A Sad Day

I wish all my posts could be happy and uplifting, but life isn't always that way, and today I must blog about a very sad thing. Over the weekend, we noticed that Sam wasn't his normal attitude-ish self. He was mopey, not eating hard food, missing the litterbox, and slobbering. I thought maybe he had a bad tooth, as he would still beg for soft treats, and he seemed famished. Monday morning it became apparent that Sam was in bad need of a vet visit - his hip joints were sticking out, and his back legs seemed a little sluggish, and his slobbering got worse. Within an hour of dropping him off at the vet while I went to fiddle-making lessons, he called to inform me that Sam was in complete renal failure, and he recommended that dreaded word all pet owners cringe to hear - euthanization.

I don't want to be overly dramatic, but I felt like someone hit me in the head with a hammer. Life without Sam? Hard to imagine, since I've had him since college - basically my whole independent (and sometimes non-independent) adult life, Sam was there. Mom and Dad presented me with Sam, a white fluffy kitten, when I came home from college one summer. He'd been abandoned, then rescued by Dad and Tye. He lived with me in a trailer, a house, another trailer, an apartment, a house, another house, another house, another house, and here. That is, if I'm not missing any - nine different locations. And there were always those times he lived with Mom and Dad temporarily. Sam was there when I was lonely, when I couldn't figure out what to do with my life, and when I had to make a big decision...one big fluffy constant through life's most confusing time.



I guess that's why the news just hit me so hard. Sam had transcended the "just a pet" status to being a long-term fixture in my life.

Not that I didn't know this would one day happen...every time I get a new pet, in the back of my mind is the little voice saying that it's inevitable that I will have to endure it's death. But I still take on the responsibility, even knowing that somewhere down the road will come emotional difficulty. But pet-lovers everywhere know that the joy pets bring is well worth the pain their deaths come with. However, even though Sam was "older" and eating "senior cat" food, I still very much expected him to be around another 5-7+ years.

I rushed back to the vet's office to meet with the vet. Doc said we could possibly re-start his kidneys if I wanted, but it would be very temporary, and essentially for my benefit only. I declined...I didn't want him to suffer any more, especially not on my account. After getting to hold and pet him and hear him purr, I gave the go-ahead and it was over really quick. I then made a hasty and slightly blubbering retreat from the office, and headed back to fiddle lessons. I didn't want to go home just yet. Marden picked up "the body" on his way home, and later we buried him under the Mulberry tree in the front yard.

I've never had such a hard time losing a pet. I keep expecting Sam to saunter through the room, flicking his tail, meowing for fresh water or a treat. Or, like the pic, looking VERY grumpy after a bath. I know time will heal, and there is a certain charm to living life without having to scoop the litterbox, picking hair off everything, cleaning up hairballs, cleaning up barf because Sam decided to yet again sample the house plants, constantly changing out water bowls because he had a strange habit of putting his food in his water, poking at it with a paw, staring at it, then walking away - and eventually meowing for fresh water, and a myriad of other chores that come with having a house cat. I don't think we'll get another house cat...at least not anytime soon.

But I'm very thankful for having Sam in my life, and having the pleasure of sharing a house with such a good cat. So long pal.