I wrote a lot about Tig while he was dying (as well as tons while he was alive and healthy), but I couldn’t bring myself to write much about his last day. Not when it happened, not shortly afterward, not even after I got Tig3.0 and the pain pushed back to something that only comes out once in a long while, and causes a pang of grief and loss that only lasts until the new Tig makes me smile.
But I was looking for a recent picture to send to a friend that I hadn’t heard from in over twenty years, and I decided this one would do.
And then I read the post, and the comments, and remembered back to that day. When I woke up that Saturday morning, Tig was in my room, in a corner near some boxes. He hadn’t slept in my room in weeks, maybe months. Something had frightened him again—I assumed it was the bed monster, or the blanket monster, or whatever it was that stopped him from sleeping in the bed for months at a time. But the sicker he got, the less he came into my room. He’d taken to sleeping in a box in my office, which I made more comfortable for him by adding some towels. The box is the first place I checked every morning, always greatly relieved to see him awake and alive. So when I woke up that Saturday and saw Tig in my room, I knew immediately something was really wrong. He wasn’t crying or panting, but he was in my room, as if to say, “Something hurts. Make the pain go away.”
My friend Heidi speaks of a contract we have with our pets. That unwritten contract states that it is our duty to feed them, love them, take care of them, and make sure that they do not die in pain if we can help it. In return, we get the unconditional love that dogs and cats give their owners. The contract ultimately dictated my behavior that day.
I took him downstairs and tried to get him to eat. He couldn’t eat. The ulcers in his mouth probably hurt too much. But it was a beautiful day outside, and he could lie in the sun. So I let him out and thought about what to do. I called the vet and told them that it might be time, and asked how late I could bring him in. They told me 11:30. I had to decide whether to bring him in then, or hope against hope that he’d make it through the weekend. But I was worried that he was in pain, and he’d get worse, and I’d feel awful if I decided to wait until my vet was back in the office, instead of paying an emergency vet three or four times what it would cost to put him down. And above all, I did not want Tig to suffer. If I decided to wait another couple of days, and then saw that Tig was hurting, I would never forgive myself if I thought he was in pain because of my indecision or selfishness.
I called Sarah, and told her what was happening, and I can’t remember if I asked, or she offered, but she came over to go with me to the vet. She took the final picture of us, at my request. The picture was taken just minutes before we left. It’s the very last picture of Tig. And he was purring while Sarah took it. To the very last, Tig purred—not his loud, deep, throaty purr, but a purr nonetheless. We were outside in the back, sitting in the sun, until Sarah got there. And even in his weakened state, Tig had to be crated to go to the vet. He didn’t exactly go gently into that good night. But I kept my end of the contract. He went with a minimal amount of suffering, and he spent his final hours in the sun, with me by his side, petting him and listening for those faint purrs.
Losing this Tig was even more painful than losing my first Tig, for some reason. And it still hurts to think about the loss of my orange boy. But his successor is sitting calmly in the window with Gracie right now, having failed in his attempt to get her to play with him. And he makes me smile and laugh, every single day.
He shadows me constantly, just like his namesakes did. When I go upstairs, he goes upstairs. He supervised the cleaning of my closet this weekend (pictures to come). When I go to the bathroom, he follows me inside. When I take a shower, he sits on the side of the tub, or he does Tig things until the water goes off, then he comes inside the bathroom, knocks my razor off the side of the tub onto the floor, licks the water off the bottom of the tub or off my legs (ew), and generally gets in my way completely. And that’s pretty much what his namesake used to do. I never close the bathroom doors when I’m home alone. The cats will just stand outside and yowl until they’re opened, anyway.
And now, Tig3 is sitting next to me (he moves around a lot while I write), showing me that no, the medication hasn’t yet fully gotten rid of his flatulence problem, and when I reach down to pet him, he licks my hand. And then he bites me, because je suis un cat toy, as I’ve been saying since I got him.
I suppose that must be the circle of life that everyone talks about. One cat goes, another arrives. I miss the first Tig, and the second Tig. But I have Tig the Third, and Gracie, and we’re all doing quite well, thank you.
C.A.T.S.
Companions Always There Sweetly
What a beautiful coda to Tig 2.0’s life song.
Now you’re getting me all verklempt thinking about Matata and our last minutes with her.
May you enjoy your days with New Tig…and have sweet memories of your times with the Old Tigs.
Meryl, beautiful tribute to a wonderful companion!
For us katz lovers, we fully understand your pain, and the knowledge that they will always live on in our hearts.
Meryl, beautiful tribute to a wonderful companion!
For us katz lovers, we fully understand your pain, and the fact that they will always be in our hearts and never fully replaced.
Glad to see TIG3 doing so well, and getting along with Gracie.
Oh, Meryl, I do understand about that unwritten contract. There’s a lump in my throat and there are tears in my eyes.
Hugs to Tig3 and Gracie.
That is a lovely and heart-touching memorial. Thank you.
Beautiful tribute to Tig2, makes me think of all the kitties that have died recently including my Krissie, too many holes left in our hearts. And lovely pic of Tig3 and Gracie, nice to see them together. Sorry he’s still farting thou.
“That unwritten contract states that it is our duty to feed them, love them, take care of them, and make sure that they do not die in pain if we can help it.”
I promised this to Piper, and I have promised this to Nardo.
I’ve never seen your blog. But this post brought tears. I had to put down my cat of 19.5 years 4 months after my mom died. It was hard and painful, but like you, I knew it was time. She still ate and went to the bathroom but when she started walking into walls and not hearing and not finding things, I knew it was time. Her whiskers even stopped working.
Both your current cats are lovely and if my Chester wasn’t such a bully, I’d totally get him a kitten, but I think he enjoys being the spoiled only cat. :)
I know you are a felinista and as one myself I understand this better than I wish I did. And yesterday our almost-17 year old German shorthair pointer had cancel her contract because she had ailments that were beyond reasonable treatment.
So I wrote a friend of my impressions:
“She deserved to fade and sleep peacefully. You know this is no easy thing to do but she did it with her usual class surrounded by S, S, and a caring vet who S said handled everything with calm and kindness. I sat outside because I did not want to intrude or have my tears drown everyone.
“Last night I went outside and looked at a thready wisp of a cloud moving over the half moon and for some reason while the cloud moved first a bit up and then a bit down it did not diminish the moonlight. It were as if Snickers had begun her flight into space, loping a bit, galloping a bit, and at times stopping to sniff around. So now she’s in a place with no pain, no worry, but many interesting sights, smells, sounds, and spirits to look after her.”
We know from Proverbs 12:10 that a righteous man [okay, person] knows the soul of his animal. And we would like to believe that our critters know our soul as well.
Read a good article at http://www.jewfaq.org/animals.htm
and hang in.
Velvel, sorry about Snickers. But I didn’t know that part of the Torah. Thanks for that. Yes, it’s true.
As for them knowing our souls… well, Tig got locked out of my bedroom last night because, when I wouldn’t play with him, he jumped on the dresser where he’s not allowed, knowing full well that would get my attention.
Oh, yeah. They know us.
I have a 9 year old cat that is almost the spitting image of Tig 3.0. I rescued her and her kittens from underneath my mother’s house 8+ years ago, after some douche decided to dump a pregnant cat in our neighborhood. Anyway, my mom got the kittens, but I got the mother. She follows me everywhere, waiting for me to sit down so that she can climb up on my lap. If I go outside, she sits at the window and squalls until my wife opens the door. She stays upstairs all day until I get home, at which point she promptly comes down to greet me. And I have to leave the bathroom door open so that she won’t leave claw marks on the outside while trying to get in.
So, I love her and feed her and she returns the first favor. Someday, I too will have to make certain that she doesn’t die in pain. And at the end, I’ll make sure that the last thing she remembers is being held in my arms.
I’m sorry about your loss, but I’m glad that Tig, the next generation, is giving you such joy.