The last time I found myself on this forum was a little over 5 years ago when I lost my very first cat, Percy, to renal failure. The members here provided me with a wonderful sense of support and compassion, and I unfortunately am in need of this again today.
A little over 24 hours ago, my husband and I lost our little gray and white fur baby, Thunder. She was Percy's best companion and my husband's little girl. And a little girl she was! She was the runt of the litter and quite a character. When we adopted her 15 years ago, she was a tiny little 3 month old spastic ball of energy. We fell in love with her when we went to her foster family and watched her climb up a table, spaz out over something unknown, and subsequently fall off the table. What really won us over was why she was named Thunder. That tiny little kitty could purr up a storm!
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(Adoption picture)
She lived a very good life with us and was well-loved and doted upon. I know that 15 years is about the average lifespan for an indoor cat, but even that knowledge cannot prepare you adequately for saying goodbye to your beloved pet. In the back of our minds we know that the end would be coming soon. Thunder was already beginning to slow down these past few months, she ate less, and she was getting thin and her fur matted. But then we were surprised this past Friday night when she even refused her favorite foods, chicken (she had a tendency to steal skinless chicken breasts from bowls) and treats. Even jumping onto the bed became a bit more of a challenge for her this past weekend, so we would help her on so that she would be able to snuggle us as we slept through the night. On Saturday night as we settled down to sleep, she took her place on the pillow above my husband's head like normal, but after a few minutes she jumped off the bed and headed into the living room. I got the sense then that something might have been up but kept in the back of my mind that in the past she would return later that morning.
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(Taken the night before Thunder fell ill)
She never did on Sunday morning, but I brushed it off and thought that she decided to sleep under the bed like what she had done in the past. So, I went about my normal business and when I set out fresh food for her and her cat-sister, Holly, I expected to see her come running. Once again, she never did. So, the husband and I started to search for her. There was no way that she could have gotten out, so we checked in every spot imaginable. We ended up finding her under the couch. She had hidden herself and wet herself, and as my husband lifted the couch I picked her up gently and set her down onto a nest of sheets. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and she meowed sadly up at us. She had actually done a similar thing a few months back and had recovered fully, so we held on to the foolish hope that she would do the same. Even after we had placed her onto the sheets, she kept trying to get up to move into our bedrooms. Every few steps she would just drop down and rest, fully spent. And it continued that way until Monday morning.
We wanted to take her to the vet, but we were having work done in our house and there was no way we were able to reschedule or leave the workmen alone. So, we had no choice but to keep Thunder at home and let her pass on her own terms. On Monday morning, she was still with us but was growing more and more weak. It broke my heart to see her try to stand to make her way over to one of us, only to lose her energy and fall over onto her side with a thud. That's something I'll never forget. We watched her pull her way to the front door to lay down as she stared outside. Our other cat, Holly, even laid next to her and it looked as if they were watching the birds together one last time. The thing is, she and Holly were the biggest "frenemies" ever, but in Thunder's dying moments even Holly managed to show some compassion to her big sister. When the workmen finally came a couple of hours before lunch, Thunder somehow managed to find the strength to bring herself into our bedroom before I could even get to her. We placed Holly in there with her because my husband and I had to watch over what was going on.
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(The very last picture I have of Thunder the day she died, watching the birds with Holly.)
As soon as the workers left shortly after 12, I immediately rushed to the room to check on Thunder. Now, I am a wimp when it comes to death. In a way I was thankful that I was not there when our first cat, Percy, passed away 5 years ago and I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to see Thunder go. As soon as I opened the bedroom door, Holly rushed over to me and let out this meow that sounded like, "Mommy!!" I knew. I walked over to my side of the bed and found Thunder. She was already gone. In a way, part of me felt guilty that neither me nor my husband was there for her to stroke her head as she crossed over. And in another way, I feel guilty about how she suffered like that...but at the same time I wanted her to pass over on her own terms and in a place that was familiar to her. She hated her carrier and the car, which would have been sheer torture to her. My husband and I had our moment with our baby, and he took care of her body. She was wrapped in one of his old shirts so that she could "be with daddy forever" and I had surrounded her with half a dozen fresh plumeria flowers from the tree outside. After instructing me to leave the house, my husband took care of what was left of our baby.
It's been a little over a day since we said our goodbyes and it hurts. I know that it'll remain fresh and raw for a while, much like when we said goodbye to Percy. I've been crying off and on over how much I already miss her, and there have been times when I'd lie in bed and it's like I could still feel her walking on the pillows over our heads. At least I know that she and Percy have been reunited and that she is no longer in pain.