Who Gets to Decide?

Jerry and I took two of our cats to the vet yesterday. Tilly has been tearing out her hair on her back, and Omar had visibly slowed down, continuing to lose weight and peeing and pooping outside the box.

The vet prescribed steroids for Tilly, but there really wasn't anything more to prescribe for Omar. We had a decision to make.

We knew he was not going to get better, and we knew he would continue his descent. In the three or four months he was with us, we tried to make his life as comfortable and joyful as we could. Yummy food and snacks, scritches on his head and neck.

So we decided it was time to let him go. He didnt like to be in high places, so our vet got on the floor with him, gave him a dish with Churu and treats, and injected him with medication to make him sleepy, and then gave him another to stop his heart.

I'm heartbroken we couldn't do more for him-- make him well, give him more quality of life. But I am grateful we could end his suffering and indignity.

It made me think of when I had gotten home from England and was completely helpless. There were times I wished I had died. I was not suicidal, but there was more than one morning when I wished I had not woken up.

But I had the potential to get better. It surely was not overnight, and it came with many setbacks, but I got better. I am still on that trajectory. I'm not done. I am confident I will continue to improve with what I hope are fewer setbacks.

Maybe if Omar's heart disease had been caught earlier-- perhaps years, not months-- he could have improved. But we only had him a short while. The damage had already been done with no way to reverse it. So we did for him what we could, knowing his time with us would be measured in days and weeks, not years.

We made a decision for him he could not make for himself, but I believe he was grateful for our care, and our ultimate decision to let him go.

Our decision was out of love, but I'm grieving. He was not a typically loveable cat. He didn't want to be held. He didn't cuddle. I don't know if he ever wanted those things in his 15 or so years. But we loved him.

There is no doubt some animals are euthanized not out of love, but because shelters are out of space. And sometimes they are outright killed by evil people.

But Omar's death was because we loved him. We should all be so lucky that when there is no hope and our life has no chance of having quality, we are allowed to do this.

And if I knew on the day we pulled him from the shelter that this is what would happen, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

So right now we are grieving, but I know that it is a result of love. And that makes it okay.

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