Knowing I have an animal who will die from disease is a line between the happiness of best life and no suffering for the cat. Depending upon diagnosis, there is anticipatory grief which in Lukas's case, I had for the last three years of his life. On his last day, he was in bed with me, never touching food, water, treats, and snuggling deeply into my person, purring. After attempting to feed him, I gave up and called the vet and the pet sitter for transport.
His vet and I came to the mutual conclusion that it was time to ease him from the world without suffering. After almost ninety days, the grief I feel is as profound as the bond Lukas and I shared through all of his care, and the joy eclipsed by a diagnosis and myriad complications which led to euthanasia.
Our sweetest times were often late at night, listening to the steady rumble of purrs. the small sounds he made while dreaming or his bringing a toy into bed to play. Typical of orange tabbies, Lukas loved to eat, whether a meal or a treat, he was always up for nibbles, until that last day.
I have two portraits, paw prints, some toys and his favorite mat as well as his much-loved blankets and litter box at the back of my closet. Not a day has gone by that I don't look at his portrait or a photo and though I well up, I feel a small smile start these days.
A friend recently said that I gave him his best life. I hope so because that was my goal and his trust my greatest treasure.
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