The vet called today. Our cat’s liver has completely shut down. He said her numbers are off the chart. I don’t know what the chart is and how high or low the numbers are, but I know that’s bad news. He said that we are going to need to “put her down.”

She was a Christmas kitten given to my daughter Caitlyn by Santa. We — well, actually Santa — left Caityn a Beanie Baby kitten and a note that told her that she could pick out the real thing at a shelter. Santa was not aware that not many kittens are born in the winter. We had a hard time finding kittens. But a shelter in Lenexa had several, and this beautiful Calico kitten with tiger markings stole our hearts.

We named her Taz… as in Tazmanian Devil. As a kitten, she was a whirlwind. Think Tom Cruise in Risky Business. She would run into the kitchen chasing a fly, a snippet of paper, a piece of string or the wind and then sli-i-i-i-ide across the floor. No tightie whities, of course. Anything on the floor that could be moved was chased, tossed into the air or tackled. Shoestrings and ankles were, of course, fair game.

We brought her home on a sunny day in late January. Although our Golden Retriever, Buttercup, and Taz hated each other on sight, we wrapped Taz (a little spitfire) in a towel, petted Buttercup and then petted Taz. We let them sniff each other (which generally resulted in hissing from Taz and a low growl from Buttercup). But after sweating it out for four hours, the two accepted each other. The next night, Taz slept curled up in the long hair of Buttercup’s tail. They have been buddies ever since. We have loved watching them chase and play and dart through the house. We have listened for the sounds of them thundering through the house in yet another mad game of chase and attack. It’s amazing how gentle a large dog can be with a tiny kitten or a small cat.

Taz is young … only 8. We had planned on having her around for many years to come. She is not your typical cat, aloof and stand-offish. She demands to be petted and will crawl under your hand if you don’t get going fast enough. She knows exactly what she wants you to do … rub and scratch right behind her ears and then down between them. Oh sure, she will LET you do some intense rubbing on the top of the head if you really want to and you will be rewarded with eyes closed in slits and by quiet purring. Don’t even think about rubbing her belly or giving her more than just a quick slide down the back. Failure to remain focused on her head and ears and maaaaaaybe her chin will result in a quick nip. Not a bite, no broken skin, no blood. Just a quick reminder of what’s proper care and maintenance.

I don’t want to tell Caitlyn … maybe because that will make it that much more real, more final. I couldn’t sleep last night so I sat up with Taz and petted and whispered to her until about 3 a.m. I told her that she would be fine, that cats have nine lives and she still had plenty of them left. She doesn’t look bad until you look in her eyes and then you can see that she is suffering. Even then, as I tried to convince both of us that we weren’t going to need to say good-bye, I knew that my promises were empty.

The vet’s call this morning made my words lies.

I hate this.

I’ve always been with my pets when they die. I stayed with Maggie (a Malamute/Shepherd mix I call a Malamutt) until she stopped breathing at the vet’s. I stood by the sink where my cat, Sasha, chose to curl up and wait for death. It came quietly in the wee hours of the morning.

It’s always so hard. And I don’t know if I can do it again.

I know it is silly to be so upset. There are such bigger problems in the lives of people I love.

Color me particularly blue today.

P.S. Taz continued to decline. She meowed pitifully at me when I went down to pet her Sunday morning. I held her close for several hours Sunday night. She seemed a bit stronger. As I left for the first contract day of the school year on Monday, I knew she was worse. Much worse.

We took Taz back to the vet that evening. I asked if he was sure about the diagnosis. Could the diagnosis be wrong? Could there be any hope? Was she suffering?

He told me that it was time to let her go.

One Response to “Color me blue”

1. Brenna Says:
   August 23rd, 2008 at 3:20 pm

   I know how hard this is. One of my earliest memories is when my dog got hit by a car out in the country. I think I was three, and my mom held me in our yard and had me wave goodbye to the road, because that’s where Markie went. My cat now is only 7, but I dread the day I have to take him to the vet for that visit.

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