I lost my best friend.
Today is Friday, April 20, 2007. I lost my best friend 3 days ago. I held him while he took his last breath at about 7:00 p.m. I'm talking about Fitzgerald, or "Lion", or "Menace". I had him for so long that he had quite a few nicknames. For 12 years and 4 months he's been my constant companion. The decision to let him go was the hardest and most heartbreaking decision I've ever had to make. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
I never thought that it was possible to love an animal so much. He's never given me a major problem. He comforted me when I was sick and seemed to know when I was sick even before I did. As old as he was you could never tell. Always a bit small for his age (he was only about 7 lbs.), he was a perpetual kitten. Always playful, always alert, always curious. Upon his passing I felt as though I was losing a partner. My heart sank and I couldn't breathe. I kept whispering to him about how good a cat he was, and how I loved him, and how I would never forget him. I hope he can forgive me for making him spend his last 3 nights alone. I had to have him hospitalized. Lion hated being alone. I spent about an hour with him before he passed. As sick as he was, and with as much pain as he was in, he still curled up in my arms, which were thrust in his open cage, and purred like he was having the time of his life. He seemed to be trying to comfort me, instead of the other way around. I guess he could sense my pain.
I find it hard to talk about him without wanting to cry. It's going to take a long time to adjust to his absence. I've had him for my entire adult life, and almost half of my overall life. I knew that this day was likely to come sooner or later, but I wish it could have been much later. Coming home is the part I hate the most. I look for him to come running to the door like he usually did, and when he doesn't, I go straight to my room and look for him. I would always find him at the bottom left side of my bed, looking happy to see me. Now when I do, there's just an empty space. I wake up and expect to see him staring at me, rushing me to get his breakfast. Even going in the bathroom is different because I don't have the little guy pushing the door wide open to investigate what I'm doing in there. I can't remember the last time I've been in my bathroom alone.
I try to keep in mind that for a cat, Lion was a bit old. He was suffering immensely, and his only option was repeated surgeries which may or may not work. I could not bear to put either of us through it. I've provided the best life that I knew how to for him thus far, and I hope that I provided the best death that I could. After he died I held him for a few minutes. His big green eyes were open as though he was listening to me. When I picked him up for the last time he felt so light in my arms, and so small. There was an orange and white towel on the exam table and I decided to wrap him in it. It took a couple of tries before I got it right. When I walked away from my baby and out of that room, I found it hard to hold my head up.
At first I did not want to witness his death, but I changed my mind and I'm glad I did. As much as I didn't want to watch his final moments, I wanted to be there for him, as he always was for me. I would have regretted making him die amongst strangers, on that cold, hard exam table. He deserved to pass with dignity, and with the pride that just seems to come naturally with being feline. I don't know if animals have spirits, but if he did, I hope it's at peace. Maybe as time passes I will stop dwelling on his last moments and just try to remember the better times that we had. There were many of them.
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