I just got back from the vet. Rory had another blockage last night, so I took him in as soon as they opened this morning. After sitting up all night with him, trying to decide what to do, I felt like the best thing for him was to have him put to sleep. I’d hoped that the PU surgery would stop the blockages, but it didn’t. I couldn’t stand the thought of him having to go through this over and over and over again, especially knowing how painful UTIs are, and how excruciating a complete blockage must be. I just didn’t feel like his quality of life would be acceptable.
This is the first time I’ve had to make this decision. The rest of my animals have had the good sense to choose their own times and to leave on their own terms. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be–not the procedure itself, which was amazingly low-key and uneventful–but the stress of having to make the decision to have it done. I got to stay with him while he was sedated, and for the final shot to make his heart stop. He was calm about everything. The initial shot didn’t bother him, but then he’s been poked with so many needles, I’m sure it was old hat. He curled up on the table, with his head shoved under my arm and his body resting against me, and started purring gently. It may have been stress purring, but it didn’t seem frantic enough for that. His breathing eventually slowed, then nearly stopped. The vet came back in to give him the final shot and that was that. I paid the bill and brought home an empty carrier.
Now we’re the house of girls, which feels very odd. Pandora is my sole remaining cat. First and last and always, I guess. She outlived three younger cats–Echo, Polkadottie, and Rory–and one dog–Elliott. I sometimes think she might outlive us all.
So goodbye, Rory O’Nubbin. You were one hell of a cat: sweet, feisty, exasperating, and endlessly entertaining. You should have had a long, long life, dammit.
red paper boat 