Please indulge me in a moment grief

Findley is gone and it really sucks.

I wanted to write a brief and simple post like Sleepwalker and Trixie (who I acknowledge have recently endured similar experiences). But I suck and I need to blubber and wail just a little bit (more).

We did cuddle him up until the end; in fact, pets and cuddles were the only thing that seemed to console him as he deteriorated to the point of immobility. I suppose it should not have been a surprise that a kitty like Findley wasn't the type to run away and hide.

It was a really difficult decision, but we did end up taking him to our veterinarian. It became obvious that he was in distress, and it was honestly unbearable. We were able to hold him the whole time, and stayed with him for a long time afterward, until they finally took him away.

This whole experience is new to me (which is maybe why I am being so melodramatic). I realize now that it is an enormous burden to take active control over the life/death of a creature. It was agonizing to try to decide whether we should let Findley go on his own, or take him to be euthanized. Ultimately, it seemed worse to let him suffer than help him along... and we don't feel like we made a mistake. But being the one to give the nod "okay, let's go now past the point of no return" and actually snuff the life of the little guy who trusts you so implicitly... Consciously CHOOSING which "one last cuddle" is THE last one. I think my heart will always be a little bit broken from having made and lived out that decision.

And in the couple of days that have passed, we have been surprised at the grief we are feeling. I totally took for granted how deeply embedded in my consciousness and subconsciousness that little kitty was. Last night when we returned home from dinner (happy birthday Mom!), as we were pulling up to the house it struck me that it was an empty house. Seems like every time I'd pulled up to the house before, I'd (consciously or subconsciously) acknowledge it as a house with an inhabitant who was waiting for our return - usually by scampering to the door to meet us with his trademark yowl. There are empty spots and ghosts everywhere. McPie admitted today: "Yesterday I swept the floor and could not bring myself to do anything with the cat toys I found. I just left them there."

Anyway. Another picture, because he was so damn cute. In an ugly sort of way (as those of you who have met him will attest.)

(You wouldn't have been able to choose between these pics, either. Especially if you knew him.)

Found!

I may yet get my cuddles. Findley is still with us. Sweetie McPie found him yesterday afternoon -- alive and well, or well-enough -- in the washing machine. (We have a front-loader.) He was just cuddled up in there, completely invisible under a pile of dirty towels and gym socks.

The night before, I'd stuffed some whites in, and then decided I didn't have full load so abandoned the effort with the idea that I'd eventually grab the bathmat from upstairs and then put the laundry on...

Findley was *this close* to being euthanized via the permanent press cycle. I shudder at the thought.

McPie found a kitty-sized box, put Findley's cozy oven mitt* in it, and placed it on the heat vent in the kitchen for Fin to sleep in. So much as he can enjoy anything these days, the kitty is enjoying coze, warmth, and company, without having to move.


* When Finner was still dextrous, he would regularly pop open the bottom kitchen drawer where we kept the dishtowels and oven mitts, and curl up in the back of the drawer. One of the mitts is so covered in fur it's now "his".

Gone?

Findley, our sweet and sour little kitty, has been ailing for some months now. We didn't really notice at first - he was just acting a little "older". Looking a little scruffier, sleeping a bit more. A month or so ago, we noticed him stumbling a little, and instead of hopping lightly onto our laps, he was climbing (squirrel-like). A trip to the vet yielded little, other than the speculation that he might have some sort of neurological disease, or brain tumour. Which would be undiagnosable without a (wait for it) catscan. (Ba-da-boom! McPie loves that one. For some reason.)

Since then, we've just been watching him carefully, and coddling/cuddling him with abandon. In the past couple of weeks, Findley's taken to sleeping constantly, up in the spare room. We moved a litter box up there for his convenience, and have been carrying him downstairs occasionally. He has still been wanting lap time - when we crouch to pet him, he climbs on - for comfort we presume.

We've known his time is approaching, and have been watching to make sure he's not in obvious pain or serious distress. We'd rather he stay where he's familiar and comfortable than take him to the dreaded vet, if possible.

But last night, I put Finner on McPie's chest to cozy up while we watched some Buffy. Findley was slightly more alert than usual - and seemed to be a bit restless. His trembling was more pronounced. He stayed for awhile, then meowed a few times (unusual lately) and hopped down and slunk away. It was the most activity we'd seen from him in days.

We haven't seen Findley since. And we've looked high and low. Like, everywhere. He's tiny and can fit in little bitty nooks. And although weakened of late, he's able to open drawers to crawl into. I know this is just what cats do, but I did have idealistic visions of cuddling him in his last moments...

McPie is home sick today, and suspects that he'll be the one to find Finner, because "it's always the husband"... We'll see.

Meanwhile, I'll be thinking pleasant thoughts all day about my little companion who I've had with me (for better or worse) most closely and consistently since I settled here in my grown-up life...

Deserves more credit

For the past week and a half, Findley has been refusing to eat his wet food. He's been guzzling the dry stuff (normally just a snack), and totally ignoring the wet chunks. I hold out hope, and continue to refresh his wet dish daily.

I read on the CBC web site (thanks Vicki!) about the poisoned pet food recall.

"In Canada, the recall also covers Loblaws President's Choice brand." Maybe Findley could smell it. (Since he's deaf, he other senses are more acute, right?)

Findley's been secretly praying for deliverance from the Mama who is trying to poison him.