both of us, just in different ways.

falling flat

I've never been short on ideas for blog posts.

In the past, I've come up with several good ideas.  Sometimes I'd even get started on them for a while.

Then, after a while, I'd start to slack off for a while before the idea completely fell off the track.

Most of the time it's been due to lack of writing.  I'd start off strong for a week or so, then the amount of writing would decrease slowly and surely as I just felt no motivation to go forward with the post.  Often times, it's because the idea seemed really good in theory, but when it came to executing the idea, I realized it wasn't as good as I thought.

For example, back in 1999 when I was writing on my old web site, I was very much into the Indians and what appeared to be a season for the ages.  Every time I wrote something, I finished with a recap of that days Indians' game.  I'd give the score, the records, and a brief rundown of the game.  I kept it up for half the season, then sometime after the All-Star break, I either lost interest in the idea or got sick of doing it.

It's kind of hard to remember at this point.

More recently, specifically last year's playoffs, I started to capsule previews of NFL playoff games all the way through the Pro-Bowl.  I had some fun with it and was going to do it again this year, except, well, I didn't.

I can't really explain why.  I kept thinking about starting it up, but then I wouldn't.

So now I have come up with a new idea for this blog.  Or my pharmacy blog.  I can't decide which to use it on, which would be the first issue since I can't use it on both and possibly give away what little anonymity I have on my pharmacy blog.

Hmm.  That means I can't tell what the idea is if I intend to use it on the pharmacy blog because then when it shows up there, it would give away which blog is mine.

I guess I should've figured that part out first.

Oh well.

The idea revolves around a theme for each day of the week.  For instance, I could call Friday Flashback Fridays and post some story from my younger years (which makes me feel old just writing that).  Of course to do that requires me coming up with whimsical names (hey, Whimsical Wednesday?) for each day of the week and actually stick with it, which isn't likely.  It also makes more sense if I write every day, thus justifying the different names for each day I post, but we know that won't happen.

In any case, that's an idea that's floating around in my head, partially because I have nothing else to do in my free time when I'm not with Rachel than to think of silly things like that.

Now then, back to the focus of the week.

Tomorrow is kind of a day of reckoning when it comes to Kisa.  It's at least the first step in deciding what to do with her.  Put her down and spend the next month remembering all the moments I've had with her?  Keep her alive a little longer because her health isn't as bad as feared and do everything to make her remaining time comfortable?

It's kind of a troubling thing to think about really.  I almost feel like a God wielding power over a helpless being.  Whether she lives or dies is in my hands.

I've spent the last two days really thinking about all the things that have happened with her over the years.  I'm not so much upset at the idea of her possibly being euthanized as maybe some might be, but that's mostly because I've already come to terms with the fact that one day she will be gone.  I'm calm about it because as I've stated, she's given me almost 18 good years.  It's more than I ever could've hoped for and I know I'll be making an informed decision, not just saying I'm done for the hell of it or keeping her alive longer than she should be.

Having Kisa has been an amazing experience.  There's never been any doubts about her being my cat.  When I've been gone for a couple days and come home again, she follows me around for a while.  She's always slept either next to me or on top of me.  When I sit down on the couch, she's right there looking for a lap to lay on.

One of my favorite memories is when we lived in Brunswick and I worked at CVS in Strongsville til 10.  I had worked the same shifts for a while and my mom started to tell me how right around when I was supposed to be home, she'd go over to the front door and sit and wait for me.  This went on for the longest time, at least up until I started hanging out with Mike regularly after work.

I apologize in advance if I spend a lot of time remembering things with Kisa.

I have almost 18 years worth of memories to possibly catch up on.

Oh, and don't hold your breath on the format thing for the blog.  I'll probably forget by tonight anyway.

trying to do what's right

There are certain things I don't take joy in writing about.

I like writing about sports, I like writing about stupid things I see on a regular basis, I like writing about the things I do with Rachel and Payton.

I like writing.

Just not when it involves the possibility of having to put my cat Kisa to sleep.

For those unaware, Kisa has been with me since I was 14 and a freshman in high school.  I'm now 31 and she's still with me.  She's older as well and it shows.  She's been arthritic for a while, she's no longer really grooming herself, her appetite isn't good at all, and it seems as if she's trying to tell me something since she's taken to peeing on the floor in the spare bedroom randomly.

She's always occasionally peed on stuff for various reasons, usually her being mad at me for one reason or another.  In the past, it was predictable.  It was limited to towels and the occasional plastic bag.  Now it's just straight onto the carpet and that's raised my level of concern greatly.

So what makes it hard to write about this?

I don't want to write some lengthy piece "remembering" Kisa before she's actually gone.  On Thursday she's going in for bloodwork and that will determine the next step.  If the bloodwork shows she has some serious issues, it's going to be time to put her down.  If it doesn't, it's on to the next test.

I also don't want to be all sappy about it either.

What I refuse to do is what I've seen other people do in the past.  I refuse to keep her alive just because I can't let go.  I can't sit there and give her a ton of medications that "might" be making her better without really knowing for sure.  I can't sit here and justify dragging it out when she's possibly suffering.

Do I think she's suffering?  It's hard to say.  I know she doesn't move the way she used to, but she doesn't give any solid indication that she's in pain.  She doesn't whine or cry a lot when I'm home.  She just kind of purrs, tries to lay in my lap, and after a while goes to sleep somewhere like she always has.  She's very affectionate still with me.  She doesn't act like she's in pain, but then again, neither did Shade before my mom discovered that he had severe issues with his leg.

The only way I'm going to know is by having some work done and see what the results are.

What I do know is I'm prepared for the worst in this case.  I'm ready if the vet tells me that she needs to be put down.  I'm not going to argue, tell them they need to do something to make her better.

I'm not going to.

My older sister is like that.  Instead of doing what's best for the animal, she holds on and tries to sustain their life beyond what it should be.  She does it thinking she's caring for the animal and being humane towards it, but she's really doing the opposite.  She's making the animal suffer unnecessarily.

I won't let that happen.

Look, I've gotten nearly 18 years out of Kisa.  She's been through a lot with me.  I've chronicled a lot of it in the past and will do so again in the future, especially once she does die.  There are a lot of memories, a lot of stories.  She's been a great companion with me through a lot of ordeals.  I can't ask for much more.  The shame of it is it taking her til she was this old to get along with another cat like she does with Pook.

Granted, she did get along with one other cat in her time, but those moments were rare.  Usually she was very territorial with me.  Now she's just as likely to lay on Rachel, my mom, my sister, or Payton when she's asleep.

If the next couple of weeks are her last, well, then that's what's meant to be and I won't question it.  I'll reflect on a lot of the things with her, but I won't regret anything.  I won't be sitting there wondering if putting her down is the right choice.

Some won't understand the emotion behind a pet.  Some of you won't get it.  That's life.  A lot of you will though.  Whether it be a dog, cat, or whatever it is you own, a lot of you understand the bond that develops.

Funny thing with Kisa was I was so not a cat person when I got her.  I was and still am a dog person.  I liked cats, but I didn't have the same draw towards cats that I had towards dogs.  My previous pet before Kisa was a dog named Jax.  He used to pull me down when I was trying to put on my snowpants and drag me around the house.  When my mom and sister would go sled riding, he used to pull them up the hills.  He was a strong dog and he was a fun dog.

I wasn't old enough though to really grasp the responsibility needed to own a pet though.

Kisa was a definite surprise.  A little white ball of fluff hiding under my bed, which at the time was in the living room.  She wouldn't come out for anything, and thus began Kisa's long infamous antisocial bout.  For a long time, she didn't care for anyone that wasn't my mom, Teresa, or me.  Anyone else needed to back off and do so quickly.  Even with us, she had a short fuse.  If you so much as moved a centimeter while she was on you, she'd start growling.

It didn't take long for her to grow on me, which was the biggest surprise back then.  Pretty soon, she was running the neighborhood.  She chased all the strays away, killed all the rodents, and did her best to reduce the bird population.

Along the way, there have been a lot of adventures.  I'll try to share some of them over the next few weeks depending on how things go with the vet.  If things go well, forget it.  I'm saving those stories until she reaches her dying days then.

I have to sell the sentimentality of it all, right?

Here's a teaser in fact.

One story involves getting her out of a tree.  Another involves the fight that left her ear slit.  Another is how she'd lay on my mom's shoulder when my mom was trying to study for school.  There was the time my mom tried to give her a bath (that never happened again).

So while it doesn't bring me joy to think I might be remembering her soon, it was a great ride and I'll always remember her.

In the end, the memories will stay with me forever.

And that's what matters most.