Cats are amazing little creatures. Some are standoffish and don't really connect with your family the way dogs nearly always do, but others wrap themselves around your heart. Darrell and I have always had at least one cat, but only two have really completely connected with us. It seems almost fitting that the same organs gave out on both of them.
Callie was our first baby. She was our "practice" for being parents before having kids. She was always tiny, never weighing more than seven pounds. We didn't give her a very original name, for a calico cat. She was always very dainty, stepping carefully around the nick nacks I used to have out before we had kids. She was the constant in our lives as we moved from Morgantown, WV to Plymouth, MI to Raleigh, NC to Clayton, NC to Greenville, NC to Plymouth, MI to Fairmont, WV. We were worried about how she'd treat our daughter when she was born, but Callie seemed to understand that she'd better be kind to the new tiny human in the house.
But when I was pregnant with our son, Callie got very sick. Her kidneys were failing, one of them may have never worked right, which may have been why she was always so small. I gave her fluids every day for months. Sometimes she'd rally for a while, other times she seemed near death. It gave us about four more months with her, and I'll never be sorry for that.
Chester came into our lives quite differently. Rather than us going to pick out a cute little kitten, he was wandering our neighborhood in Fairmont, WV, already a few years old when we met. Our neighbors took him in first, thought he was female, and called him Junebug. But they already had three cats and asked if we could take him in. We did, even though we were moving soon. We quickly found out he was male, and changed his name to Chester. He handled the move well, and quickly showed that he was not the scaredy-cat his little brother Bailey was. He insisted on going outside to sun himself and to hunt, and quickly made friends with several other families on our new street in Firebrook.
We always joked that Chester might not move even if we did someday, because he had several other admirers on Fireside Circle. At least three other families kept treats for him regularly, and let him inside their houses even. He was just that kind of cat. When our son was little, he could pick Chester up by the paws or even tail, and Chester would just put up with it. He understood that you shouldn't hurt children. Even neighborhood children could do stuff like that to him, and he wouldn't scratch or even complain. If an adult did similar or played too rough, he would scratch though. He was quite the hunter, bringing home mice and birds for us to admire. I didn't like that so much, but admired his skill.
Last fall, he got glaucoma and went blind in one eye. We've been treating him with eye drops daily since then, with regular, expensive visits to vet ophthalmologists as well. I'd do all that and more for him for years and years if needed. But last week, it seemed like something else was wrong. He was losing weight again and not moving around as much. Both had happened before when his eye was painful, but his eye was pretty stable now. He's never been as active since the eye issue, so I think that all masked what was wrong longer. And he's such a brave, strong kitty anyway.
If a person were in as much pain, I'm quite sure we wouldn't even get out of bed. Chester doesn't complain. He doesn't look quite normal when he walks, has lost a lot of weight, and can't make it to the litter box well. But he still tries. He tries to eat. He goes down to the basement even if he can't make it to the litter box. He enjoyed a long walk outside last weekend even if he did have to stop every so often to rest. But the last few days, he's also added coughing/dry heave spells to his list of symptoms. It looks so painful and his little paws splay out each time.
When is the right time to stop a dear friend's suffering? I wish he could tell me when the pain is just too much, but since he can't, it's a decision we have to make for him. The vet said last Saturday that it would be just a matter of days, not weeks or months. I wish she weren't right. He has a huge tumor in one kidney, and the other is all shriveled up. We don't even know exactly how old Chester is, but we still thought we'd have longer than seven years with him.
I miss him already. I think today's the day to end his pain, but it tears me up to make that decision. He knows that he is loved.
Many people say that pets don't go to heaven, because they don't have souls and it isn't talked about in the Bible. I can't imagine them not being there though. I think heaven will be everything we want it to be and more, and I suspect that our beloved pets will be right there with us. Until then, Chester, we will miss you.
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