First Person: It’s Hard to Send a Pet to Heaven

My beautiful cream blue point Himalayan, Bonnie Blue, passed away Tuesday, May 28.  I am heartbroken.  She was "love in a fur coat", the most precious little cat.  I love her so much.  And she loved me.  I feel guilty that I didn't realize she was sick earlier and taken her to the vet.  When I did realize, the vet did everything she could for her.  I fed her with a little syringe and gave her medicine.  I took her back to the vet to receive more fluids a few days later, but she died on the table right after we got there.  I feel so bad...she didn't want to go to the vet and she fought me.  If I hadn't taken her, she would have died peacefully at home, instead of there, where she didn't want to be.  I have to believe I will see her in Heaven, or I just can't bear it.

My lovely cat Sophie was put to sleep 2 weeks ago, I am absolutely devastated and miss her so much. She was 13 years of age, and up to a few weeks ago was a fit and playful Tabby. My regular vet firstly mis-diagnosed a stomach infection and later a food intolerance. She was put on medication and a different diet but got poorly very quickly. I was forced to take her to an out of hours emergency vet, this vet  felt a large mass in her stomach and thought it kinder that she was put to sleep right away, rather than put her through lots of procedures. I now feel guilty that I should have given her more of a chance, though at the time it seemed the kindest thing to do.

My grief is unbearable, she was my shadow, she was always waiting for me behind the front door when I came home, she sat next to me wherever I sat, she even sat next to me on my computer chair. She made playful talking noises to me every time I looked at her, she was with me last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

I have just had her ashes returned to me, they are in a casket in front of me now, they are filling me with all sorts of emotions, I'm not sure if I can bear to keep them here, but I really felt that I had to have her back home with me again and I hadn't abandoned her!

I've lost pets before and felt grief, but never the same as this; it's probably because Sophie was a rescue cat who was very small, timid and vulnerable. When I first saw her she looked at me so lovingly I couldn't resist her.

I'm thinking of her constantly, and still keep expecting her to appear and ''talk' to me. We  do have another cat, who I also so love, but she is more independent and aloof.

Goodbye Sophie

My cat Annie died on Jan 31 this year. She was also born in  1992 in the month of May is my best guess. In human years she was nearing 100. Found her running along side the highway after someone a few cars ahead of me moved her out of the road and into the grassy border. She would have been killed. She had no fear - never did. We did hospice at my house for 1o days for her. On the morning of the 11th day I took her in to the vet's office. It went so fast. They didn't tell me what was happening. Annie was so weak but would not eat or drink that last morning. Her back legs had given out 10 days before due to her kidney failure. I still sometimes see her wide eyes staring ahead - the way she died. And it haunts me. I know from all I read and was told that she would have started having seizures and I did not want that. I tried to give her a peaceful death. Still not sure I succeeded, but I tried. 

This is such a touching account of your experience in saying farewell to Rosie. Many people don't "get it" about how painful that experience is until they are faced with it. That's when the reality of one's connection with the animal is felt most acutely.  I see that you loved Rosie more than you knew.  She had her own facebook page, after all ~ most kitties don't even get computer time! :-) 

I am grateful to know that Rosie found her way to your family. She knew what she was doing when she decided to move in and make the place her own.  She knew how much she meant to you before you did. She knew that the only way you would learn about this new level of love in the most sorrowful way possible: in your final moments together. 

Bless you for loving her so well, and for opening your hearts and home to her.  You have done well.

We lost a member of our family... Merlin.

I had this feline creature named Boyoyang, a mix siamese native cat. She had two cousins and an uncle which are all siamese cats but their other siblings were not and they had one character i observed: they are all affectionate. These three were all gone a couple of years ago and this Boyoyang was the only one left.I noticed her being weak in health and her reflexes are not like the other cats' specially when falling. She expresses innocence and peace when she sleeps. She had a good life. She was an example of courage and beauty.

Until one time, she accidentally fell from our stairs when she was 5 months old. Since then, she experienced seizures and even bit her sides whenever the attack occurs. I observed she does not want anyone to touch her back on the spine area or else she will get seizures. She easily gets sick when it gets cold. I have to give her oral medication after meals and after two to five days she gets well. She easily gets skin infection so i have to give her medicated powder on her fur. For the past 6 years her situation had been like this but I could always see in her the will and the spirit to survive.

She had a fall again and this time it was fatal.  After the day she fell, i noticed that when she drinks water, she vomits afterwards. Immediately, she felt ill and did not want to eat or drink. I held her and brought her to the garden where she used to sun herself. I tried giving her water to drink but she refused. I knew it she was waiting for her time and that she was ready to give it up. I called her name one last time until she breathed her last. I wrapped her with a pink towel and placed her on a box. On her grave, under the acacia tree on our garden, was a cheese sandwich, a pack of dog food her favorite, some crackers and flowers.

On that very day I really wanted her to feel that I have been with her and will always be. And at this very moment i still feel heavy, teary-eyed remembering her how she makes my day.

 I terribly miss her. She is gone but she is in Heaven.

At least u guys have a vet where u all live the vet is only in my hometown once every now and then. The only way to but down injured animals is to shoot them. I know that sounds cruel but when my dog was bleeding to death from internal injuries from eating a chicken carcass (she had figured out how to open doors that where cracked open partly) the only thing we could do that was humane was to shoot and kill her or let her bleed out for hours.

My life has been filled with many animals coming in and out of my life.  I grew up on a farm and had dogs and cats for as long as I can remember.  So I have a lot of good byes.  

My most surprising upset was when I took over the care of a friend's elderly cat. He just couldn't handle him anymore and it turned out the cat was Much older than thought and was showing signs of dementia.  He lasted a year with me and I took him to the vet for euthanasia Many times.  He perked right up each time.  The day that was THE day was HORRIBLE!  That was the hardest day of my life.  Until Maizy.

Maizy was my Catahoula Leopard Dog.  She was my High School Graduation present and my best friend in all the world.  My folks cared for her while I was in college, but when I was able, I took her to live with me.  Had to fight them for her!  But from that point on she was there for me for all my highs and lows.  And she was the Best foster mom to countless litters of kittens and even adult cats.  I have so many precious stories of her being so good to orphaned cats.

She lived to 15 1/2.  She had Chronic Renal Failure and hip displaysia.  Once the CRF cropped up, I supplimented her vet care holistically and she was granted another year of life with me.  In the end, it was her arthritis, not her CRF that got her.  She fell often, but always got back up.  Sometimes she needed help getting up, but once she was up, she was fine.  One day she wasn't.  I saw all the fight leave her eyes.  I saw fear in her courageous face for the first time ever.  This dog, who would walk through fire and brave kicking horses to protect me was afraid.  That's when I knew it was time.

She was able to walk to the exam room from the car, but once we go in that room, she put her head in my lap and looked up at me.  I told her I was so sorry.  I had hoped she would just go to sleep one day and not wake up, but I didn't want her to suffer anymore.  She didn't need to fight so hard and be in pain.  I'd be ok.  I kissed her on the nose.  She sighed.  Then she went to the bed on the exam room floor and laid down and never got back up.  She was instantly weak and much smaller looking.  The vet came in and checked her over and agreed that it was indeed time.  And with the prick of a couple of needles she was gone.

Two years later I still miss her terribly.  I have another dog.  He's my buddy in a different way than she was.  She will always be my Precious.  And she has a special place in my home where her ashes rest with her food bowl and leash and photographs of her as a puppy.

Writing from me husband's account:

Dear Marc,

My husband presented your article to me 1 day after I put my cat down and I immediately related to the pain you felt with Rosie.  Eldridge, a 20- year old Bombay cat, was literally a part of my entire day.  A friend found Eldridge, a very small kitten, living in New York City apparently left alone.  Knowing that we were cat lovers she brought him to our house where he lived under our couch for a few weeks before slowly entering our lives and becoming my constant companion.

Eldridge lived a wonderful 20 years.  We all loved him very much but he was my cat.   At the end of the day if he hadn’t seen me he was quite chatty. I generally sat, listened and talked to him about my day.  On the day we had Eldridge put down I told my husband that I no longer had a friend to discuss those moments when I thought he(my husband) was being an a pain in the ass. 

  He had feline aids from fighting a feral cat years earlier, but did not show any signs  of  illness until 2 months ago.  After a visit to the vet in December I was told many of his organs were shutting down.  His stomach was distended and it was just a matter of time.  I was given medication for some of his ailments.  I’m not sure who was in more distress trying to give him the pills, him or me.  He was not the same exuberant cat but he still chatted with me, was hungry twice a day and was able to move about.  Within a few weeks I had water bowls upstairs in my room as well as cat treats.  I went through a similar kitty liter ordeal working each day to find a method that would allow him to keep his dignity.  It was difficult and I was washing him and the floors frequently.  A friend of mine who is a Vet said he couldn’t tell me when I should put Eldridge down but I would know when it was time.

 Many days I wondered if I kept him alive for my own selfish reasons, I wasn’t ready to be without him.  Last Wednesday I noticed that his breathing had changed, it was becoming labored.  I struggled all day to make an appointment with the vet being fully aware that it had to be done.

  My last day with Eldridge was a perfectly quiet day.  I spent much time with him, as he sat on my chest, stroking his back.  When it was time to go I wrapped him in a blanket and he quietly sat on my lap for the 5-minute ride to the vet.  My husband and my oldest daughter Alden, who was born 5 months before Eldridge joined our family, came with me.  By this time I was sobbing and having a hard time feeling steady on my feet.  I was about to lose an endearing companion who had helped me get through severely difficult times in my life and always a part of the wonderful times.  We went through the same procedure that you discussed in your article.  Eldridge burying his head in my chest moments before the first injection was simply saying goodbye to me and that everything was ok.   .   He lay on my arm and I believe moments after the first injection he had died.  They gave him the second injection a few minutes later and shortly after that the Vet said he was gone.

I knew the difficulties of letting him go would be tremendous.  Physically he is gone but my memories of him keep him alive in my heart.  My kids and my husband framed a picture of Eldridge and put it on my bedside table.  Terence, my husband wrote me a card as if Eldridge wrote it, thanking me for loving him and that he completely loved being in my life.  My daughter Selby got a black mug, drew a cat on, baked it and I now have a beautiful coffee mug with a cat on it. 

I must tell you that writing this has been the most cathartic experience.  I am truly grateful for your article, it came at a perfect moment in my life.  I know the importance of sharing difficult situations with others and by doing so lessening the pain.  Thank you for that.

I read this article yesterday and this morning my sister's terrapin passed away. Although it was her pet she spent so much time and effort on it that all of us were involved in her emotional ups and downs as the pet fell ill, got hospitalized and subsequently passed on. It may have been a terrapin (means no furry cuteness and no running all over the house) but in many ways he brought my sister up - she had him since she was 6 and shes now 16. He taught her valuable lessons about responsibility and love, and for that, I will always be grateful to him. Goodbye Rex. RIP! <3

As I look at all the pets we have at home, i feel dreadful of that day...

I have been looking through the comments and see that most of them are about putting an animal to sleep. Mine is kinda different. 

This is a touching story and it reminded me about the time I lost my bunny rider.S/he (never became old enough to find out wether it was a boy or girl.) had been taken to my school one day along with other bunnies and the kids were being really rough with them. A few days later we notice rider was getting really skinny we just thought that we hadn't been giving her enough food. Then we noticed she wasn't eating and then we thought that her fato sister was eating all the food. Then on one friday last year after school me and my sister went outside to take care of the rabbits and found rider shivering in a corner. We brought her inside and tried to feed her condensed milk. we then saw that her top teeth had been dug into her bottom jaw. All I did was sit on the couch and cry all day. Then out of no where at about 6:00 rider started flipping out. When s/he stopped I looked at rider. S/he was completely limp and looked like a doll. I knew she was dead. Starved to death, my little baby bunny. We found a place to bury it under a willow tree in the front yard. A few months later I went to it's grave and noticed a little tree growing right were I buried Him/her. Now, once every week I go to it's grave and tend to the tree plus pray and hope that everything will be alright.

What a beautiful cat your Rosie was!

I read this while my 5-month-old kitten dozed in his bed next to the monitor. I know that however long time is, someday it will end.

I grew up with a large and intelligent cat named Olympia, an indoor-outdoor type with a Siamese yowl, who understood about a dozen words, and who was fiercely devoted to my mom. But when he was 14, his sight began to fail. At 16, he was senile and incontinent, too. Mom and Dad confined him to their uninsulated breezeway, and on nice days would put a harness on him, leashed to a stake, so he could doze happily in the sunlit yard without fear that he would wander off. When winter came, they knew it would be cruel to force him to deal with the cold. Mom held him and comforted him as the vet put the needle in.

It was the right thing, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard, and all of us were sobbing that day.

They're only animals: to treat them as humans is an insult to their nature. But that doesn't mean they don't comfort us. That doesn't mean they're not important, or unworthy of our love. Olympia was a remarkable cat. I'll never forget him. I hope my new little guy, Jules will enjoy the life I give him, as I enjoy his time with me.

Putting my little dog down yesterday was the hardest thing I've ever done. The vet, who came to my house, assured me that it was a gift to her failing, seventeen-and-a-half-year-old body. I knew that, of course, but all I could think of was that I had failed her, that even with all my ministrations to her over the past few years, I had screwed up. Done the wrong thing here and there. Things that weren't apparent before suddenly became clear. Oh my God, why didn't I think to do this, why didn't I think to do that. That is my grief. That she may have suffered from something left out, or done differently. I wonder how many pet owners go through this, beating themselves up because they loved their animal so much and can't bear the thought that even with all that love, they didn't think or know to do one or two things that might have made a difference to their pet's comfort.

I steeled myself for the moment and did not cry. A few hours afterward, I drove Rachel to the crematory site, at the home of an animal-loving woman who started her business after she was unhappy with how her own beloved dog's remains were handled. I did not cry and was glad to see another dog there, wrapped in a blanket, still warm. His name was Emmett. Rachel would not be alone. I asked him to watch over her. On the long drive back home, in a silent car, numb, my thoughts raced over the last few days, the last months, the last years. What signs should I have looked for, what signs did I stupidly ignore. Was my focus so much on one thing that I missed other obvious ones? Still no tears, just self-flagellation.

A friend of Rachel's and mine called and repeated what he had said earlier. You will wail, he said, it's a good thing, a necessary release. What he had done immediately after his own dog had been euthanized. No, no, no, I said. Not now. I'm busy concentrating on everything I did wrong. Was up most of the night trying to find a song on YouTube that well reflected what Rachel was and what she meant to me. A few stray tears. Got involved in the songs. At four in the morning I went to bed; no Rachel to take care of or sleep next to me. As I was lying there, it started. Grief. Loud, primitive, roaring. I had the luxury of being alone, no one by, in a pine woods in Maine. Totally alone, without Rachel, and I let loose.

euthanizing a love all our own is the worst experience I´ve gone through! 

This certainly has brought back my experience with euthanizing my gray tabby, Sebastian, many years ago. You couldn't have described it any better. Thank you.

oh my god, I couldn't finish this story really. so touching.

This article, this blog can choke you up.  Pet owners can relate to this.

This story really touched me.  Thank you Mr. Silver.  Thank you also for inviting us to share, because doing so is healing. 

My husband and I euthanized our beloved German Shepherd Eve just a few weeks ago.  She was a rescue who had spent her first five years being used for breeding.  When she developed a tumor on one of her teats, they dropped her off at the pound instead of going through the expense of treating her.  I love GS dogs and had lost one a year previously, so my husband went and brought her home for me as a surprise.  The first tumor had been benign; how glad we were that her original owners didn't bother to find out, because we had her for five lovely years during which she never had another puppy (since they spay every animal at the shelter).  She was my friend, my shadow,  my unstinting guardian all that time. 

She had a second benign tumor some years later.  Unfortunately the third one, in her mouth and sinuses, wasn't benign.  She deteriorated very quickly from this aggressive cancer, which we at first treated as a sinus infection, and within just three weeks it became clear we could not let her go on.  The suddenness was stunning; there was no choice as to what to do.  She could not breathe except in certain positions, and she began bleeding from her mouth and nose.  So as you say, the decision itself was not difficult; it was a definite mercy.  The vet who did the procedure was as kind, gentle and efficient as anyone could be, and let us sit with her for as long as necessary afterward.   

If you've had pets since childhood, as we have, you think you have learned how to let them go.  But when she was gone in my arms I felt as if my heart was ripped from my chest.  For the first time in a lifetime of having pets I thought "I cannot do this ever again;"  "this" being invite an animal into my heart and then have to let them go.

"Terms of Endearment" I would tell myself at previous times.  Or, I would recall the vet who came to our house to put my first GS dog down, who said "This is the last best thing you can do for him."  Or I would read the Rainbow Bridge.  Or I would picture the animal in my mind and send them love or sometimes just feel their spirit still with me.  We would always go out very soon after to adopt another pet, telling ourselves that the lost one was making room for the next one to be saved, congratulating ourselves on having given one a good life for as long as we could and now doing the same for another.   

But losing Eve has been so difficult that these thoughts have only slowly begun to help, and I know it will be some years before I look for another German Shepherd to take her place.  Replacing her is not an option; I must grieve and remember.

I  agree with Amy Lynn Hunt that part of the problem is not having a ritual around such losses.  I am lucky to have friends who understand, sent cards, and talked with us, and a veterinarian who helped not only with her skill but with her compassion before, during and after.  I am so glad to read that there are vets and others who are working on pet hospice!  (Amy, may I say that being there, while difficult, is doing "the last best thing" and I believe that animals who are ready to go take comfort from your presence.  As many have said, often you know it is time and as Marc said, in some way they give you permission, or even ask.  There is a closure to it that I would not want to miss.)

Still, when our doctor called to say that Eve's remains were ready to be picked up, that she could go home where she belonged, I lost it again...

My cat Sprite died in my arms this past Friday morning at 5:00 a.m. We had taken her to the vet the afternoon before, but she didn't think she was "ready" yet, though she had stopped eating and was extremely anemic. She started having trouble breathing at 2:00 a.m. and the next three hours were the hardest I've ever been through with any living creature, including the death of my parents, since they were unaware of their surroundings at their deaths. Sprite was scared, but she finally decided to trust me, let me ease her out of this life by holding her close until her poor tired heart just couldn't make another beat. Our house is so empty now. We had her as part of our lives for 15 years and it won't be the same without her here. I wish we had gone ahead with the vet the day before; my gut told me it was the right thing to do. It's so hard to let go and I wanted to believe she had a few more good days left. She wasn't "just a cat". She was family.

I have always felt like part of why it so hard is that there is no "ceremony", none of the things we do while still in a haze of disbelief that the beloved is actually gone. We have no funeral. No one sends condolence cards. No one... makes you dinner and comes to hug you and talk about the memories of your loved one. Because "it's just a cat". But they aren't - they aren't "just" anything! They're special and they are family - we give them our last names, like the author of the article above did!

I think things are changing though. People are becoming so much more open about how our "fur babies", as one of my former teachers says, really are part of our families. We see them every day, sometimes more than the humans in our lives. They ask for so little, but give so much.

All of that said - i have never been strong enough to be there at the very end. My Mom always has. I have been asked by them to make the decision  twice, but i have never with them, I kissed them & thanked them for loving me, us.  I know eventually i will have to do it. I dread it so much. But for now, i am so happy with my kitty girls and whisper, "live as long as you can" into my Mom's  20-year old's big ears, for she really is part of Mom's heart. I have no idea how to finish this, but yes, grieve them. And don't ever ever feel "weird" about missing them or being sad . It woudl feel weirder to just stop loving - we're not built to do that.

The most difficult thing I ever recall having to do.  I buried two parents and putting my pup to sleep due to cancer was like saying goodbye to your child.  I did it at the vets and alone.  I held him in my arms as the restraint was released, allowing the drug to flow from his foreleg into the body, and he slumped into my arms.  In less than a minute his heart stopped beating and I thought mine might as well.  It was late evening and the doc gave me a few minutes to blubber like a baby.  I remember him coming back into the room and then leaving again say, well maybe a bit more.

On December 30th last year we scheduled the vet to come to our home to euthanize our little cat Selkie. We didn't know exactly how old she was (best guess was 20-22 years), but we knew it was time, as she had stopped eating and was obviously at her end.  Selkie was a rescue that had survived a BB shot (still in her leg) and a litter of kittens many years before.  She was the sweetest, gentlest cat that my wife and I had ever known.  Knowing it was in her best interest didn't make it any easier to say goodbye when the time came.  In ten minutes it was over, and the vet took her away for us to be cremated as we sat and cried.

Two hours later I received word that my mother had a massive heart attack, and just like that, was gone.  After surviving three horrific surgeries for tongue cancer removal and reconstruction two months earlier, she was in the final two weeks of her radiation treatment.  We imagined many ways that her disease might take her from us, but none of us saw this one coming.

Fast forward two weeks.  We were just beginning to overcome the shock and depression from losing two dear loved ones.  The alarm went off on the morning of January 17th, and it seemed like any other work day.  As usual, another one of our cats Guinness was curled up underneath my neck sleeping when the alarm sounded, and Guinness bounded out of bed like usual, ready for breakfast.  Guinness was 13, and though anyone who saw him would think him to be the epitome of health, he had a heart condition (essentially, cat atrial fibrillation) that we were aware of, and treating with medications.

Before I could get out of bed, I could hear one of our cats making flopping noises on the floor that instinctively told me something was wrong.  There was Guinness, and he had lost the use of his back legs.  

In 10 minutes I had dressed and had him out the door on the way to the emergency vet.  The diagnosis was quickly forthcoming: Guinness had developed a blood clot (an all too common event with humans and animals with Afib) that had blocked the blood flow to his legs.  It was inoperable and untreatable with medication, and I had no choice but to have him euthanized as he lay in my lap looking up at me.  An hour earlier the world was feeling as though it was starting to return to normal, and now Guinness was gone too. 

Go home tonight and let your spouse, your kids, your pets, and anyone else you love know about that love you harbor.  Make it a goal to never go to bed leaving any loving thought unsaid, and give those pets who give you there unconditional love a hug that is just a little bit longer, and a little bit tighter.  They will understand.

Sending a beloved pet to heaven is heart wrenching. It took me several years before I could accept the loss of my Kit-Kit kitty. He was with me for many years, through good times and bad. Writing several short stories about Kit-Kit's life helped me to accept his loss. The last story being Kit-Kit's Dream: http://voices.yahoo.com/kitkits-dream-4671227.html?cat=7

My Rufus looked like a huge Rosie. He loved everybody and every cat (I had 4 others). I taught him to "sit up pretty" for treats. He had his own language and we would "talk". He walked up to our house one winter at the age of 8mos, very sick with FUS and respiratory problems. We nursed him back to health in the garage with a heater. At the age of 18yrs, he stopped eating and couldn't keep anything down. I got a quick education in holistic food and kept him going another year adding fresh turkey. Blood tests revealed he needed a specialist. A week before Christmas they probed his belly for signs of cancer..but $1200 later I had no answers. I took him home and his appetite had been artificially stimulated. He had his fresh turkey, and I went to work. When I returned, he had thrown up his dinner with blood everywhere and was unconscious. Rushing back to the VCA hospital, he was put on an IV and was his old self. The vet sat me down and said, "sometimes we know the story but don't know the name of the book." That was his way of telling me Rufus should not go home. We had quality time in a special room for goodbyes, and Rufus was checking out everything, purring up a storm. I had to see him this way, just like any normal day, happy and handsome. He went to sleep beside me for the last time. I know he is in my house in Heaven and we will again "sit up pretty."

I’m sorry for your loss, and can certainly relate. I’ve had several cats over the years and have had to euthanize a few. The toughest was this past September, our lovely sweetie Ella. She had inoperable cancer, and lasted about three months with mostly palliative care. One of my biggest fears was that I wouldn’t know when it was time. A friend who’s a vet upstate said 98% of her patients know; 1% rush it, and the other 1% need a push. We had a great and supportive vet, who told me towards the beginning of the process to think about the six top things that make her life worthwhile. When half of them are gone, it’s time to start thinking about bringing her in. (Or bringing in a vet: Thank you Lapoflove.com, though I hope I have no need for it any time soon.) That was worthwhile advice, though when it came time, it was very obvious (overnight, her back half became paralyzed). Our usual vet wasn’t there, but actually offered to come in! We told her not to, and the incredibly caring vet who administered the drugs was pretty choked up herself.

One other comment: It’s interesting that Rosie and Molly, both orange cats, were female. I don’t know the numbers, but always heard that it was as unusual as male calicos.

my cat, chester, died of natural old age, he went downhill in one week. we didn't even have to euthanize him; he was strong exactly up to one week before, then he got week and on the last two days were the only days he started to suffer. he died on his cat blanket on my bed; i held his paw. he just went to sleep, and then, for a minute that felt like forever, he convulsed and his pupils dilated, eyes wide open, silently gasping, and was gone. hardest thing to do as a 16 year old. i've seen alot of death since then, seen people die in the exact same manner, but never felt what i felt after chester died.

My wife's cat, Bo, and I had a love-hate marriage for the entire 10 years I knew her.  We both loved her, but 'hated' each other.  Really we just fought for her attention.  When I'd be home alone, Bo would sit on my lap at my desk or lay stretched out on the couch beside me.  When my wife came home, Bo would run to her and act like I beat her all day, hiding whenever I came near.  

When her liver started to go, we did everything to save that cat.  I force fed her high protein cat food for 2 weeks.  Holly needed her to make it through Christmas, which she did.  2 days later the vet recommended us to give up.    We took here to the vet on my birthday, and all three of us sat huddled in the corner of the waiting room, crying.  When the doctor came, we held her paw until it was over (she was terrified of the vet's office).  

Putting down that cat was the single worst feeling I've had.  Humans at least understand that they will die.  But an animal wholly depends on you and doesn't possess the capacity to understand why you took her to the place that she's most scared of, only to never go home.  It's a feeling that sticks with you for a long time.

RequiesCAT in pace.

unlike you, I had an absolute understanding of how much my basset mix Darlin meant to me.  she was with me through the hardest times of my life.  she literally saved me.  she had cancer for 2 years, so i was very prepared for what was to come.  but then, like you, i was still surprised at the depth of my grief.  and even after the immediate sense of loss had passed, i cried just as hard (i'm talking sobbing, wailing, deep from my belly cries), not because i'd lost her, but because of how much i love her.  that's the thing about loss, it makes you realize how much you love.  

a good friend and animal doctor/healer once told me that when humans and animals entered into a domestic relationship they made an agreement.  we would support them in life as well as in death, and we would preserve their dignity.  i always remembered that with darlin.  i had a responsibility to help her die with dignity, and when she couldn't do it on her own i helped her. one night she was uncomfortable and the usual medicines weren't helping.  she spent an hour outside, then came in, laid on the kitchen floor and peed in a puddle without getting up.  that's when i knew it was time.  i had to preserve her dignity and help her to be released from pain.  i still miss her and sometimes feel her with me, in my heart.  i love that dog.

What a touching story! It reminds me the many pets that I have loved through my whole life. They become more than friends, but part of the family. Thank you for sharing this with us, the readers.

I'm so sorry. I am facing this today, in fact, with our old cat Salmon. I am heartbroken.

I too shed a few tears reading this lovely story. Sorry Marc...but take comfort in knowing that Rosie has now touched our hearts as well.   In the past four years I've lost both a cat and a dog. Our golden retriever Hannah and our tabby Lily were our sixth and seventh children. Our grown kids have wonderful stories to tell about both pets which are repeated over and over again at most of our holiday gatherings.  We all laugh when our son Alec reminds us of his favorite "Lily" tale....On a visit to Ny. one summer we were driving with all five children and our cat. The kids took Lily out of her carrier to take turns having her on their lap. Having been passed around several times Lily grew restless and wanted to jump up on the front dash of our van. Alec who was sitting in the front passenger seat couldn't be more pleased since "he" was now having most of the cats attention. Lily suddenly began to Howl which made the kids laugh until suddenly she began to cough and I knew too late, what was about to happen!  Just as we reach the terminal at JFK ..Lily gets sick!  Big time sick, which ended up all over my son, myself, and into the back seat as she tried to run from the chaos up front!  The skycap opened the passenger door to the sound of screams and hysterical fits of laughter!  It was a nightmare and to make matters worse I was letting them out so I could go park our car!  How did I know that cats get car sick? And poor Alec,  upon his return to school told me , "mom, every time I unzip my backpack, I see pieces of cat food" can you please buy me a new one?LOL!  We loved our Lily, we miss her too but we'll always have her stories. 

Daisy was a feral kitten I wanted to adopt from a rescue group. The first time I took her home, my husband did not want her because he was still getting over the death of his favorite cat, Dudley, just three months prior. I took her back but he relented the next day and she became a part of our cat crew. She fit right in with our other three cats and soon became his favorite. At 22 months, she stopped eating and became listless. She was diagnosed with multiple tumors. We administered IV fluids and gave her meds to make her comfortable but it did not help much at all.

We fought so hard for her because she had such a terrible start and was such a great cat but the cancer won in the end. We held her as the vet administered the drugs and my husband almost passed out when she was pronounced.

Every once in a while a special animal comes into your life and allows you to see the world a little bit differently. Daisy loved everyone and everything. She relished the sunny spots on our screen-porch and came running whenever we called her. She is dearly missed.

It's not hard to send your pet to heaven, it's impossible to send your pet to heaven because heaven doesn't exist.

I cried reading this, as I just had to euthanize my beautiful little 16 year old feline baby, Eartha Lucille.   I never had a cat before.  She changed my life and gave me unconditional love.  

 What made it so bad was that her mind was intact; she was alert and responsive, but she was in terrible pain from an arthritic back and severe spinal stenosis.  She could no longer walk, and I had to carry her to the litter box and spoon feed her food and water, both of which she stopped taking.  Then, she couldn't even sit up to do her business in the litter box.

As someone who suffers from severe neck and back and spinal cord injuries, I couldn't stand to see her in pain.  There have been times I wished I could be  euthanized (and that people would understand).  When you suffer from chronic pain and are unable to have a social life, your friends tend to move on, as mine did.  But Eartha was beside me.

I read recently a quote by Queen Elizabeth II: "Grief is the price we pay for love."  When thinking of my dear Eartha, I don't think I've ever heard truer words.

I'm sorry for your loss.  Losing a pet is difficult and there is a grieving process that most adults need to go through not unlike they would for any close companion ... particularly one that you care for.  It is perfectly healthy to bond closely to our animals although non-pet owners frequently can't appreciate the impact.   

I will comment though that I'm a little surprised to see this article posted on NGM and not something like Yahoo Today News.  While NGM does do human interest articles, they generally have a cultural or geographic slate.  I'm not quite sure what to make of your article.  Without trying to be rude at your loss, my hope is that if the editors of NGM chose to do more articles like this they add more that make it a learning experience for the reader and not just an emotive piece.  

Hi Marc,

The extent of grief can surprise many people.  I lost my girl in 1999 - and I left my software job to go back to vet school - that is how profound the loss was.  After vet school - I was dissatisfied with general medicine and co-founded 'Lap of Love' (www.lapoflove.com) - we are a nation wide organization that only provides in home hospice and euthanasia services. It is such a wonderful line of veterinary medicine because we help families with the decision and process and we believe it is the most important time you have with your pet.

We are blessed to meet the most amazing pets and families that love them so much.  But the grief is sometimes unbearable to people and we have to help them find counselors in their area.

Rosie dug a hole in your heart - that is for sure - she did her job well.

Warmly,

Dr. Mary Gardner

On Jan 24, I had to have my 18 year-old kitty, Molly, put to sleep.  She looked exactly like your Rosie except she had a white spot on the end of her tail.  Also like you, I found a vet who came to the home.  It was so hard as I raised her from the age of 6 weeks and miss her very much.  Thank you for your story and I share your sadness over the loss of your friend, Rosie

Mark, I really connected with your story about Rosie. I was not really an animal lover, but we had cats often in our marriage of 42 years. The last one, Spooky, was a 'rescue cat' - who, because she was an adult and had not been adopted for several months, she was due to be euthanized, much to the sadness of the shelter manager. So I brought her home, much to the displeasure of my husband because we already had 2 other cats. She was a lover and really didn't like having to share us with the other cats. From the day she arrived she would hiss and spit at them at every opportunity. As long as she could spread out on one of us, she was quite content. We got her on Halloween, thus her name! She lived for several years with us in Sitka, AK and moved back to Washington State when we retired and returned to family. By this time, she was the only cat, which suited her very well! I always thought she must have 'owned' a little old lady who lavished love on her and we got her when her first owner died. Who knows! About 4 years later, I noticed her left eye was weeping, but I was leaving on a vacation, so didn't think much about it. When I returned her entire eye was swollen shut and you could just tell she was very uncomfortable. We took her to the vet, who immediately diagnosed probably brain cancer due to a huge open cyst in the back of her mouth. We knew what had to be done. He very kindly left us with her for about 5 minutes, and then returned with a shot to completely relax her, just as your vet did. Then he administered the lethal dose and she was gone - literally in a heartbeat. During all the time, I wept as you did, uncontrollably. I kept petting her and telling her I was so sorry. After we were done, they brought us a box and a towel to lay her in and we took her home and buried her in our backyard, under some evergreens. That was 6-7 years ago and I still miss her so much. Being retired and not having anyone who could watch a cat when we travel, we have decided not to get another cat. Hard decision, because we both so enjoy having a 'lap cat' around. Thank you for writing this poignant story and thanks, too, for letting me share mine!