Mama's Boy

I had to have Fuzz put to sleep on June 6th.  He'd been sick for the previous six weeks with several problems that in the end left no other options.  He had inflammatory bowel, which is analagous to Irritable Bowel for humans, plus hyperthyroidism.  The vet also suspected he might have had cancer or lymphoma in his intestines, which didn't show up on the x-ray they did.  The result was that he couldn't eat and was starving to death.  The vet also said that he didn't seem to be absorbing the protein from what little he did eat properly, which led her to suspect cancer.

He kept getting weaker and thinner -- when he died he weighed only 6 pounds, which is frightening for a cat that used to weigh a hefty 15.  The hyperthyroidism could be treated with any of 3 options:  a special formulation diet, daily pills, or a radioactive iodine treatment.  I did try the food, as it was the easiest all around.  But he wouldn't eat it.  At first I thought this was just him being picky and tried to mix it with regular canned food and then even tried mixing it with double cream, but he wouldn't eat any of it.  He would nibble sometimes on a bite or two of the dry kibble version of the hyperthyroid food, but not enough to gain any weight.  I tried to give him also some gastrointestinal formulation food that would have helped with the inflammatory bowel, but he wouldn't touch that either.  A couple weeks ago I decided to do the radioactive iodine treatment -- something had to give, and that was the quickest and surest way of dealing with the hyperthyroid.  But he needed to be stronger to go through that, and he just wouldn't eat.  The vet also mentioned that we could have a biopsy done to see if he had cancer, but that would also require him to be stronger to get through the anesthesia.  It all depended on getting him stabilized and fattened up, and he simply wouldn't do it.

He was himself up to the moment he died -- walking around, bonking his head on things, sitting on my lap wanting to be petted.  The vet said it would take less than a minute for him to go when she gave him the shot.  He was gone before the vet nurse laid him down, before the vet even got the needle out of his leg.  It was like flipping a switch.  He was just... gone.

I still feel like a murderer.  This was my child.  And I was the one who sat there and allowed someone to kill him.  I know that's not how I should see it, and that I did all I could.  I know that he would have died weak and probably in pain if I had allowed him to die naturally.  But I still feel like a murderer.

No more pets.  Not for a long time.  I can't take this kind of thing anymore.

I love you, Mama's Boy.  I'm not going to get over you for a long, long time.