Goodbye, Biscuit
Sunday night, we had to put Biscuit to sleep. He had a really bad day that culminated in our taking him to the emergency room, and when the vet looked at him, she knew he was at a point of no return. It was a painful day all around, and it hurts pretty bad even this morning, but Biscuit did a few great things before he left us.
I mentioned yesterday how we missed our previously scheduled morning appointment due to daylight savings time. Biscuit had been in bad shape all week, seemingly declining day by day. We had rescheduled the appointment for Thursday, but even by early afternoon, we were concerned about that being too far away. He just laid in one spot for even longer periods than normal, and when getting up, he did so very very slowly and seemingly in pain. But because we missed the morning appointment, when he was better in the day (compared to the evening), we saved, in all likelihood, a bundle of money on superfluous vet tests and fees. That was Biscuit's first helpful trick of the day.
In the early afternoon, while Amber was out for a few hours, I wandered into the bedroom for something, and smelled cat pee, pretty strongly. I cleaned the floors and watered down the ficus - and old favorite toilet spot - but the smell didn't seem to go away. I smelled the bed but it didn't seem to be coming from there. Once Amber came home and I explained the situation and we were both at a loss, and more concerned about Biscuit, as it was unlikely either cat would pee in that way unless something was wrong. I don't remember how or why, but I eventually found the pee, all over the bed's decorative pillows, that were lying on the desk next to the bed. Of the 6 pillows, 5 had been hit, and hit hard. We had to throw 2 away, and need to clean the 3 others. This was Biscuit's second help of the day, as I've always hated decorative pillows (sorry, Amber).
Amber and I had both been having pretty rotten days up to this point, separate of Biscuit's situation, and decided to go out for a few quick errands together. When we got back, there was a poop on the rug, which was another 'never seen that before' situations. At this point, we're on high alert because Biscuit was obviously in pain and preferred not to move, so we figured he was doing his business close by, instead of meandering to the bathroom and climbing in and out of the litter box. We gave him special attention and tried to feed both boys, but Biscuit was not interested at all, which was the final straw. Even in his worst moments, he'd be excited in the kitchen for either wet cat food or snacks, and he didn't respond to either. He was barely moving and laying around in unlikely places. I called the vet emergency group and double-checked their availability for walk-ins. We picked up the little guy, put him in the carrier, and hailed a cab.
Thankfully - for us, and for all pets in the neighborhood - the place was empty so we were seen immediately. The vet on call was extremely nice and sympathetic, and after looking at him in the back, explained that she was very concerned for him in the immediate short-term and didn't think he would get over whatever he was dealing with at that moment. She knew he likely had FIP, and maybe even leukemia, and that there was a mass of some kind which we had discovered a while back with an ultrasound. She explained some of the other symptoms we hadn't known, like very pale gums and yellow under the eyes, which were both signs of possible liver or kidney failure (I forget which). The whole time leading up to this point, Amber and I had known the likely outcome, so when the vet concluded with the idea of euthanization, we knew it was best for Biscuit.
The vet gave us a minute together alone, just Amber and I, and then the tech brought him in. He was wrapped up in a towel, with a little catheter in his front paw. The tech left the room, and I held him as we both pet him and talked to him. He was squeaking quietly, and we pet him and hugged him gently until he began to purr deeply, as he often did. As much as we didn't want to let him go, we could see he was probably in pain and didn't want to prolong his suffering for our own emotional benefit, so after just a couple of minutes, we called the vet back in. We wanted him to be past it all as soon as we could.
We put him down on the table on the towel as the vet administered the anesthesia. After a few seconds, he fell asleep and she continued to administer the rest, to put him to sleep entirely. We just kept petting him and held his paw through the whole thing, until he was gone. We said goodbye to Biscuit, the vet quietly left the room, and Amber and I had our moment in the room alone together.
The vet had mentioned earlier that we could have him cremated and obtain his ashes. I jumped on the opportunity. The idea of taking him home again was too great to pass up, even if in ash form, which I just thought was pretty cool. We should have him - 'them'? - in a couple of weeks, and the vet group was nice enough to give us the cremation and hand-off at no charge. I don't know if it's commonplace, but it's nice nonetheless. When I was paying for everything, right before we left, the nurses were whispering about cost of the euthanization, and I heard one say that it was based on weight. So, for the third and last time on the day, Biscuit again helped out his mom and dad by being slim and keeping additional costs down. Thanks again, little buddy. Though even euthanization comes at a hefty cost, so it was sort of also Biscuit's Last Stand.
We walked home together in the cold, talking about Biscuit, and Baker as well. About how they were so tiny when we brought them home, and their relationship and distinct personalities (all the stuff cat owners discuss when describing their cats that they think differentiates them and their pets from others, but is really the exact same story for everyone).
By the time we got home, we were pretty exhausted. Baker was (thankfully) pretty mellow. At first, we weren't sure if he knew something was up, but we did notice on at least two occasions that he was hanging out in the front window, as though he was waiting for Biscuit to return. He was pretty affectionate for the rest of the night, and we decided to let him in the bedroom, which we had stopped a while back because of his energy. Baker slept with us in the bed, incredibly and adorably relaxed and loving, full-body hugging our limbs and resting his head on our shoulders. Eventually, he started eating Amber's hair again, so she kicked him out around 2am, but it was a nice start to the night. I wasn't falling asleep any time soon, so it was nice to have him to pet in bed.
Pets are a tricky lot, it goes without saying. As of this morning, it's still incredibly painful. (I said again to Amber last night, 'no kids'.) Biscuit was the sweetest little kitty we both have ever known. As I type this, I'm missing his morning ritual of jumping up on my lap while I have my coffee and blog. And Amber said Baker was in the window again this morning looking for this brother. We're sure he misses him as much as we do.
I mentioned yesterday how we missed our previously scheduled morning appointment due to daylight savings time. Biscuit had been in bad shape all week, seemingly declining day by day. We had rescheduled the appointment for Thursday, but even by early afternoon, we were concerned about that being too far away. He just laid in one spot for even longer periods than normal, and when getting up, he did so very very slowly and seemingly in pain. But because we missed the morning appointment, when he was better in the day (compared to the evening), we saved, in all likelihood, a bundle of money on superfluous vet tests and fees. That was Biscuit's first helpful trick of the day.
In the early afternoon, while Amber was out for a few hours, I wandered into the bedroom for something, and smelled cat pee, pretty strongly. I cleaned the floors and watered down the ficus - and old favorite toilet spot - but the smell didn't seem to go away. I smelled the bed but it didn't seem to be coming from there. Once Amber came home and I explained the situation and we were both at a loss, and more concerned about Biscuit, as it was unlikely either cat would pee in that way unless something was wrong. I don't remember how or why, but I eventually found the pee, all over the bed's decorative pillows, that were lying on the desk next to the bed. Of the 6 pillows, 5 had been hit, and hit hard. We had to throw 2 away, and need to clean the 3 others. This was Biscuit's second help of the day, as I've always hated decorative pillows (sorry, Amber).
Amber and I had both been having pretty rotten days up to this point, separate of Biscuit's situation, and decided to go out for a few quick errands together. When we got back, there was a poop on the rug, which was another 'never seen that before' situations. At this point, we're on high alert because Biscuit was obviously in pain and preferred not to move, so we figured he was doing his business close by, instead of meandering to the bathroom and climbing in and out of the litter box. We gave him special attention and tried to feed both boys, but Biscuit was not interested at all, which was the final straw. Even in his worst moments, he'd be excited in the kitchen for either wet cat food or snacks, and he didn't respond to either. He was barely moving and laying around in unlikely places. I called the vet emergency group and double-checked their availability for walk-ins. We picked up the little guy, put him in the carrier, and hailed a cab.
Thankfully - for us, and for all pets in the neighborhood - the place was empty so we were seen immediately. The vet on call was extremely nice and sympathetic, and after looking at him in the back, explained that she was very concerned for him in the immediate short-term and didn't think he would get over whatever he was dealing with at that moment. She knew he likely had FIP, and maybe even leukemia, and that there was a mass of some kind which we had discovered a while back with an ultrasound. She explained some of the other symptoms we hadn't known, like very pale gums and yellow under the eyes, which were both signs of possible liver or kidney failure (I forget which). The whole time leading up to this point, Amber and I had known the likely outcome, so when the vet concluded with the idea of euthanization, we knew it was best for Biscuit.
The vet gave us a minute together alone, just Amber and I, and then the tech brought him in. He was wrapped up in a towel, with a little catheter in his front paw. The tech left the room, and I held him as we both pet him and talked to him. He was squeaking quietly, and we pet him and hugged him gently until he began to purr deeply, as he often did. As much as we didn't want to let him go, we could see he was probably in pain and didn't want to prolong his suffering for our own emotional benefit, so after just a couple of minutes, we called the vet back in. We wanted him to be past it all as soon as we could.
We put him down on the table on the towel as the vet administered the anesthesia. After a few seconds, he fell asleep and she continued to administer the rest, to put him to sleep entirely. We just kept petting him and held his paw through the whole thing, until he was gone. We said goodbye to Biscuit, the vet quietly left the room, and Amber and I had our moment in the room alone together.
The vet had mentioned earlier that we could have him cremated and obtain his ashes. I jumped on the opportunity. The idea of taking him home again was too great to pass up, even if in ash form, which I just thought was pretty cool. We should have him - 'them'? - in a couple of weeks, and the vet group was nice enough to give us the cremation and hand-off at no charge. I don't know if it's commonplace, but it's nice nonetheless. When I was paying for everything, right before we left, the nurses were whispering about cost of the euthanization, and I heard one say that it was based on weight. So, for the third and last time on the day, Biscuit again helped out his mom and dad by being slim and keeping additional costs down. Thanks again, little buddy. Though even euthanization comes at a hefty cost, so it was sort of also Biscuit's Last Stand.
We walked home together in the cold, talking about Biscuit, and Baker as well. About how they were so tiny when we brought them home, and their relationship and distinct personalities (all the stuff cat owners discuss when describing their cats that they think differentiates them and their pets from others, but is really the exact same story for everyone).
By the time we got home, we were pretty exhausted. Baker was (thankfully) pretty mellow. At first, we weren't sure if he knew something was up, but we did notice on at least two occasions that he was hanging out in the front window, as though he was waiting for Biscuit to return. He was pretty affectionate for the rest of the night, and we decided to let him in the bedroom, which we had stopped a while back because of his energy. Baker slept with us in the bed, incredibly and adorably relaxed and loving, full-body hugging our limbs and resting his head on our shoulders. Eventually, he started eating Amber's hair again, so she kicked him out around 2am, but it was a nice start to the night. I wasn't falling asleep any time soon, so it was nice to have him to pet in bed.
Pets are a tricky lot, it goes without saying. As of this morning, it's still incredibly painful. (I said again to Amber last night, 'no kids'.) Biscuit was the sweetest little kitty we both have ever known. As I type this, I'm missing his morning ritual of jumping up on my lap while I have my coffee and blog. And Amber said Baker was in the window again this morning looking for this brother. We're sure he misses him as much as we do.
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