• Member Since 3rd Nov, 2011
  • offline last seen May 28th

Stormy Skies


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  • 443 weeks
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    3 comments · 714 views
  • 448 weeks
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    2 comments · 362 views
  • 448 weeks
    Remembrance Day

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    1 comments · 333 views
  • 455 weeks
    And unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in her wings; and ye shall go forth and leap like fatted calves.

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    0 comments · 416 views
  • 456 weeks
    How Rarity Broke My Heart

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    0 comments · 301 views
Mar
28th
2014

The Face of Death · 10:22am Mar 28th, 2014

In 1994, a stray cat named Precious gave birth to a litter of kittens in my sister's closet. Precious was a nasty, evil hellspawn, she loved my sister but was perfectly willing to claw the shit out of anyone else who came close. She helped to form my personal disdain for all felines.
Of that litter, I only know the fate of two kittens. Sheba was pure black, slick as midnight, and when my aunt laid eyes on her she instantly had a home. Pudge was the second to last born, a tuxedo ball of hair that looked like she would roll if you pushed her in any direction. I called her a black snowball.
Pudge was the only kitten of the litter we could not find a home for, she became my sister's cat, never bonding with anyone else in the house but her. Once my sister graduated, Pudge became surly and uncooperative, so she was banished to the yard. It turned out that she thrived there.

20 years later, I found myself house sitting for my parents. I sat on the porch, smoking my cigar, watching as this cat I had seen on the day she was born hauled her creaking bones up to her food dish, giving me the stink eye, but honoring the unspoken truce we have had for years.
Less than one month after that, Pudge started refusing to eat. One week later, she no longer drinks. Last night, I sat on the same porch with my family as my sister held Pudge, stroking her head and trying to pretend everything is going to be alright. After dinner, my sister heads back onto the porch. I had promised her I would check up on Pudge during the night, that I would bury Pudge next to my dog Pepper.
Unless she had told me explicitly not to, I had planned to prepare a mixture of baking soda and vinegar in a plastic bag. To hold it over Pudge's head until the CO2 generated by this mixture had displaced the oxygen in her lungs. I was prepared to make the choice to spare my sister and tell her that Pudge had passed peacefully in the night. I was prepared to lie. I thought I could take all the pain on myself, to make the hard choice and end the pain. I underestimated how tough my sister was.
While we sat on the porch, Pudge tried to stand. She fell immediately, I rushed to pick her up and place her back in her basket. Remember, we named her for how comically fat she was as a kitten. All I felt was skin and bones. Ribs, spine, shoulders, it felt more like picking up a skeleton than a living cat.
My sister started rubbing her head, cooing "are you going to be OK baby?" And Pudge meowed. I will swear on the Bible, the Koran, the Book of Mormon, any holy text you care to name, Pudge didn't just meow. She said NO. My sister is stronger than I gave her credit for. She pushed me to find an all night animal hospital. She made the call I had been afraid to all week. We drove to the emergency animal clinic to finally give Pudge her rest.
The techs and the vet at the hospital were beyond amazing. They never treated this as just another day on the job, they gave Pudge a dignity in death I had not thought possible.
In the end I was a coward. I could have placed my hand on her head, I could have at least watched as the vet gave her the shots that ended her pain. I held my sister, positioned my own line of sight so I couldn't see the injections, and steeled myself against what was happening.
It was a good plan, it should have worked. Seconds after the second shot was administered, the vet remorsefully proclaimed "she's gone". Pudge looked no different. Her fur was still a faded black, she didn't move, but she seemed no different. Live, dead, it made no difference. The vet asked if we needed more time. I didn't consider my sister's feelings, I immediately said no. My solstice is that she said no nearly as quickly. We knew she was going, we had made our peace.
This is where the story goes horribly wrong for me. The vet picked up Pudge with all the dignity and respect I would expect if her where dealing with human remains, but for just a moment, I caught Pudge's eye. In life, even at the end, there had been a spark in her golden eyes. During the wait, I had grown impatient and checked the hall to see if the vet was going to come soon, and Pudge was still together enough to track my movement in the room. Her pupils were dilated, she likely saw nothing clearly, but she wasn't still tracking my movement. She was still there enough to know something was happening.

When the doc picked Pudge up after she was finally at rest, I couldn't tear my eyes away. I wish to god I could have torn my eyes away.

I looked into her dead eyes. I wish I could tell you I saw she was at peace, but all I saw was eyes that had just that evening had been golden orbs of vivacity, now cold, grey, lifeless. I swear her eyes changed color, I could see that the life had passed from her. Her eyes were soulless. I have seen death before, but I have never been as stricken as I was tonight. I don't ever want to see that again.

I buried Pudge between a broken down Ford Taurus and a tent trailer. She is twenty feet from her cousin, ten feet from my dog, three feet from the crotchety goat my parents kept for years. But her eyes will haunt me forever.

I wonder if I actually had the strength to euthanize her myself like I had planned. I don't think so. Her pain is ended.. mine is just beginning. If you believe in a higher power, please pray for me. If you don't, please keep me in your thoughts. My sister spared me from what may have been a terrible mistake, but those cold grey eyes haunt me still. I am going to try to sleep.

EDIT to add: I seriously considered deleting this post once I had moved past the events. Exchanging messages with Jordon179 and Anonymoose helped me to put the events of that night in a more stable mental framework, Jordan helped me to see that it was okay to grieve so heavily for an animal, and 'Moose pointed out how these types of events are something many people struggle with.

I am leaving this up at the urging of Jordan, consider it a sort of memorial to Pudge. Rest well girl.

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Comments ( 2 )

Cats are capable of understanding a lot of human speech and (with great difficulty) speaking a few words. This is one of the things anyone who owns a smart cat comes to realize, no matter how many books on zoology or animal cognitive studies claim it's not so.

1961378
my princess agrees with you. Aliera (my cat) is cuddling up to me, she knows that I am upset but she doesn't understand why. She is wise beyond anything I can understand right now. I made the cowards decision to try and euthanize Pudge. My sister spared me from what that would have meant. But I still know that I made that choice.
I hope to god she never learned what I intended.

I have buried many pets over the years, none have lingered like Pudge did. If you believe in a higher power, please pray for me.
I don't know if my decision was the right one, I only know my sister's strength spared me from having to follow through.
I feel sick.

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