This is What Happened

Our beloved cat, Laz, was old as dirt, pushing up against 20. He may have even crossed over-- we can't quite remember when he was born. He came into my life when I was 15, but he was born when I was 14. Either way, old as sin. Old.

He was old, but solid and strong. I don't know what it was, but this cat made people fall in love with him. Multiple visitors and house-mates tried to steal him. I am not kidding. It's like, Laz knew himself. And he just compelled you to know him too.

In the last few weeks it seemed like he crossed over to being elderly. I noticed how much more frail he had become. I became much more gentle. I kept asking Kevin, "Is this new?" Kevin felt like I may have been a little blind, but it hadn't been long.

And then, overnight, it changed. 

Sunday morning I woke up and Kevin said that Laz had peed on the pillows he slept on. Laz has communicated his ire at us traveling or changing his food by peeing the bed before. This felt different. This seemed like an accident.

I called his vet immediately and she said she thought he was shutting down. He was likely in renal failure and probably had a bum thyroid too. 

At 2 am Sunday night/Monday morning, Laz yowled. I got up and found him bumping around the hallway, disoriented. He was upset and confused and it seemed wrong. I tried to console him with fresh food and water, but none of it satisfied. Eventually, I got him to come to bed with me, curled in my arm how we slept every night.

I didn't go back to sleep.

I got up normally at 4:45 am to teach 6 am yoga class. As I'd planned to, I began to lead chanting. The students in the class were experienced students who knew the chant and we sang together. Suddenly, tears were pouring down my face. I kept the chant going to give me time to pull it together. I was a little unsure that I'd be able to. I composed myself and taught class.

I knew. 

Something had changed. It felt like a switch went off. It was simply time. He was ready.

Everything escalated. Overnight, Laz's care intensified. Daytimes were hard. He would have his episodes of inconsolable confusion in the afternoons. Laz was always intolerant of confinement. We hadn't intended him to be an outdoor cat, but he insisted on it, escaped, and maintained his access to the outside world. I felt like he was howling to be let out of this experience. It felt like he was pawing at an intangible door.

Kevin and I were hit with waves of grief. Our lives switched to balancing cat care. I didn't know how to keep my "normal" life afloat, but I didn't know how long this intense care would persist, so I made appointments unsure if I'd have to break them. My sleep schedule began to mirror his. The middle of the night bouts of yowling and confusion became consistent. I would sleep a bit at night and try to nap in the afternoon if he let me. Towards the end, it was hard to get sleep.

The house was covered in pee pads as Laz could no longer control himself. Laz had stopped grooming himself, so we periodically cleaned him with warm, moist towels. We knew he had problems in his mouth, but were waiting to get confirmation on what exactly. We made his food as soft as possible. He didn't eat for two days, ate a lot, never ate again. He lost about 15% of his body weight.

We had glimpses of him as we knew him. Sometimes it gave us false hope.

I had this unshakable feeling that it was simply time. I became anxious and insistent that we euthanize him. I couldn't handle his pain and disorientation. I felt like I was betraying him. He'd had such a good life. If he wasn't released on his own, I wanted to help him have a good death.

It was like a switch had gone off in me too. Weeks ago my Aunt gently prepped me that this might be a future possibility. I was shocked and horrified. I hadn't thought of it. In retrospect, I'm glad that she let me know it might come to this. I'm glad that she prepared me.

Kevin needed certainty and he was right. My reflexes in crisis mode made me anxious to act, but after the dust settled, I might have had doubts and regrets. We brought in the second vet, the second opinion, at her earliest availability, which turned out to be Thursday. She confirmed everything our vet thought, but also clarified that the problems in his mouth were many: rotten teeth and inoperable tumors on his tongue and gums.

These type of tumors kill cats by starvation. Our only option was pain management.

(And then, how did we miss this? The vet assured us the tumors grew rapidly. We didn't miss anything. It was just his time.)

We knew. Three separate friends recommended House Paws. I called them and it seemed like they wouldn't be able to come until the following day. I felt a fresh wave of tears. I felt like he was trapped. He was suffering and I just wanted him to have peace. Then, the dispatcher saw there were vets in our area. They could be there in a half an hour.

The vets were there so quickly. They were kind and gentle. Laz yawned and was so at ease. He went quickly without any pain.

He's buried in our backyard. Kevin and I packed bags for somewhere. We decided Catskills. We found a well-reviewed bed and breakfast in Hudson and I drove. Snow started falling as we crossed the state line to New York.

We love that cat so much. I'm so grateful to have lived with him for so long. He was daily light and warmth. As hard as it was, I'm grateful that we could help him move from suffering to peace. As soon as he transitioned, Kevin and I felt calm. We knew we did the right thing. 

The night before he died I dreamt that I lived in an apartment in the top floor of an old Victorian. My apartment was all glass and kind of an atrium. I looked to the neighboring building. Same height and design. I saw Laz in the sun, wandering around, happy. I didn't remember the dream until I woke up in Hudson, NY Friday morning. I told Kevin. It gave me such relief. Laz can't be with us anymore but he's fine. This is simply a transition to navigate but he's at peace. It's all OK.