Saying Good-Bye

It's never easy to say good-bye to a pet.  Often times, you don't ever have the chance.

Yesterday, I had the chance.  And just remembering that moment brings the sting of tears back and a huge lump in my throat.

Wheezer, who was more often than not, my nemesis, passed away yesterday.

Mr. B had her longer than he'd had me.  Well, we were dating when he got her.  I even went with him and pointed her out to him.  She was in a box with her litter-mates and I thought she was the one.  He agreed and he brought her home.

At the time, living alone, he worked from home.  She was his companion.  She would lay on his desk, often resting her head on his arm as he typed on his keyboard.  They were together for three years before he brought me into his "their" home to live permanently.  Before he let me move in on our wedding day (April 28th, 2000 to be exact) he let my new kitty move in.  I couldn't let Ally live in my apartment and he agreed to letting her live here.  She and Wheezer sort of made friends.  They didn't snuggle or anything.  Her snuggling was reserved for her Daddy.  But she tolerated Ally.

She wasn't happy that I stole him from her.  Not at all.  And she rebelled.  She would pee on my laundry.  Growl when she would hear my voice.  Lay right next to him, in between us.

She eventually grew accustomed to me.  Then we brought in Justin.  Then Cameron.  Then two more cats.  It was eventually too much for her.  She was getting old and set in her ways.  She refused to use the litter box which eventually got her banned to the great outdoors.

She started losing weight and began to look pretty frail.  On cold nights, we'd take pity on her and bring her in at bedtime and let her lay on our bed with us.  But as soon as she would jump down, we'd have to put her back outside.

Yesterday, after we got home from the kids' basketball game, Mr. B went outside to love on her.  Which he did every day.  That's when he found the wound.  The wound that I knew would be the last wound.  I didn't want to be the one to make the call.  I knew it was his.  I told him where the emergency vet's office was.  As he got ready to leave, I gently picked her up.

This is where the hard part comes in.

I knew it was good-bye.  I knew she wouldn't be coming back home.  She was old and frail.  It was time.

Two "enemies" made things right.  She held on to my shoulder and purred as I held her.  I hugged her gently and told her that I never really hated her and that as much grief as we gave each other, I loved her.  I couldn't stop the tears.  (Kind of like now.  And I'm NOT a crier!!!)  I helped Mr. B put her in the pet carrier and I watched him carry her out the door.

It killed me, because I knew what was coming.

Mr. B had never had to do this before.  His only pet died while he was away at college.  And while he was sad - - it was so distant.  This was personal.  Very, very personal.

He came home, alone, an hour or so later.

The injuries were too much.  She could have surgery to fix them, but she likely wouldn't survive that.  She'd lost so much weight and clearly had some other health problems.  He made the humane decision and they put her to sleep.

He said it was brutal.  He was able to just sit there and put her as she became sedated.

And that was it.

His beloved friend made her journey to the other side of the pet rainbow.  I envision her, all curled up, in a warm, sunny spot, taking a nap.

Our family is hurting.  We are all, in our own way, grieving our loss.  Cameron took it really hard.  He has sobbed and sobbed.

We decided to skip church today and spend the morning home together as a family.  And it's been good for us.  The boys are in their room laughing and carrying on.  Mr. B is on his computer and I'm on mine. Life goes on.

She'll be missed.  In all of her orneriness, she'll be missed.

Thanks for the memories Wheezer.  We all love you.