Remembering the Kitten Girl
We had to put our cat Eno down on Tuesday, December 23. She had been losing weight for sometime, although she had a very healthy appetite and showed no other major signs of illness until that morning when she refused to eat and was having trouble walking. She had eaten a rubber band about a week ago and passed it with no problem, but with all the Christmas decorations around I was worried that she’d ingested something that wasn’t agreeing with her.
I took her to the vet and her temperature was abnormally low - 96 degrees (cats usually run around 100). The vet told me that was a sign of shock and that there was something seriously wrong with her, although her preliminary blood work said her organ functions were fine. He gave her some fluids and something to encourage her appetite and told me to take her home to watch her closely for any signs reclusivity: “she could go downhill fast.”
When I got home Eno sought out a quiet nook. She picked a spot in my son’s room, right next to the heating register. She refused the chicken and rice I made for her and lay down on her side, breathing shallowly. I sat with her and petted her until my husband and son came home. When I got up to leave the room Eno tried to follow me, but she stumbled when she walked. My husband picked her up and put her on the couch, building a little pillow fort around her to help keep her warm and to feel safer.
I had been trying to keep composed since Tommy came home but when Rick asked me, “Danielle do you want me to take her?” I lost it. I knew at the vet that it was time for her to go, but I was glad she was home for a little bit to say goodbye.
We went to Avets emergency care in Monroeville where they told us she was in renal failure. We felt that hospitalization and surgery would be overly traumatic and they guaranteed no quality of life. We agreed with the vet that our best option was to put her to sleep and I held Eno on her way out. I think that’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. They gave us her paw impressions as a remembrance.
We had dropped my son off with my parents because while I think he understands pet death (that post is a little chilling now, eh?), I don’t think he was ready to grasp the concept of pet euthanasia. All the way back to their house I was worried how he would take it. We had, after all, told him we were taking Eno to the doctor because she was very, very sick. “Will they make her better?” [We hope.] “She’s coming home, right?” [....]
In the end, Tommy was fine. He was more concerned for his dad and me, who were obvious wrecks. My parents, two time dog owners, helped us with encouraging words and a much-needed beer. We headed back home one family member short, and in the morning Tommy consoled our other cat: “Casper, Eno died. She was your sister. I know you must be sad but it’ll be all right.”
I’ve been trying to write this story since it happened, but it’s been very hard. That cat really meant more to me than I realized. I think that when we lose a pet we also mourn the passage of time. A lot has happened in the eight years since we we brought our cats home: wedding, baby, four moves, seven jobs (between the two of us), parties, birthdays, and Christmases. Lots of new technology too. When I was working on the photo collage below, I wondered why I didn’t have any kitten pictures in iPhoto. Turns out all those pics were taken with an old timey camera that used film. Lord only knows where those prints are.
I used the new Picasa for iPhoto to make this:
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| From Collages |
I also found this old video in my library from right after Christmas 2005. Tommy had just learned how to walk that day and Eno was gently reminding us that she, too, could do that trick.
I’ll miss you Eno. You were the best cuddle cat. I know you were just warming up to the kid so you should know that he asks about you every day.
