Category: Cat Lovers

The Chipped Bowl

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In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.

We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.

All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.

The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.

Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.

Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.

The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

The Universe, Outer Space, Earth, and Me

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William Shatner recently made it back from his civilian trip into space, courtesy of Jeff Bezos. Upon his return, Shatner spoke of the overwhelming grief he felt while being in space and seeing earth in all its unique blue-ness, so small and insignificant in the universe of deep, black nothingness. It made Shatner realize that here on earth is “where the love is.” That’s what he said. This is it. This is the place. Love can be found right here. And it made him profoundly sad to know that we are polluting this pristine environment and throwing it away. All of this is a gift – a miraculous gift and we are turning our backs on it.

Space – darkness, fear, cold, claustrophobia, solitude. What do you think of when you think of outer space? Of bobbing around in a spaceship, a million miles from anywhere? Would you want to take a trip out there? I love the concept of it, the principle. Of seeing what is beyond our little world. How fascinating the planets and stars and solar systems are! But then fear would stop me in my tracks. I wouldn’t want to go for fear of never coming back. I would feel absolute terror that I would not be able to return.

I remember watching an old Swedish film called “My Life as a Dog.”  In the film, the narrator is a little girl who is vaguely obsessed by a dog. At that time, the Soviet Union had launched a dog in an unmanned rocket ship into space. The dog’s name was “Laika.” And poor Laika would never come home. The Soviets though it was a wonderful idea and apparently watched the dog eventually perish as his little space capsule swirled away, lost in the stars. The little girl was deeply troubled by this. Throughout the film, she wondered how Laika was feeling, if Laika was lonely or scared or hungry or in pain. If Laika knew she wouldn’t make it out alive. Did she know she was going to die? What was Laika thinking?

I loved the sweet simplicity of the child’s thoughts. And indeed, I shared sympathy for poor Laika, sent out into the universe, never to return home. Home. Our little blue planet. I was quite taken by Shatner’s account of his grief. What we have here on this planet of ours is so truly remarkable and most of us never take note of it. We just keep going day after day – same old shit. Instead of breathing in this life, this planet. Realizing what a gift it is to be here, to be alive, to have our feet on this earth. Was it all predestined or a magnificent mistake? Who knows. But here we are. Home.

Sometimes I have this this overwhelming urge to go home. I’m homesick and wistful and just want to go home. And then I realize I am home. But is this really it? Is there nowhere else to go? The home I knew as a child, I left long ago when I set off for college on the faraway East Coast. I only returned for short visits, but never again to live there as my home. My mom and her beloved dog are there still but it doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. The neighborhood is full of old memories I don’t want to remember and the dreams of children who grew up and floated away.

They say you can never go home and alas, perhaps they are right. Where is my home? When my children go off to college and their rooms are suddenly empty, where will I go? Or will I simply stay here and build a new story of my own? What will that be without their laughter and joy? That happy noise? Just four walls and a ceiling – the little old lady who lived in a shoe. Not a home, per se. Just a place to lay my hat until the next adventure comes along. A leaf drifting in the wind, searching for that ineffable Shangri-la that lives in my mind. Home.

Homecoming

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As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.

A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.

As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.

I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.

 A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.

I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.

Losing Pumpkin

Posted on Posted in Cat Lovers, disease, euthanasia, God, Life, Motherhood, Parenthood, Pet Owners, Single Mom, Survival, UncategorizedLeave a comment

By Elizabeth Kate

I killed my cat. At least, that’s how it feels. Officially, Pumpkin was euthanized, after being diagnosed with terminal liver disease. But in spite of the diagnosis, he didn’t want to go. He was my faithful pet until the end. His spirit was strong, but his body was weak. Pumpkin fought death.

My dear cat was suffering. He hadn’t eaten in more than a week and couldn’t hold anything down. If he took more than a few sips of water, he started to vomit and dry heave. And of course, the only thing he wanted to do was drink. Pumpkin couldn’t understand why I would take away the water bowl after he took a few mouthfuls. He would sit patiently on the bathroom counter hoping I would turn on the faucet. It broke my heart to see him there. I wanted to give my poor baby water, but it always ended badly. Helping to quench his thirst made him sick all over again – a vicious circle.

We searched out a vet who could euthanize Pumpkin at home since he hated going to the vet. Pumpkin also hated his carrier. We had to lure him in with some sort of treat, but he would begin meowing indignantly once he realized he was locked in. He would get progressively louder as we made our way out to the car and was positively howling by the time we arrived at the vet’s office.

I didn’t want Punks to have such an experience on the day he would be put down – his death day, if you will. I wanted it to be quiet and peaceful, so he would just sort of float away, far from any pain or discomfort. This traveling vet seemed ideal, and her assistant patiently explained how the euthanasia was carried out. The animal would receive two injections. The first injection would put the animal into a gentle, twilight state, and the second would end their life. It sounded doable with the least amount of trauma. The price was high, but how can you put a price on something like that? I hired the vet.

She arrived the next morning and went over the process briefly. Before I knew it, the vet was giving Pumpkin a huge injection. I didn’t know she was going to do it right away. Maybe we would have a moment to say goodbye? But she got down to business without pause. It happened very quickly. Maybe she thought we might change our minds as my children and I were all clearly distraught.

I guess most animals are tranquilized immediately by this first shot, but not our Pumpkin. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The needle went in, and he screamed in pain! I was horrified. He struggled and scratched and bit, literally fighting for dear life to escape our grasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Now again, the vet had explained that the first shot “calms and soothes the animal and the final injection escorts them over the rainbow bridge.” No one said a thing about incredible fear, fighting, and clawing and struggling from us, trying to hide, to escape, to get away. It was awful. Pumpkin ran to the hallway door and was furiously reaching his paws under the door, desperately trying to escape Dr. Death. He was fighting madly for his life with every inch of his being.

I ran after him and held him down so he couldn’t escape into the other room. It felt so wrong to be doing this. What was happening? I was sickened by the way everything was unfolding and choking on my tears. My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Was it all an appalling mistake?

Pumpkin wasn’t ready to go. My baby wanted fiercely to live. He was so scared. I wanted to stop, to rewind, to end this trauma. To go back per se? Could I stop the death wish after that first shot? Was that the right choice? I didn’t know. The vet said she was shocked. That this had never happened before. She explained his spirit was still very strong – and that this was just an adrenaline rush – but I could barely hear her through my tears.

The twilight medicine started to kick in and Pumpkin must have felt a wave of vertigo. He struggled to get up, but his feet collapsed out from under him like a ragdoll. It was awful. Like he was suddenly inebriated and had lost control of his body. It must have been confusing and terrifying for him. And it was on me. My fault. I did this.

Pumpkin wasn’t ready to go but I ushed him out. I killed my cat. I didn’t do it by myself but instead hired an assassin to take him out while I watched. I helped. I aided and abetted the crime. He trusted me and I betrayed that. I hired the Grim Reaper to make a house call. I was there at the very moment that the final shot was administered. The vet put her stethoscope against his furry white chest and listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. She whispered softly, “He’s gone.”

Gone. Gone. So final. But what if I wanted him back? What if I realized there had been an grave mistake and Pumpkin was actually fine and didn’t need to be put down at all? Gone. Gone too soon. I wanted my cat back. But where did he go? Far away, away from all of us sobbing over his little wasted body. My children and I cried and cried but there was no bringing him back. Pumpkin had left the building. The vet went outside to give us some quiet time to mourn together.

Guilt weighed like lead in my chest. Grief washed over me like waves in the sea, each one more bitter and salty than the last. He’s just a cat for God’s sake. A stupid cat. But my cat. My friend. And he was gone. And nothing could be done.

But then, he wasn’t just a cat. He was a card-carrying member of the family. Always looked pissed off at the world. He gamely gave us friendly head butts and purred so loudly he sounded like a motorboat. Pumpkin could never could just walk into a room. He had to run in, full speed, and maybe crash into something along the way, like the character “Kramer” on “Seinfeld.” He was exceptionally feisty. If his brother was curled up a little too comfortably on the bed, he might come over and bite him on the neck and then take that nice, warm, newly vacated spot. He was a character to be sure.

Pumpkin has been gone a few weeks now. I’m holding it together. I make bad jokes to the kids about how we could have stuffed him and made him into a paperweight or maybe a cute hat or a single, fuzzy Ugg boot. I can’t talk about or think of him too much because people will think I’m a crazy cat lady. I’m not. Just a cat mom who lost her baby. And it hurts. I remember the look in his eyes. The fear. The confusion. Right till the very end, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t go peacefully into the night. He fought till the very end. And I pushed him over.

Will I ever get over the guilt? I don’t know. Does that make me insane? Maybe. But I miss how he used to meet me at the door like a little dog. I miss how he always slept on my stomach when I lay down for a nap. I miss that he was disgusted by the smell of perfume. He would actually make a terrible face like he couldn’t breathe. It was so funny. He would back away from me and run out of the room if I had on perfume or even just scented body lotion. He was a very sensitive feline.

My daughters used to tell me that Pumpkin would pout and act miserable until I came home from work. He missed me. I was his person. And now I miss him. My dear sweet guy. More than just a cat. A friend. A dear friend. So many memories. A lot of regret.

I wish it had ended differently. All I wanted was for my sweet guy to be released from his bodily pain. I know he is at peace now. I hope wherever he is, he can forgive me for that disaster of a death scene. It was never my intention to make him suffer. I hope he knows that. I love him. I always will. My heart belongs to that orange, furry boy who answered to the name of Pumpkin.

Wrestling With COVID

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You wonder where I’ve been – COVID! To the other side and back. And it’s truly as horrible as they say. I know I should be grateful for the two vaccines and one booster for making my symptoms so much more mild, but as I’m in the throes of it, I ask, mild? Really? My symptoms have been anything but mild. I squint at my keyboard as my eyes have become incredibly painful and light sensitive.

My bout with COVID hit me like a freight train. Headache and extreme exhaustion, chills, and actual teeth-rattling shivers. I went to bed and was awakened, blazing hot, with a 102-degree fever, body aches, and a headache that was impossible to fathom. I knew this was something bad. I’ve never been so blindsided by a flu. I took a COVID test and watched with horror as the truth was revealed – two lines. Positive! Oh shit. Those damn little spiky cells had somehow wormed their way into my body and were wreaking havoc. Shit shit shit.

What do you do if you have COVID? I didn’t even know. Suddenly it seemed everything I touched was full of those awful spiky bastards. It was kind of terrifying. How was I going to avoid giving this to my daughters? Or my cats? But there’s no one to take care of me, I realized. Such is the sad reality of being a single parent. Everything is manageable until you get sick and then – then – well, everything goes to hell. I’m so scared my daughters will get sick, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent their exposure except wear a mask and isolate as much as possible, as we live under the same roof.

So, COVID? What are the basics? First, I googled it, as we do. Rest, fluids, blah blah blah. That’s for a mild case. I called the doctor – a stroke of brilliance from my stormy mind. The headache has been unrelenting. The doctor put me on some new drug called Molnupiravir. It’s not yet approved by the FDA but I said let’s give it a try. My symptoms progressed as the first day wore on to include heavy chest and nasal congestion, a sore throat and cough. Crazy. Everything just snowballed upon me. And that headache! You know it’s bad when you’re lying in a pool of pain casually wondering if you might gain any relief from a hole drilled into your skull? That’s next to agony. But my 800 mg Ibuprofen tablets were doing little to relieve anything.

The doctor prescribed antibiotics and steroids to reduce the swelling in my bronchioles and to kill any secondary infections. I still feel sick. My joints hurt like they are arthritic, I’m coughing deep, heavy coughs, and my skin is incredibly sensitive to mere touch. I keep telling myself that this too shall pass, but it’s hard to believe when you are in the middle of it.

My friends have come to my rescue, texting and calling to cheer me up. One wonderful friend picked up my antibiotics and food for my daughters, and dropped them to my door. #Grateful. Yes, grateful, indeed. I find myself falling asleep and then waking at odd hours of the night. With the strange hours come deep thoughts that ring true: Actions speak louder than words. You can say whatever you want, talk is cheap. It’s what you do that matters. Friends who show up for you. Family who shows up for you. Whether it was calling to say hello or a sweet text wishing me speedy healing, each one mattered to me. It means something if they reach out and means something if they don’t. So many people have died from COVID. It’s not a stretch to call it ‘life-threatening’. It is, and that’s scary.

I, like so many, often struggle with the reason for us being on this earth, living this life. The vast ‘Why’s?’ never seem to have an answer. Is it a divine plan? Or a crazy mistake? Does our life here on earth mean something? Or nothing at all? Why are we here, mere specks of dust swirling in a vast universe of darkness and light? How did we all happen upon this life on the third rock from the sun? And why do we matter? We will never have the answers to these questions.

But it is true that the journey in this world is certainly more difficult for some than for others. And kindness seems to be the remedy for that. Compassion. Caring for each other. Because we are all walking different roads and sometimes a helping hand or even just a smile can lighten the load for another. Is that so hard to do? Be kind, and people will treat you with kindness. Or not! There are some difficult souls out there who will never see the light, but that doesn’t mean you should stop. Don’t become bitter. Be kind.

And have fun! We are a society that works too hard and spends too little time enjoying ourselves. We work ourselves into our graves, and what a waste that is. Take time to smell the roses. Quite literally. I make myself stop and smell beautiful flowers that I come upon. It’s these little joys that make up a patchwork of happy memories in your life and provide a soothing balm during the tough times.

Lastly, be with who you love. Don’t give up if you are in an unhappy relationship and assume that’s simply your path and your burden in life. It’s not. Get out! Make a change. Pursue happiness. You only get one shot at this life, why spend it with someone who doesn’t bring you joy? Don’t let the constraints of society dictate your bliss. Follow the light. Seek love and joy. Find the person that makes you laugh and makes your heart sing. They may be just around the corner. Seek them out! And try to find a splash of delight in all you do.

That’s all I’ve got for tonight. Stay healthy, my friends! And be happy.

A Cat Named Pumpkin

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We were sitting in our car in the parking lot of the Emergency Pet Hospital waiting for the nighttime vets to examine our ailing cat and determine exactly how sick he was. ‘Pumpkin’. Actually, ‘Pumpkin Snowball’ was the name given to the orange tomcat by my then 5-year-old daughter. He’d now reached the comfortable age of eleven – 99 in cat years – and my daughter was a sulky sixteen. They were inseparable.

Our other cat would flee in the opposite direction when this daughter thumped loudly into a room in all her teenage glory but not Pumpkin. He was no shrinking violet. He loved my surly daughter’s long manicured nails in questionable colors, festooned with sparkly bits, and would curl up next to her on her unmade bed, surrounded by piles of discarded clothing, purring contentedly as she scratched behind his ears.

Pumpkin was the bold, little guy at the front of the ‘kitten window’ at the animal shelter with his mouth open wide, mewing with great indignation at the world. All the other kittens were timid with large, innocent eyes, but Pumpkin was brash right from the start. I’d wanted an orange kitten and had shown up at the downtown Los Angeles animal shelter the moment I heard they had one for me. But when I arrived, there was not one kitten, but two.

“This one just showed up this morning,” the animal care technician explained to me as he scooped up the newest arrival and placed him in my arms. The kitten was sweet and gentle. I adored him immediately. The technician smiled and took the kitten (whom we eventually named “Jasper Bernard”) from me, placing him in a separate pen. “What about the other orange one?” he asked, referring to Pumpkin, who was still meowing mightily from the window. “Today we have a Two for One Special. Your lucky day.” Indeed.

But I wasn’t convinced. That little kitten at the front might be one of those felines who scratches and yowls and bites. I didn’t have much experience with cats and didn’t want to adopt a problem. Without a word, the technician reached into the kitten enclosure with his heavy gloves, grabbed the distressed orange kitten, and plopped him in my arms. I was sure the little guy would squirm and complain, but he did not. Instead, he snuggled happily right into my arms and started to purr loudly, as if to say, ‘Please take me home, Mom”. It was love. I took both kittens home and never looked back.

Flash forward to this night – stuck in the parking lot – aka ‘the waiting room’- of the emergency hospital for pets, situated next to a dumpster, breathing in wafting cigarette fumes from the exhausted nurses taking their breaks out on the stairs. I sat, impatient and frustrated, in the questionable comfort of our minivan with my two kids for three long hours waiting – just waiting to get the bad news on our beloved cat. We knew the diagnosis would not be good. Just had a feeling.

Was this extensive wait necessary? What was taking so long? Were they really that busy on a Tuesday night? Maybe. We witnessed an obviously injured dog being put on a gurney and held in place by three workers as it was wheeled in through the back door. Another sick dog was handed over into the arms of her weeping owner, the woman’s violent sobs echoing through the darkness of the night.

We were finally allowed to enter the building at 10:30 pm and seated in a sterile white room. More waiting. It was freezing. They could hang meat in this room. Why was the air conditioning on full blast? There was apparently no way to turn it off. I asked the women at reception if they could help, and they shrugged their shoulders at me. Sorry. No magazines on the table to take our minds off the tragic situation either. We were invited to stare at the empty white walls. It somehow made the dire circumstances even worse.

At long last, the vet came in, a sturdy woman with vibrant tattoos scrolled up and down her arms. Brusque and unfriendly, she drilled us on our daily care of Pumpkin – what we fed him, etc. She frowned and shook her head, making us feel like we had mistreated our beloved pet. “This cat is very sick,” she barked at us. “We put him on an IV to rehydrate him. Not doing well. He needs a feeding tube and a series of tests. He’ll be in the hospital for a few weeks. Needs exploratory surgery. Gotta check the liver. Sample the bilirubin….” The list went on.

It was mind-boggling. What was happening? This was so unexpected. One day Pumpkin was healthy and then suddenly he wasn’t. There was no long period of illness to prepare us for the worst. “Can we visit him in the hospital?” I ventured, slowly processing the information thrust at me.

Dr. Tattoo frowned and shook her head. “We don’t encourage visiting. It disrupts the medical care of the animals.” Ahhh. I understood. No visits allowed. I would have to relinquish my darling cat to these disagreeable people and pay an extraordinary bill, yet I was not allowed to visit our dear friend to comfort him or even to ensure that he was receiving the promised care. What if they just stuck him in a cage in a back room? What was preventing that? How would I know? Honestly, I wouldn’t. I just wouldn’t. I’d have to put all my faith in Dr. Tattoo, the tough broad who was trying to intimidate and shame me into hospitalizing my poor sick cat. Under the circumstances, such trust seemed highly unlikely.

The diagnostic tests would cost almost $8,000. Just for the tests. It wasn’t the treatment and certainly not the cure. Eight thousand dollars to simply find out what was ailing our cat who had been well and strong for 11 solid years. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. If it cost $8,000 for the tests alone, how much would the actual treatment cost? We were looking at upwards of $20,000 to $30,000. Or more. Good Lord. Against my will, tears streamed down my face. My children were already crying their eyes out and holding onto one another. They’d never lost a pet before, and this was extremely traumatizing.

The biggest question was how the hell I would manage to pay for everything. I might honestly go broke keeping our middle-aged cat alive. I was floored. How could I make it work? Use my daughter’s carefully saved tuition money? What would happen when that was gone? What then? I didn’t know. I wanted to break down in a puddle of tears, but I couldn’t. A mom has to be strong for her kids, right? The fearless leader, and all that. I had to make a cold, hard decision. There was no other option. Life often hinges precariously on a single choice. But there’s no compromising a child’s education. The possibility of a bleak future laden with significant credit card debt loomed heavily.

“What are you going to do?” Dr. Tattoo asked, suspiciously, suddenly realizing her best and newest clients might not be amenable to her proposed plan of action.

“I’m going to take him home,” I said, calmly. And I meant it. There was no room for negotiation. We’d already spent more than $2000 on visits to the vet in the last 48 hours. No. I said, “No.” No treatment. No feeding tubes. No tests. No hospital. Give me back my cat.

“That’s not humane,” Dr. Tattoo countered, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t going to let a perfectly qualified grieving customer walk out the door so easily.

But I had moved past her shame-game. “Then prescribe pain medication so he won’t suffer,” I replied, steadily. “Now, give me back my cat.” The churlish doctor looked me up and down and with palpable reluctance, exited the chilly room.

At the very least, the hospital hoped we would take them up on their ‘Euthanasia Special’ – which the young technician who entered only moments later cheerfully described to us. Quite the deal. Just $500, including the death of your animal, cremation (of course, an extra charge if you want him cremated alone so you can keep the ashes) and a little plaque with your pet’s paw print. How could I resist that bargain? The technician inched the Euthanasia contract towards me. But I was done with them.

“Nah,” I said, offhandedly. “I’ll just toss him out the window on the highway. That’s free.” Okay, I didn’t really say that, but we did take our Pumpkin home. The technician appeared disappointed we didn’t want to pull the plug on our furry friend immediately. Maybe they get a bonus for each cremation they book? Who knows?

The hospital returned Pumpkin to us in his carrier, and he was overjoyed to see us, pacing back and forth in his carrier and nuzzling his nose and whiskers against the bars of the carrier. “Oh, thank God, it’s you! Can we please go home now?” And home is where Pumpkin remained for days after the grim hospital experience. Still weak. Still sick. But relieved to be home. He would have been miserable hooked up to tubes in the hospital with that wretched crew, far away from his beloved family.

Pumpkin took sunbaths each day and looked so serene, his orange fur resplendent in the bright sunlight. We took lots of photos and videos and recorded him purring. We hugged and kissed him and let him know he was loved. Because we loved that cat. I knew we would probably wind up putting him down, but not at that horrible hospital. I learned you can get a traveling vet to come to your house when the end finally arrives so it can be done peacefully at home. That sounded comforting. That’s what we would do, eventually.

It’s hard to be a pet owner. Their precious lives end entirely too soon. They work their way into our hearts and take up a forever residence. Yet our beloved animals must leave this world eventually, their paw prints leaving indelible track marks across our hearts. Life isn’t fair. It is awful and harrowing to bid goodbye to a dear friend. But I am grateful Pumpkin’s wild and wonderful spirit touched our lives.

We love you, Punks. Thanks for being a friend. Always and forever, buddy.