Yikes! Has anyone ever done this?

[Ingrid's dad]

Hey, Just Me--

Yeah, I'm afraid Ingrid & I didn't have to cooperate on the juices that long, but it made her last couple of days at home much easier for her, and she amazed me by purring as the stuff flowed in. She was really, really good.

If she had had any reasonable expectation of any real quality of life later, we would have done the juices as long as she needed, no matter how long. But the pancreatic cancer explained why she was neither eating nor drinking on her own, and that sealed it.

[just me]

Hey, Just Me--

Yeah, I'm afraid Ingrid & I didn't have to cooperate on the juices that long, but it made her last couple of days at home much easier for her, and she amazed me by purring as the stuff flowed in. She was really, really good.

If she had had any reasonable expectation of any real quality of life later, we would have done the juices as long as she needed, no matter how long. But the pancreatic cancer explained why she was neither eating nor drinking on her own, and that sealed it.

I totally agree with you.
Our girl had kidney cancer, she was 15. The saddest thing we ever went through. But we would have done it for however long, as long as she could stay with us. She was a fighter, but as her parents we knew it was the end,
We couldnt let her suffer anymore. It really sucked.

[Ingrid's dad]

Damned straight.

We handle it as best we can. Doesn't mean we have to like it.

This is kind of a strange time for me because I'm welcoming a new cat (Matilda) into my life while I'm still letting go of Ingrid. I'm trying to do both of those as well as I can.

The saddest sight these eyes of mine have ever seen was Ingrid laid out in her pet carrier, knowing that she would never open her eyes or look up at me or lift her head again. Remembering that hits me with a real power. But at the same time, it is an image almost majestic--one that humbles me to my core--because that little black cat had conducted herself with such grace and dignity that I feel awe. Moreover, she was at peace. She wasn't going to have to put up with her creaky old joints or her marginal kidneys or her anemia or a visit to the vet's office or anything else again. She was beyond that. She had gone on before me.

I recall her eyes as bright, shining and lively. They were deep. Her irises were a lovely jade green with flecks of emerald. That memory is very important to me. Afterward, I'm so glad that her eyes were closed, because I never had to see them without the light and the curiosity and the keen intelligence of her life in them.

I had one last thing to do for her, and of course that was to lay her to rest in a fitting manner.

Even now as I re-consider Ingrid's last days, I keep coming up with the same answer: that it was just her time. We would have done anything and everything we could have to help her, as long as she was okay with it. And it's funny: As much as I hate needles, she didn't mind. She trusted me and it made her feel better, so it went all right. She was a champion. As long as she could be herself and keep her head up, we would have gone on with that routine. And as it turned out, that was not very long, because you don't beat pancreatic cancer. But if it had been years, as long as she had not suffered, then we would have kept it up for years.