On losing my best friend.

happier times.

Let me start by saying, I don't like writing negative, sad posts. I want my blog to be a fun place to check out new music and books, learn something, and read about my silly little life. As I'm sure you know, life isn't always rainbows and sunshine.

Two days ago, I had to put down TK, one of my kitties.

She had been in failing health for about a month, stemming from some extreme weight loss that I had initially attributed to stress from our recent move. I brought her to the vet, where I was given a bit of a shock - that she was in pretty late-stage kidney failure. They told me I could put her down, or give her subcutaneous (under skin) fluids and special food and see how she did. Well, for awhile she did okay. She was back to not eating again the last few days of her life, and she was very lethargic, and I was force feeding her just to get her to eat. She stopped using the litter box, and I found blood in her mouth on Wednesday night, and Mike told me that it had taken him about ten minutes after getting home for him to find her, which wasn't normal for her. I knew that there was nothing else I could do. Her quality of life was gone, and I truly felt that when I looked in her eyes that she was giving up. I couldn't blame her. For a small-statured, five pound kitty, she had a lot of fight in her.

The decision to do what I did was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make in my life. If you have ever done it, you know exactly what I mean. Through tears, I called my parents and asked what they would do, and I decided to bring her to the emergency vet, knowing that I more than likely would not be bringing her home. My mother gave me some advice - "you have to love her enough to do it".

Love between an owner and pet is unconditional. No matter what happens, as an owner, you fall in love with these little creatures so hard that it's impossible to imagine your life without them. And when I imagined my life without TK, I was overcome with sadness. I also realized, though, that it was not a time to be selfish. I needed to do what was best for her.

Through tears that I never thought would end, I said goodbye to my little girl late on Wednesday night. The staff at the clinic were wonderful, and gave me as much time as I needed with her, to tell her how much I loved her and how I knew that she was in pain. I told her that I did not want her to hurt anymore, and, through tears (much as I am while recounting this story), that I would always love her. As the vet came in, I held her to my chest like she fell asleep every night, and before I knew it, she was done suffering. I held her for a few more minutes, sobbing into her fur and knowing that it would be the last time I would ever touch her.

I wanted to memorize the way her fur felt beneath my fingers, the way her meow sounded in comparison to other cats I've known. More than anything, I wanted to remember how she was when she was healthy, before the illness took over. Following me around, chatting about her day, and always making sure I was okay. I never had to say anything to her when I had a bad day, she just knew. The way she would crawl onto my chest and headbutt my face was something I'll likely never find again, and something I will miss most of all.

While the tears still flow here and there, I know, and sleep easily, knowing that her pain is over, and she's in a happier place. She was a happy kitty, and she would want me to be happy, as well. Those are the thoughts that get me through. She will always be my little meow-meow.