Cheerio, Cheerio baby

1990-2006


I was distraught to have to make the decision to let my Cheerio, faithful cat companion of 16 years, move on to the next phase of her existence. She was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism last year and could not take the medication since it lowered her white blood cell count too much. I did not want to put her through the radiation treatment at that age; I elected to give her what medicine I could for as long as she had quality of life. I would know when it was time...

Cheerio has had stomach inflammation issues for about 3 years. She would throw up undigested food shortly after eating it. She's been off hard food for awhile. When she started vomiting no matter what she ate, and the medication she was given to treat this problem no longer helped, I knew it was time. She was about half her previous size.

It was very difficult to take the responsibility of making the decision of ending another being's life. She was spry and happy, played with me every day, greeted me every morning and slept next to me every night. How I could decide it was over when she was in such good spirits? I knew I had to be with her when it happened, to help make it a peaceful journey.

When Cheerio's brother, Whizzin, was put to sleep 3 years ago, I had Steve handle everything. I wanted a home vet so he would not have to die in fear - he became feral when crated or going to the vet. He buried the body while I was at work, and for 3 years there has been a small bucket marking the spot, waiting for a grave marker. Switch was waiting to come into our life and Whizzin had gotten so bad with aggression towards other cats and marking around the house, he had to go. A part of me has felt guilty about that ever since - he was in fine physical condition, he just had severe behavior and emotional problems.

I have always had difficulty in dealing with animal death, since seeing Bambi, Old Yeller, and Where the Red Fern Grows, as a child (3rd/4th grade). I also was around a lot of animal death growing up. We raised chickens and rabbits for food. We lost a cat a year to the woods and wild animals around us - or cars. Pet chickens and ducks were getting picked off regularly by predatory birds or raccoons or loose dogs; just a pile of feathers would remain as evidence. I personally dug the hole for the family dog at the age of 16 in a damn rainstorm - not by choice (yeah, I am still mad about it). Since becoming an adult I refuse to see a movie whose star is an animal (save Babe, which my mom told me was a good movie and had a happy ending. I guess she didn't think Babe's mom DYING was important.) A year and a half ago I went to see a certified hypnotherapist and Emotional Freedom Technique practitioner. I went to see her because she ran a diet group. What I found out right away was that I did not have a problem with food. I had other issues in my past that needed to be dealt with. She helped me with three main parts of my life:

1. Acknowledging that my grandfather's sexual molestation of me between the ages of 3 and 6 had an effect on my life and all of the relationships I had with boys or men since it happened;
2. Accepting the fact that it was ok to not be close to one's immediate family and to not allow social expectations to run my life, by absolving myself of the guilt of failed relationships and false expectations, I set myself free;
3. My incredible sensitivity to animal suffering overhung a large part of my life, and the reason for that was that I identified with the innocence and powerlessness of animals in a world run by men. And often in depictions of animal stories the parent animal is killed and the young is left to fend for itself. I guess it felt to close to home. My parents were alive, but I felt very much alone.

My "pink therapy" was part of getting to know myself and getting in touch with my feminine side in the process of dealing with issue #1 (see the 2nd post in my blog, from November 2005).

As I was getting to know myself and understand all these things, Hurricane Katrina hit. We donated quite a bit of money to HSUS (Humane Society of the United States) to help with rescue efforts. Two months after the hurricane had passed and the devastation and animal rescues continued, I decided I had to do something more to help. I joined the Seattle Animal Shelter volunteer force.

There were Katrina rescues coming into the local shelter system, not to mention our own city's homeless pet problem. People have often said to me that they couldn't do something like that, being around all those animals in that sort of environment. It would be too depressing; they would want to take them all home. But I found solace in it. I knew whatever interaction I had with a homeless animal at the shelter was going to be a positive one; that my time with that animal would improve its life. I packed my pockets with treats. I worked as a Matchmaker, someone who facilitates an animal introduction between the animal and the potential adopter. I helped both dogs and cats find new homes. I watched these wonderful animals leave the shelter system to find new lives with their new families. It was never depressing but very rewarding. (My technique for achieving this state of mind was not to follow the animal's status by name from week to week. I would usually work one shift a month at the shelter, and the shifts were far enough apart that none of the animals were the same, if an animal was not lucky enough to find a new home, I didn't know about it.)

So when it came time for Cheerio to move on, I felt I needed to test my new skills to cope with it and my grief. I called on Wednesday morning and the vet was able to come out Friday morning. I had the same home vet come. I sent Steve and Sophia off to a coffee shop; I wanted to focus completely on Cheerio and not have Sophia be a distraction or for her to become concerned with what was happening. I fed Cheerio her breakfast and played with her, and we sat on the couch and watched a movie and waited.

Dr. Oswalt came; as she was walking up to the door the music from the closing scene of "Six Feet Under" was playing on the satellite radio (if you've watched the show/episode, you know what I am talking about). The vet explained to me the process, all the while I was crying and trying to pay attention. There are 2 ways to handle euthanasia - by IV, which is instantaneous death; or by injection, and the process takes 5-20 minutes. I said by IV but she told me that meant putting on a tourniquet and since the cat was still strong it might be a struggle. Cheerio lay sleeping on the couch where I had left her, completely unconcerned. I didn't want her to get excited, she seemed so peaceful. So I agreed to the injection method. Dr. Oswalt explained that the process is similar to a person waking up after a night of drinking. The first stage is where the body can move but the brain is nor thinking. Stage 2 the brain is alert but the body can not respond and movement is lost. Then stage 3, breathing stops but the heart still beats. Stage 4 the heart stops and rigamortus sets in, death is declared. I listened to all this and it was only mildly reassuring.

We decided she would give the injection and then bring Cheerio to me on my bed, where I could hold her next to me (she never was a lap cat). I waited only a few seconds, and then Cheerio was in my arms. Tears streamed down my face (as they are while I tell this now and go thru this process). Cheerio was trying to get away from me, she strained against my arms. There was nothing unusual about this since she always was like this, if she didn't want to be held, she would try to get away. After a minute or two she struggled less and I convinced her to lie down and rest. I stroked her and said soothing things (for us both). Then she began bathing herself, laying there and licking her front left leg and wiping it across her face. The vet said she had never seen anything like it. I like to think it was because she was comfortable and happy; she only took baths when she was at peace. Eventually she could no longer move. She kept breathing; stage 3 there was what's called the "death rattle". That was kind of scary actually, I was still holding her and I was scared she would jump up and run away. Finally she stopped breathing. Her heart kept beating for a long time. The vet and I talked off and on about things and she answered my questions. She promised she wouldn't leave until she was absolutely certain and death was declared. Finally her heart stopped, she lost some fluids and lie still. I kept stroking her, I wasn't spooked by it. Havana had sat vigil on the bed with me, watching over the whole process. She sniffed Cheerio and had closure (the vet said this was necessary, so she wouldn't be going around looking for her.) The vet said to be sure to let Sophia say goodbye also, so Sophia wouldn't be looking all over for her either.

We had just gotten up from the bed and went into the hallway and Steve returned. He left Sophia out in the yard since her first inclination would be to jump up on the bed to say hi to me. I went to get her off her leash and the vet left. Steve carried Cheerio out to the prepared grave, and we knelt down and let Sophia sniff her. I placed her 2 favorite things in the whole world in the grave with her: her string and one of her little tennis balls. She used to walk around 10 minutes after the lights were turned off for bed, yowling with it in her mouth. She would leave balls in my shoes, by my bed, by my chair, and in the bathroom. All of the places I spent a lot of time.

I think partly what is so difficult about losing Cheerio is that she was the last connection to my youth, my old life. I got her when I was 20 years old, shortly before breaking up with my high school sweetheart. We had picked up the two kittens out of a litter of 8 that had been dumped at a pet store (I had stopped for bird food). When we broke up, I took both of them (he had no interest in taking care of anyone but himself). Those cats got me through that bad breakup, and then another 6 years in a bad relationship with another man. When Steve came into our lives, and he would leave on Sunday night in preparation for his own work week, we would all be depressed together. Whizzin and Cheerio adored him, and he spoiled them something awful. I used to joke that he married me for my cats. He denies it of course. So the latter half of her life was good, had lots of stability, and for then last four and a half years, she didn't even have to move (I moved every 2 years when renting apartments).

Now Whizzin and Cheerio are buried next to each other, and have proper kitty grave markers. I feel I have honored them both in this process.

She took good care of me, and was a joy. She was unique (as they all are). I will miss her tremendously.