RIP to our black kitka, Buddy

Red kitka and Black Kitka on Harv's Saddle Pad, 2010

Buddy, our skittish kitty with a beautiful face and sweet personality, was euthanized Monday.

Bob adopted Buddy before we met, and he was probably around eight or ten years old. Last fall his litter box use became very sporadic, and he lost a substantial amount of weight. We had some tests done. The vet said he was in  renal failure, and the outlook long term was poor. We got special food, new litter boxes, and medication.  He got better for awhile, then worse, then better.

And last week, he got worse again, and Sunday was a really bad day. That night neither of Bob or I slept well, and in the wee hours Bob went downstairs. I could hear him milling around and talking to Buddy.

I went to work on Monday morning, but at about 10am Bob called. He had made the decision. Based on everything we knew of Buddy's condition, his behavior, and the vet's report, it was time to say goodbye. I drove home to help put Buddy in the carrier and take him to the clinic.

 I'm a practical person. It actually seemed doable to drive home, do the grim task, and go back to work. I entered the house at 10:30am, feeling sad but prepared. I had an eye on the clock for my 1:30pm appointment at work, and I focused on the immediate task of getting him into the carrier. This is no small feat for a cat that will not let you pick him up.

We're seldom successful on the first attempt to get him in, and usually one of us ends up needing the first aid kit. This time Buddy offered no resistance as Bob lifted him into the carrier.  He was  terrified, though, and yowling, and our red kitty started yowling too. My heart sank: they both know what is happening. Bob wasn't speaking and he was moving purposefully. I think if he hestitated even a moment he would have lost his resolve. As he drove us to the vet, Bob was quiet. To fill the silence I went over everything we had done for Buddy and the signs of his discomfort/health decline.

Buddy was hard to photograph; when you focused a camera
on him he ran. It was easier to photograph him with Red Kitty.



Because Buddy had gone easily into the carrier, we were forty minutes early for our appointment. We checked in with the receptionist.  Bob glanced down at Buddy's folder on the desk. Then he started asking questions. Could we review Buddy's records? Could there be something we'd overlooked? Were they sure this were no other options? What about antibiotics? He asked if Buddy could live outside. It was a desperate, illogical question and I knew where it was going.

"Bob, he's sick," I said. "He can't be an outside cat."  The receptionist backed me up, and we talked about everything we had tried to keep him healthy, all the meds and the tests and the lifestyle changes. The receptionist reminded Bob, "You've been in here every week for months. You've done everything we said, you've done all you can."

Bob was on the verge of taking Buddy back home, I just knew it. I wanted Bob to be there, for Buddy, but it was not to be. I suggested that he go home and come back later to pick me up. To my surprise, he agreed. The look on his face was awful. He left without a glance at the cat carrier.

The receptionist led me in to a patient room. I took a seat, and she asked me if I wanted to let Buddy out of the carrier.  I said yes. 

Buddy was never a people cat. Sweet and gentle as he was, he very fearful. He would often approach  to be petted, but he only let you touch him a few seconds before running away. Here in this sterile room with the humming lights, I fully expected him to dive under the table and cower. I took a seat by the table. To my surprise, he jumped up next to me. Wide eyed, he curled up at my side against my corduroy pants. I patted him and told him how good he was, and I cried. It was the longest time he'd stayed near me. In about ten minutes, the vet came in. 

Have you been through this process with a pet? It's not so bad. The clinic staff were wonderful. They did their work with kindness and reassurance.  They encouraged me to be near and to hold him, and I was grateful for that. In a strange and scary place I was the only familiar thing, and I hope my presence comforted him.

Afterward I sat with Buddy for a bit, petting him. Then I called Bob and he took me home. I fixed us some coffee, and we sat together on the couch for awhile, neither of us saying much. Then it was time to go  back to work.

Buddy, we miss you very much. 
Fare thee well.