Death Of A Pet
personal, grief ·The Day
So here we are again.
The difficult decision of when is the right time has been made.
The hour has been booked at the vets.
The appointment at the pet crematorium has been made.
And now the final day is here.
We try and make the long hours until 5pm as happy as possible. Trying to bottle down the emotion of open grief is hard. The sun has been shining, it’s warm for an October day. We make his final few hours as stress free as we can.
We’ve been here so many times over the years. I myself have had an animal companion in my life for the last 30 years. Cats, rats, dogs, guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbil’s. They’ve all had a part in my troubled life, in many cases one of the few things in life that has kept me alive.
But it never gets easier. Oh the cold, clinical process of who to contact, what to expect, how much it’ll cost. That can be done on autopilot a lot of the time.
But the emotion. The thought of this individual animal. With his funny ways, his voice, the daily interaction you have with him will all be gone. He was special. Scared of his own shadow. His self preservation chip was always running at full speed. He was more than happy in his own little garden. Safe.
Looking out of the kitchen window, the view will always be different now. The big ginger furball sat on the pond just watching the world go by. The pond he fell through the ice on. The pond which was basically his water bowl. In a little world of his own.
Some people aren’t pet people. They’re not animal people. I get that. I’m not a people person. But pets are more than just pets. They’re family. They’re our children who never grow up and leave home. They need us to their dying day. And we need them.
And the loss of a pet. The grief that comes with it is as real as the loss of a person. They’re still a loved one. They still had an impact on your day. My morning routine won’t ever be the same again. Because despite ‘ just’ being a cat, he was someone.
I’m writing all this two hours before our final visit to the vets with him. My day is going on as normal. I’m at work. Away from home. But mentally. Everything is different. People are going about their normal day. But I feel disconnected. More than usual.
Grief over an animal is every bit as valid as grief over any loved one. And the same stages of grief have to be gone through.
He may ‘only be a cat’ to some.
But they’re not you.
And what you’re feeling is important and needs to come out.
The Day After
It’s 6 am Saturday 30th October. We brought our boy home yesterday. We were with him when the drugs took effect and we watched the life quickly drain out of him. We try our best to be the last thing he sees before everything goes dark.
And then. He’s gone. After 17 years we’ll never hear the odd little “quack” sound he made when wanting food or attention. The sight of him sitting on the pond in the pouring rain because he was too stubborn to come in.
So now his pain has ended, ours begins. We have three other cats who need us. They’ve all seen him. Lifeless in his favourite blanket. Who can say whether they understand what’s happened. Feel any sort of loss. Or if the dynamics between the three of them have now changed.
The house feels oddly quieter. He wasn’t such a loud boisterous cat. Especially in the latter years. But there’s still a gap. An unseen force.
I’m filled with relief and sadness.
The stress and worry about how he’ll be today is gone. The burden of care lifted from our shoulders. This year’s firework month, dreaded by both ourselves and the cats, won’t be quite as fearful. The other cats don’t like them. But Garfield was terrified to the point where he’d wet himself.
I find it hard interacting with people at the best of times. So at the worst of times…
Just the cremation to get through. More awkward conversation. More tears. Then home. To three cats who still need us.
I’m posting this raw. No editing. No checking. I’m sure some parts won’t make sense until I read it back. I’m also sure it’s probably just meaningless drivel that doesn’t really come to any conclusion. Won’t have any answers, or helpful advice.
There are hundreds of websites to help with grief. A quick Google search will bring up far more relevant links to dealing with grief than whatever advice I could give.
And life will slowly return to relative normality. The world will continue, life will go on.
Just with a little more sadness.
