#1 - I cannot live without pets.
For the first time since 1987 there are no pets in this house. Might as well be a fucking morgue. It fucking sucks.
We are already taking steps to remedy the situation. Yesterday we contacted the SPCA and another pet adoption agency. This void must be filled immediately.
We have a plan.
We will be adopting two cats. They have to be from the same home so that they have lived together and get along easily. Surprisingly (to me) there are lots of dual adoptions available that meet that criteria.
They have to be loving and gentle. Hopefully lap cats. If they are not lap cats up front, they will become lap cats - once they feel the genuineness of the love we will have for them they will think - "I gotta get more of this."
(Editor's note - My heart aches for moving on so quickly from Maka, but I am tired of crying. Walked into the kitchen this morning, turned on the stove light, turned on the overhead light, turned around and took one step towards the water bowl that is not there.)
#2 - I never again want to be in the position of putting a pet down.
Adopting two new cats might appear self-defeating as far as this policy goes, but I am betting on longevity - for the cats. Maka lived 18 years, Lakota lived 20 years. Carol and I attribute that longevity, in part, to the sweet sensitivity and genuineness of the love we gave to them.
Vegas would not give good odds for me living to the age of 87. Neither would I.
Here's my rationale for Thing # 2.
I put Lakota down on January 31, of 2020, I put Maka down on September 11, 2021. Both of their last days were violent - painful to watch. I have put 5 pets down since 1987 - none more painful to experience than Lakota and Maka.
I woke up to Lakota not being able to walk. Her hind legs had given out. She crawled forward by digging her front paws into the carpet. I tried to hold her. She wouldn't allow it. Maybe it was painful. I sat on the floor of the spare room with her for 2 hours before we could take her to the vet. I originally found her around 6 am. I tried so hard to comfort her; I don't know how successful I was. She had to be wildly afraid.
We wrapped her in a blanket when the time came. Carol drove, I held Lakota in my lap. I talked to her continuously, telling her how much we loved her, how much happiness she had given us, what a precious, special cat she was.
When she was on the vet's table her eyes were wide - until I kissed her head, patted her head - then she would close her eyes. Every single time.
And then she was gone.
Maka woke up on our bed last Saturday. I said "Is it time to get up Little Girl? Is it time to wake up Cutie Pie?" She walked up to my pillow and touched her nose to my nose.
Went downstairs, filled her water bowl, and gave her some food (which she ate a little of). I walked into the bathroom - when I came out there was blood all over the kitchen floor. The tumor had ruptured, blood was dripping out of her mouth and she was walking around. Until she settled down behind the water bowl and went down on her belly. She was obviously wildly afraid.
She fought hard when the vet tried to sedate her (thankfully the vet came to the house). Actually got away from her and walked a bit across the floor. I picked her up, hugged her and told her I loved her. Then I handed her back to the vet. In my mind I believe she was thinking "What the fuck are you doing? You are supposed to protect me from these people."
I was destroyed.
And then she was gone.
These scenes - Lakota and Maka - are burned into my mind. I cannot shake them. They appear in my brain involuntarily and cause me great pain.
Do you understand why I never want to do this again?
Circumstances may dictate otherwise, but I pray to whatever fucking god there is that I never have to put another pet down.
For now we are existing on hopeful anticipation. Hopefully we find a couple of new precious cats this week. That could blast away some of the pain we are feeling.
Here's hoping.
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