Hercules Aka Meatball The Incredible Cat. :-(

On Monday morning I lost my beloved cat of 10 years, Meatball. His "official" name was Hercules, but he was nicknamed Meatball and it just stuck. I think he liked it better anyway.

I'm in decent spirits as I type this sentence, but there are highs and lows, I've already had some good cries today, and no doubt I'll cry a lot as I type this.

On Friday night he stopped eating, which was rare for him. He loved to eat. He still seemed healthy enough, had energy, he just didn't eat his dinner. He had just eaten that morning, and even initiated play time with a toy I had left out that morning. But it progressed quickly, his breathing became rapid later in the night, I ended up taking him to the late vet. He was X-Rayed and by Saturday he was on medication (Lasix) for fluid around his lungs and heart. I was still optimistic and watched for signs of the medication working. Unfortunately I didn't see any and by late Sunday, he was not in good shape. He had only enough energy to walk from his water bowl (which he wasn't drinking from, only sitting by), to the balcony (where I had been spending as much time as he wanted with him). At that point I took him to the emergency clinic, they did blood tests and found kidney disease, high levels of a bunch of stuff I can't remember and the vet informed me he wouldn't live if he wasn't hospitalized. I hated to leave him there, but the vet informed me that with what they knew at this point, there was a chance he could still live with a good quality of life, and they predicted only about 48 hours of hospitalization would be required, so I left him there because he deserved that chance to live.

They kept him in an oxygenated cage to keep him comfortable on account of his trouble breathing. They informed me they would take more x-rays, because I didn't have the originals from the other vet.

Early Monday morning I got a call from the hospital telling me that due to the amount of the fluid they found, the prognosis would likely not be good, that most diagnoses from that are illnesses that would result in a poor quality of life, and I asked if there was even ONE illness that might be the exception and she said yes. (I don't even remember which ones, all I heard was that there was hope, even though she was honest that the odds weren't good and I should be prepared to make a decision if the results weren't good). She asked for permission to remove the fluid from the lungs both to make him more comfortable, and also so they could test the fluid so they could diagnose him. He deserved comfort, and he deserved a chance, so again I said yes.

She said they would call in approximately an hour with the results of that test. I asked if I could come visit him in the meantime, so I got up there and spent I'd say 40 minutes in a room with him, petting him, telling him I loved him, and holding oxygen up to his nose.

After that a staff member came in to bring him to a table nearby the room I was in, for the fluid extraction. I told him I loved him and waited in the room. While he was away from me I held on to hope, but vowed that if I did have to put him to sleep I would be by his side petting him and telling him I loved him.

It didn't get to that point. Next thing I knew it was chaos, a girl running into the room telling me he wasn't doing well and asking me if I wanted to go out there. I ran quickly to his side and was told he had stopped breathing, next we were being rushed to a different table where I was then told his heart had stopped and I was being asked if I wanted to have him resuscitated. I said no. I was to have signed a paper earlier with this decision, but somehow the signing got overlooked, but for compassionate reasons I had planned to say no anyway.

I learned that his heart had stopped because his fragile heart couldn't handle the sedative that they had to give just prior to the fluid extraction.

My heart sank that he was gone. Before he had left the room I knew that I MAY not have MUCH more time with him, but I never would have predicted that the 40 minutes I had just spent with him were to be the last. I remember afterwards asking the vet what the point of resuscitation would have been, and she said none, that I did the right thing. She said if his heart couldn't even handle the sedative, I would have just been bringing him back to suffering. I was hysterical. I remember collapsing to the floor. Fortunately a friend was there with me, as I can't even imagine going through that alone. I saw the final air escape his body, and that at least looked peaceful.

I'm confident that at no point was he actually in any pain and take some solace in that, but it was just traumatizing to see it all happen so suddenly and chaotically. I wasn't prepared for that. This isn't about me though. I trust that it wasn't chaotic for him as he wasn't breathing when I was called out there, and I'm holding on to the knowledge that his last moments weren't painful. I'm also holding on to the knowledge that things could have been worse. If I HADN'T gone to visit him before the procedure, I wouldn't have been by his side when he died. While things are hard, I am still so incredibly grateful that I had gone to visit him BEFORE he was given that sedative.


I'm lost and broken right now, but I wouldn't wish him back to a life of suffering. I hope he trusted me until the very end. If I had to choose between winning the lottery, or the knowledge that he knew until his last breath that I was doing the best I could for him, I would choose the latter.

Ugh, I don't know where my box of tissue is right now, and I'm using toilet paper.

There are still triggers. He was also diabetic and I still see his bottle of insulin in the fridge. It's almost brand new and good for another year so I just can't bring myself to throw it away, but I may move it out of sight for a while. Or maybe keep them visible as a reminder to myself of how well he was cared for. He was given that insulin twice a day for the last 4 years, so when those times of the day roll around, sometimes that's a trigger. I see his cans of diabetic suitable food. I still have lots of cans, as I had no idea he would be leaving so soon.


Since Monday there have been ups, downs, and also moments of complete absurdity:

I've had a lot of support from a lot of compassionate people, helping to lift my spirits, or even just distract me for a bit. And I've also had moments of good memories, and peace that he isn't suffering.

I've had moments of crying and crying and crying.

I've had someone who knows he just died say some really inappropriate things, then when that was explained to her, she admitted she knew that, but continued saying them anyway. Anyway, this isn't the place to focus on that, it's a place to honour Meatball.


I grew especially close to Meatball, he was a rescue, and at the adoption centre he crawled straight on to my lap when his cage door was opened. He was the most social cat, and loved to cuddle. He loved to play and was so smart, he knew his toys were kept in the drawers and closet, and would come running whenever he heard one of them open. He knew where his food was stored, even though it was in sealed cans, and not stored in the same room he ate in.

My other cat seems to be doing alright, but has been hiding under the couch quite a bit. I think she's staring to realize he isn't coming back and I know I need to be brave and strong to support her. She is still eating and I've been keeping a close eye on her.

I'll upload a picture tomorrow, I'm exhausted after typing all of this, but it felt good and if you read this to the end, thank you. I need sleep now, but will come back tomorrow and read your stories. Right now I will give you my thoughts and wish you comfort if you too are grieving the loss of a pet.

XO.