Just Rest and Sleep, Fluffy

On Sunday afternoon, 3 days ago on November 10th, I watched Fluffy slip into Forever-sleep in the Carnegie Cat Clinic at 13:00hr. My last kiss on his still forehead.

Fluffy's diabetes got the better of him, last Friday, and was hospitalized on Friday night. On Saturday, I received updates from his vet, Dr. McCann, in the morning and late afternoon. I heard the words 'very, very concerned', 'uphill battle' (many times), 'aggressive treatment', and 'little improvement'. The Hubs had been away to Asia, and it was a struggle getting in touch. But our minds knew: Fluffy was suffering.

That fateful Sunday morning, it was a long drive to see Fluffy; I missed the turn to the cat clinic. I arrived there at 09:30 and spoke to the attending vet. I also saw the frail and unrecognizable Fluffy. A small part of me was hoping to hear of a remarkable recovery in the last 24 hours. But Dr. Ross showed me otherwise. Fluffy's vision was gone; he was severely dehydrated; his muscles had gone weak; and she told me sincerely, "I have dealt with diabetic cats and Fluffy is the sickest kitty I have ever seen."

He would not make it to Australia.

I had a few phone calls with The Hubs that morning, as the clinic gave us time to make a decision. We held on and thought: Maybe my sister, or someone, would be able to take care of him. But no one, not even animal shelters, would think twice about taking in a kitty with a lifelong disease that needs regular and expensive monitoring. Healthy, young cats have problems finding forever homes, as it is. What about: I take him home to treat him, to alleviate the cost of hospitalization. Dr. Ross said that she could teach me everything I needed to know, however, Fluffy was not in any condition to be discharged. She also advised: Had it been her pet, despite all her means to take care of a sick kitty at home, it would be unfair on Fluffy to be put through the agony. Unfair.

And the question was: How do we ensure that Fluffy will be well in the month's stay at quarantine?

Dr. Ross may have been right -- Fluffy was probably aware of our upcoming move to Australia. His body could have decided to stop fighting.

It was well past 12 noon when I finally told the clinic of our decision.

That Sunday ripped a huge and irreparable hole in my stone-cold heart.

I miss him. So much.