Sad phone call with my brother this morning: Yesterday, him and his partner left the house for an hour and when they came back, they found their 7 year-old golden retriever shaking in her bed. She couldn’t walk anymore. One of her back legs was completely paralyzed. They rushed her to the vet but the specialist wasn’t there during the weekend. It sounds like the poor dog, who was perfectly healthy and happy before, might have had a stroke. There is talk of spinal surgery and possibly of amputation. More tests have to be done. I could hear the worry and the sadness in my brother’s voice. He’s anticipating a tough decision, and I understand what he is going through.
Today marks the second anniversary of the death of my cat René. Me and my boyfriend (at the time) had decided to name him after the famous Quebec politician because we got the kitty on the day of René Lévesque’s death (1987) and we were young and romantic… René was a very cool cat, the kind of cat who charmed people who don’t like cats, because he was smart, funny and quiet (he had no voice, just like Lévesque the smoker!). I took René with me to California and he loved it over there. When I moved to Montreal 8 years later, the cat came back with me. Moving or taking planes didn’t seem to traumatize him. I tell you, he was a very cool cat.
René and I spent some time apart during our human-animal relationship, but I was always feeling very attached to him. He was my first animal companion as an adult and he had gone through a lot with me. Around the age of 14, René got sick, and the vet diagnosed a severe case of diabetes. The cat was put on a special diet but his health kept getting worse.
I had to make one of the toughest decisions in my life. I chose to put my cat to sleep and even the simple mention of this euphemism (« sleep »?!?) brings tears to my eyes. People who have never loved a pet won’t understand this. Most pets do not die of natural causes, which means that at some point, someone has to make a decision, with consideration to quality of life for both the pet and the caretaker.
I had numerous pet as a child and it was always my parents who brought them to the vet and had them put to sleep, sometimes without a warning, thinking that it would be easier on the kids if they just had to face the facts. So this time, I decided to stay with my cat all the way until the end. I watched the vet give him the tranquilizer and then the final shot. I talked to him as he slowly stopped breathing. (No, he didn’t quite look like he was falling asleep.) I was crying the whole way through and I felt like the staff at the vet’s office were uncomfortable. I hate crying in public, but at that point, I didn’t care.
I took René’s body with me. I couldn’t stand the idea of having him cremated with a bunch of clinical waste (which is what they do), so I asked my then boyfriend to bury the cat at his chalet. I had bought a nice flower box to put the cat in. It took us two hours to dig through a very rocky soil to get a hole deep enough to keep wild animals from uncovering the grave.
When the time came to put René in his box, the scene became close to burlesque. The cat’s body had hardened in such a position that made it impossible for him to fit in the box. I had read some basic instructions on the Web about burying your own pet but nobody tells you about this kind of stuff! I was laughing and crying at the same time. How could this be so complicated? I just wanted it to be over! My boyfriend found a bigger box with a better shape and I was finally able to bury my cat. I cried for a long time but then finally calmed down.
The day after, just as we were getting ready to drive back home, the first snow flakes of the season started to fall. It was an amazing scene, with the glorious colors of Fall being slowly covered by thick, furry looking snow flakes, which reminded me of the small puff of white hair René had on his black neck. I am not much of a believer, but I comforted myself by thinking that this was some kind of a sign. Of what? I am not sure.
To this day, I still feel bad about my decision to have my cat euthanized, but I’m glad I took care of all the rest myself. It was one of the saddest thing I’ve had to go through but it was my responsability and a symbolic gesture in honor of the years I had shared with René. I hate this denial of death we live with, this desire to let other people arrange everything for us, to make it as « easy » as possible on ourselves, even though it’s a desire I can understand. It is never easy. Might as well deal with it directly and face the grieving we have to face. Grieving for a pet is also specifically hard because it is not taken very seriously. There is no bereavement leave planned for pet owners, and people think you are weird when you want to inquire about ceremonial ways to dispose of your pet’s body.
I have been very hesitant to get another animal companion after René’s death. And now there’s Spiff, Blork’s 13 year-old cat, who is about to become my roommate…
