It was time.
But even knowing its the time and right thing to do, doesn't make it any easier.
Jools had put Molly in the box by the time I was up, and Molly just sat inside it, in silence for nearly three hours until it was time to go.
I took Jools to catch the bus from the town centre, hoping that there would be no jams for the port, but it was clear.
Back home and have breakfast, power up the work laptop, do the end of week admin. I was looking at the clock all the time, so at twenty to nine, I picked up Molly and we walked to the car.
She did meow some in the car, as she knew she was off to the vets, but her complaints were only half-hearted. We waited in the surgery, me watching old Simon's Cat videos.
A woman with a kitten was called in by Chris before Molly, and the kitten, even in a box, is full of life, exploring and mewing loudly.
Chris came out and called for us to go in. How is she?
> Not good, I say.
She is sneezing a lot, can't eat on her right hand side and is probably blind in her left eye too.
We got Molly out, and the poor thing didn't struggle. Chris looking into her eyes and noticed her face had slumped on her right hand side, and blood was coming out of her nose.
It was time.
We both knew.
I cried.
A lot.
Just hold her, he said.
So I did.
He shaved a little of her right leg, inserted a needle, got a bottle of orange liquid out, took a measure of it, filled the syringe and was put in her leg.
He pushed the plunger, and Molly slumped.
So quick.
Now at rest.
He went to listen to her heart, it was still.
She was gone.
I sobbed.
Chris quickly went over details, making it easy for me, said we could sort ou the bill and details another time, just walk out he said. We wrapped Molly in her blanket, ready for her to go to the crematorium.
I drove home, calm, but once home I have to call Jools and tell her.br />
She knew.
We both cried.
I made a brew, watched some TV. Called my boss, told her (she's a cat person, so understood) take your time she said.
Life returned to normal, I went back to work, sat in a meeting, answered questions, then had to begin sending dozens of notifications.
At half one I had to break off to pick up Jools, at least in the summer holidays the traffic isn't so bad. It was pouring with rain, suited my mood to be honest.
On the way back, we talked about Molly. No tears, just good memories, and comfort that we had done the right thing, and had noticed that she had not been right for a while.
Back home, I finish work, Jools goes to the library in the village, so by the times she comes back, I am done with work for the week, it is four, and Steve Lamacq is on the radio, preparing us for the weekend.We have dinner, but by then I was worn out, but there was football to listen to, as just over three weeks since the end of the World Cup, the Premier League was back. I laid on bed to listen to it, while Jools watched Breaking Bad. I snoozed through half the game, but heard when Utd scored twice.
Time for bed at the end of a heck of a day.
3 comments:
Sadly I know that procedure all too well, as I went through it three times in the space of about five years a few years back with three of my cats. Sadly I knew it so well, I knew to pay at the reception desk before taking the cat into the vets rooms, so once the sad deed was done all I had to do was walk out and not have to worry about the admin and paying the bill.
I've decided not to get any more cats as I find this too sad, so find it easier not to have them anymore.
I've had cats die on me in the past, i.e. you wake up in the morning and find they've died overnight, and while sad I understand it. But to have to make the decision yourself and take them to the vet, I found super super hard to be the one deciding the time and place. I hated it.
We are told these days that it is not appropriate to say "I know how you feel" because of course we never do, but I think in this case, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you and Julie are going through, so biggest condolences from me.
Funny how the scene plays out exactly the same way here... even though we are separated by an ocean. And I don't just mean what the vet does, but how we respond to it all. The tears... the holding them close as life quickly ebbs away... the sudden knowledge they are gone and gone forever.
It never gets easier. I've been down this road so many times in my life. Knowing it will happen again and again and again in the coming years makes it no easier.
But a very long time ago I took to heart a thought which helps me through these moments, and I suspect the two of you are of the same thought, regardless of the fact we've never met or exchanged the idea. And I certainly do not claim these words as my own, but to paraphrase: better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all.
~Mark (aka forkboy1965)
Nothing can replace these furry little creatures that so easily become impossibly important to us. But we can remember them and keep alive those memories, so that we can feel just a little bit less alone.
Guys,
Without doubt the hardest post to write. I was crying as I typed.
Saying that, the pain has subsided, and although we miss Molly like crazy, I and we enjoyed her in our lives for 13 years, and those 13 years were so full of joy and fill our hearts with love.
Comparing those 13 years to the few days of heartbreak, love and joy is the huge winner, and we will look for another kitty, or two, once we are back from NYC and Boston.
Molly's ashes are in the living room, as well as a little bit of her tortie fur.
Thans for being there and understanding.
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