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I sent some thoughts via repping and informed her I was reopening this thread (so if it'd occurred to her she wouldn't feel compelled to.)
Although the last post about Weisie's improvement raised hopes, I got "that sinking feeling" from having been in the same situation. No one who saw how frisky and outgoing Weasie was during her Farewell Tour could've foreseen how quickly she'd go downhill, to the point where she was wailing in agony and despair mere days afterwards. Anything can change "in the blink of an eye," and sometimes does.
I'm glad - though not glad, if you know what I mean - to have stumbled upon that other thread.
Although the last post about Weisie's improvement raised hopes, I got "that sinking feeling" from having been in the same situation. No one who saw how frisky and outgoing Weasie was during her Farewell Tour could've foreseen how quickly she'd go downhill, to the point where she was wailing in agony and despair mere days afterwards. Anything can change "in the blink of an eye," and sometimes does.
When I read that post from the OP, I immediately thought of our Tucker's "rally" the morning before his rapid final decline. He was nearly like his old self for that morning. It reminded me of the many stories of people who do that just before they die.
This is so considerate of you to ask people to think of us.
Yes she is gone.
and I am so alone.
I never thought I would feel so alone without her.
I live alone, and living with an animal is not like living with a person, you can talk to yr pet (and I did) but they are not going to give you advice, or say, 'yes you did the right thing' or discuss the latest crisis.
but I guess Wheezie provided more socialability that I was aware of. I feel utterly stricken.
I keep looking for her. When I woke up this morning was the worst, bec. first thing I would do would be to look for her.
last nite I imagined feeling her on the bed. I keep hearing her.
In the last while, I was so worried about her, that I was super-vigilant - as eg if she coughed or sneezed I had to run to her, cause that was a serious thing with her.
what happened after she "rebounded" she started to not eat again except for a very little, then she started to fall.
She couldn't jump to her favorite chair.
It was weird, just an hour before I was taking her on that last trip, she - for the first time since I moved to this apt 3 months ago - developed an intense interest in the window. So I took her outside.
even now sitting at my computer in the early morning, I'm expecting her meow. She had a meow which would get quite loud.
Even tho I saw her lifeless body I thot that would help make it real but it doesn't feel real.
I don't know how I will get thru this.
I used to always check on her first thing on coming to the house, cause I feared she would die. she'd been sickly so long.
I worried for so long about her.
So I thot with the grief there would be an element of relief that I didn't have to worry anymore, but there isn't.
Quote:
Originally Posted by goyguy
In an active thread in another forum, the OP has announced that Weisie has apparently taken a turn for the worse. I revived this one so people would be aware and thinking of them today. Their last trip to the vet will be taking place this afternoon.
yesterday, cuz our kittys' situations were similar, and cuz you were so comforting.
I did spend the last day with Wheezie (as you can see I don't have one uniform way to spell her name), I guess I like Weisie better.
I gave her a little mouthful of her 2 favorite foods - cheetos and muffin!
Not good for her but at that point, so what. She almost took the tip of my finger off, getting the cheeto.
I suppose time will help.
I hope today is the worst day.
I don't have to do anything today except physical therapy, so that is good.
I've only told my sister-in-law. Nobody in my life even knows she's gone. Even the people in my building yesterday, asked me how I am, fine I said.
I don't feel like talking about it.
I went to Rainbow Bridge, but honestly it doesn't make me feel better to fantasize about my cat being somewhere. She is nowhere.
That is what is so hard. Here, then gone. Poof.
And last week I lost an old friend. Someone I wasn't in touch with but knew for 40 years. Died suddenly of a stroke. Here, then gone. Poof.
Not fair.
I'm having a hard time with that too.
I sent some thoughts via repping and informed her I was reopening this thread (so if it'd occurred to her she wouldn't feel compelled to.)
Although the last post about Weisie's improvement raised hopes, I got "that sinking feeling" from having been in the same situation. No one who saw how frisky and outgoing Weasie was during her Farewell Tour could've foreseen how quickly she'd go downhill, to the point where she was wailing in agony and despair mere days afterwards. Anything can change "in the blink of an eye," and sometimes does.
I'm glad - though not glad, if you know what I mean - to have stumbled upon that other thread.
Expounding at length (not like it's the first time!)
Quote:
Originally Posted by ellenrr
And last week I lost an old friend. Someone I wasn't in touch with but knew for 40 years.
The older you get, the more you start surviving people! I had the same thing happen in 2011. My family became good friends (and are to this day) with a family who moved onto our block way way back in 1967. One of the kids was my age. We were a grade apart in school so moved in different social circles. When we did hang out we always had a blast. But life kept on pulling us in opposite directions, and once we'd attained independent adulthood we fell out of touch completely. Other than at a wedding during the early '90s we never connected again. Every once in a while I'd think about locating him (he'd grown pretty estranged from his family) and communicating. It would turn into one of those things we all have, that we'll get around to someday "when we have the time." Then all of a sudden, one day - as you put it - "POOF." How do you mourn a person you only once knew, or hadn't been in touch with for eons? The sadness and regrets are still there, in a shallow and vague form but there nonetheless. I think that therein lies the secret underlying any loss which brings on grief. What we're lamenting is not just the person or pet's departure, it's also the past which will never return. Whether it was reassuring a new neighbor that the "lost and hungry" cat who followed them home was neither, or enjoying the uncannily shared sense of humor I had with the long lost friend who died suddenly, those things took place when I was younger. Not only are Matt and Weasie gone. So are those years. We don't dwell on that from day to day until death throws it in our face.
Any "Kitty-Data" regular has read the four tales below time and again, and is welcome to skip ahead.
On one of her "good days" during roughly her last month alive, Weasie was pestering me for a treat one evening as she'd done countless times over 19 years. She would usually be given the typical lecture: Treats given too often wouldn't be treats any more. Part of what makes a treat a treat is, it's something you shouldn't have all the time. Etc. But I thought better of it. To her delight, I started opening a fresh can of food while remarking, "So what! You're gonna die anyway!"
Weasie's appetite had gone from voracious to barely there as the end neared for her also. Only recently had she developed a fondness for white cheddar cheese (and only white cheddar. ) And, though not discriminating when it came to food in a can, she did betray a slight preference for a particular brand and flavor. So on the morning of her "pre-wake" - when a small select group of her nearest and dearest humans dropped by to bid her farewell before her last ride - I knew what her final meal would consist of. First I grabbed a slice of white cheddar cheese from the fridge, sat on the kitchen floor, put most of it in my mouth, and broke the remainder into tidbits. Undoubtedly feeling no hunger pangs whatsoever, Weasie was still pleased to be offered that goodie and managed to take in about a half-dozen morsels. Then I opened her favorite canned food and held out some of it on my index fingertip. By then she was less hungry still, but - here again pleased to be given something that good - she managed a couple of licks/nibbles. After that it was time to get ready for our visitors, and for her leaving our home forever (at least in this life.)
The day Weasie died was far from the worst. It was no easier for her to start losing balance, and never feel comfortable or full from the disease ravaging her from inside, than it was for me to see and imagine what she was going through. For me it was uplifting to observe her relaxing after the sedative hit. She hadn't known an entirely pain-free existence for so long. When she'd passed out, never to reawaken, I may have been wet-eyed when I left the room but I was smiling all the same. Yes, her life had ended, but so had the hell it had brought her as it neared its conclusion. Weasie wasn't hurting any more - why not celebrate that? The bad days were before that one, and after.
My Weasie also had a sort of "fascination" with the outdoors during her closing hours. She had always been an inside/outside cat. However - until the morning of the day preceding her euthanasia appointment, when she bolted through the open front door and I luckily caught her - she'd not ventured from the house or shown any interest in doing so ever since her Farewell Tour. Instead she would jump on the bed and peer through the windows for extended periods, out to the yard where she passed many hours and set off on countless adventures. When she started doing this once after her near escape I told her she'd soon be out there any time she wanted. Her ashes are buried in a flowerbed there, but that's beside the point. The point is that while I frankly only see rainbow bridges and the like as a metaphor, and am not religious, I'm convinced Weasie's spirit lives on regardless (as do those of every person, cat, and other animal I've known - or not - who have gone before me.) Unless I'm Uri Geller, there's no explaining some things that have happened, mostly objects falling from secure places with no apparent cause. A few of these occurrences have even taken place while I've been away on vacation - a duffel bag dropping from where it sat squarely atop a luggage rack, my electric razor toppling off a dresser despite being far from an edge, etc. Maybe it's only a string of weird coincidences, but I choose to think differently. There has to be something primal behind cats' sudden noticing of the world outside confinement when they're at the brink of death. And in my Weasie's case, when she made a break for it she couldn't have been thinking that taking her last breath in the open during winter weather would feel good. When people's cats have bailed successfully toward the end of life they're mysteriously never found. So even as I revel in the antics and drama the grrrrlz bring every day and I continue to think of Weasie, it's no problem to live in the present not only thanks to the successor cats. ("THEY ARE NOT 'REPLACEMENTS'!!!") I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Weasie has only left in one sense. Hopefully, OP, you too can reach this level of realization before long. But how long that takes is not for anybody else to say. Nor is "adopt(ing) another one and you'll feel better." Some people bring a new feline home before the previous one's body is cold. I was in no hurry to be cat-owned again, but fate in the form of Blaliko and Seteria had other ideas. (The formerly stray mom moved in 4 1/2 months after Weasie passed, the elusive "wild-born" daughter a month and a half thence.) A year is just the ticket for others. Still others - like my own mother - vow to never be cat parents again and stick to it.
What little comfort can be taken from knowing different people have also "been there," I hope this extends some.
I never thought I would feel so alone without her.
I'm sorry you are suffering. Most of us here know the pain. When Tucker died, DH commented on how people would say "oh, it's so hard to lose a pet." He wasn't just a pet--he was a member of the family, as Weisie was for you.
People who don't understand this kind of bond will say things that may hurt you unintentionally. You need to take care of yourself now and ignore people who don't understand.
I bought this book after Tucker died. He was such a big presence in our lives, and to be honest, our favorite. I found it helpful, and maybe you will too. (I'm not affiliated.)
Ellenrr, I understand and am so sorry you've had to go through this. I've lost a cat before, and though I still have another one (though she is elderly), it still bothers me so much I can't really think about it. I have to believe I did the right thing at the time; otherwise, I'd be of no use to myself, much less my surviving cat.
I live alone as well, and my cat is my constant companion, friend, and little girl. I can't imagine the day I'll have to live here without her, but life is a circle of beginnings and endings, and I believe the soul never 'dies.' Most of all, they love us so much, I believe it upsets them to see us continue to grieve. We have to go on and be happy. It's one of the few loves in life that is instantly, unconditionally reciprocal - between animal and human. Trust that and move ahead, knowing you're never really apart; just in the "next room!"
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thank you!
I had the same thing happen in 2011. My family became good friends (and are to this day) with a family who moved onto our block way way back in 1967. One of the kids was my age. We were a grade apart in school so moved in different social circles. When we did hang out we always had a blast. But life kept on pulling us in opposite directions, and once we'd attained independent adulthood we fell out of touch completely. Other than at a wedding during the early '90s we never connected again. Every once in a while I'd think about locating him (he'd grown pretty estranged from his family) and communicating. It would turn into one of those things we all have, that we'll get around to someday "when we have the time." Then all of a sudden, one day - as you put it - "POOF." How do you mourn a person you only once knew, or hadn't been in touch with for eons? The sadness and regrets are still there, in a shallow and vague form but there nonetheless. I think that therein lies the secret underlying any loss which brings on grief. What we're lamenting is not just the person or pet's departure, it's also the past which will never return. Whether it was reassuring a new neighbor that the "lost and hungry" cat who followed them home was neither, or enjoying the uncannily shared sense of humor I had with the long lost friend who died suddenly, those things took place when I was younger. Not only are Matt and Weasie gone. So are those years. We don't dwell on that from day to day until death throws it in our face.
) And, though not discriminating when it came to food in a can, she did betray a slight preference for a particular brand and flavor. So on the morning of her "pre-wake" - when a small select group of her nearest and dearest humans dropped by to bid her farewell before her last ride - I knew what her final meal would consist of. First I grabbed a slice of white cheddar cheese from the fridge, sat on the kitchen floor, put most of it in my mouth, and broke the remainder into tidbits. Undoubtedly feeling no hunger pangs whatsoever, Weasie was still pleased to be offered that goodie and managed to take in about a half-dozen morsels. Then I opened her favorite canned food and held out some of it on my index fingertip. By then she was less hungry still, but - here again pleased to be given something that good - she managed a couple of licks/nibbles. After that it was time to get ready for our visitors, and for her leaving our home forever (at least in this life.)
There has to be something primal behind cats' sudden noticing of the world outside confinement when they're at the brink of death. And in my Weasie's case, when she made a break for it she couldn't have been thinking that taking her last breath in the open during winter weather would feel good. When people's cats have bailed successfully toward the end of life they're mysteriously never found. So even as I revel in the antics and drama the grrrrlz bring every day and I continue to think of Weasie, it's no problem to live in the present not only thanks to the successor cats. ("THEY ARE NOT 'REPLACEMENTS'!!!") I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Weasie has only left in one sense. Hopefully, OP, you too can reach this level of realization before long. But how long that takes is not for anybody else to say. Nor is "adopt(ing) another one and you'll feel better." Some people bring a new feline home before the previous one's body is cold. I was in no hurry to be cat-owned again, but fate in the form of Blaliko and Seteria had other ideas. (The formerly stray mom moved in 4 1/2 months after Weasie passed, the elusive "wild-born" daughter a month and a half thence.) A year is just the ticket for others. Still others - like my own mother - vow to never be cat parents again and stick to it. 
