Twenty Years on: Strolling down Memory Lane

On July 2, 1995 a litter of 9 kittens was born. At some point the kittens lost their mother and were taken in by the owner of a pet supply store.  I was young, just 11 years old. I had been promised two kittens when my parent’s cat passed away, and I was there to get my two kittens. When my family and I got word there were kittens, there were only 3 kittens left. They were sleeping all piled up together, a row of fluff balls. The first kitten she picked up was a white and brown tabby boy, the middle kitten was a dark brown tabby boy, the third kitten was a white and gray girl. I wanted a girl kitten so I could name her Muffin. So the girl kitten was mine right away. We had previously had a brown tabby cat, so we all decided right away that the brown tabby kitten was coming home with us. But that first kitten. He was adorable. And it was heart breaking to think of leaving him alone as we took his brother and sister home with us. I knew I would always wonder what happened to that last kitten.  After lots of convincing from my dad and I, my mom finally broke down and allowed me to take the third kitten home. That may have been the best thing my parents ever did for me.

That third kitten became my Crash Man. My best friend. My protector from real and imaginary dangers.  I remember when we brought them home. Three kittens in a giant cardboard box. They were mewing and digging at the box, trying to knock it over and get out. I remember that I have never been more excited about anything in the world than I was the day we brought those three kittens home. I remember we let them out of the box when we got in the house and they all tumbled out. Soon they were running around the house while we sat around thinking of names. I tried to argue for naming the brown  tabby Muffin, but my mom wouldn’t have it . Muffin is a girl’s name she said. So my little Muffin got her name with hardly any effort. Crash, well he ran head first into a table leg, stopped, looked confused then shook his head and continued running. So Crash got his name; a name which he continued to live up to for many years. We named the tiny brown tabby Uncle Sam because they were born around the Fourth of July, and we wanted something for the holiday; he later just became Sam or Sammy.

Me with a pile of kittens!

I was lucky enough to grow up with my three kittens, who became my three cats. They filled my life with so much joy and shaped the path of my life in ways I am still discovering.  Sadly, my Sammy died unexpectedly on April 10, 2009. We think it was a heart attack. Muffin died on New Year’s Eve 2013 after a short but horrible battle with cancer. Sadly, I had to euthanize my sweet, Crash last Tuesday-June 23. I haven’t been able to write about it before now because it is too painful.

Crash was my best friend. I have never had a relationship with anyone-human or cat-like the one I had with Crash. He saved me from myself during the worst of my depression so many years ago. He protected me from the scary snake pit in Indiana Jones. He vomited in front of the boy I liked in high school who was so not good enough for me. Crash and I snuggled  together most nights for years. He would climb in front of the computer when I was trying to do homework, because he needed the attention. He woke me up if he wanted breakfast.

The last few years my Crash was a bit of a train wreck. He was diagnosed with Hyperthyroidism around 2008. From there he got pancreatitis. He had a heart murmur, which fluctuated based on how controlled his hyperthyroidism was. He had kidney disease, though that was mostly controlled by years of sub-q fluids. He had awful teeth, chronic constipation, awful arthritis and a bad case of dementia.  He may or may not have had IBD; the same for lymphoma. He developed a heart arrhythmia, and at the end he had a mass in his mouth. He had this tendency to get super sick, giving a new aspect to the name “crash”. He would get so sick that we would prepare for him to not make it. Somehow, he always bounced back from it though. Always. I know a lot of that was the loving care and medication I gave him while I nursed my buddy back to health.

Back in April we discovered the mass, which the doctor suspected was a fast growing cancer. We also discovered he was in heart failure. There was nothing I could do about the growth. I had such a hard time with this. I could do nothing for my cat. Nothing. It is the hardest feeling in the world, knowing someone you love is ill and there is nothing you can do for them. It broke my heart and I think a tiny bit of my soul. I kept him comfortable. By this point he was eating almost all the time. He still snuggled, wanted attention and seemed to be enjoying life as much as any elderly being can enjoy life.

They CAN sleep on the same bed together. Most of the time.

Crash lived so much longer than we expected, even with the growth in his mouth. (It may or may not have been cancer, we don’t actually know since we couldn’t remove it.)  Ultimately his body just shut down. He died from old age. Which is a hell of a lot more than I could ever have asked for my boy. He had a quality life until the very end. While he slowly pulled away from me in the last  year and a half–we didn’t snuggle as much, he associated me primarily with medication, and he gave way to Sneakers–he still loved on my parents as much as ever. When I realized he wasn’t looking for love from them, I knew it was time to free him from his failing body.

July 2, 2015- those three kittens are no longer with me. Not physically anyway. They are always in my heart and my soul. They are here in the way they have shaped my life. So many decisions in my life were made for or because of those three kittens, who became my three cats and best friends.

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Thank you Crash. Thank you for an amazing life filled with love, joy, and heartache. Thank you for loving me with your whole heart and teaching me how to do the same. Thank you for being my rock when I needed one. Thank you for knowing when I needed a rock and when I needed a snuggle buddy. Thank you for staying with me so long. Thank you for everything you taught me and everything you gave me. I hope that I was worthy of your love and that I made your life as amazing and happy as I could. Crash my love, I hope I always did what was best for you, and not what was best for me. I miss you so much baby boy. So much. Old man, you gave me so much and shaped my life in ways I could never have expected. Thank you for everything.  Say hello to Sam and Muffin, and know that I will always, always love you three.

Crash

It has been a rough week. A very rough week.

Last Friday I took Crash in for some routine arthritis treatment. It should have been an easy day with him hanging out in his cage and getting loved on by all my coworkers. When I pulled him out of his carrier I noticed bloody saliva on the side of his mouth. I asked the doctor to take a look at him when she had a chance. She looked in his mouth and noticed an ulceration. It’s on the right hand side of his mouth, where the gums and the lip meet. She suspects the ulceration is a fast growing cancer called a squamous cell carcinoma (read more about this nasty cancer here and here).

We didn’t know for sure if it was cancer, the only way to find out for sure is a biopsy. Crash is old, almost 20, and has numerous chronic health conditions so there were concerns about putting him under anesthesia. He might not make it through surgery, and if he did, the effects of the drugs could be detrimental to the rest of his body; my particular concern was for another pancreatitis flair up. We did some lab work to see if he was healthy enough to undergo surgery.  His labs came back fine, no particular red flags there. I talked with the doctor and we determined there was no “right” or “wrong” answer here. I could do surgery to have the ulceration biopsied and risk anesthesia, or I could leave it alone and find out soon enough if it is indeed cancer.  Was it worth it to take the risk on surgery? What if I put him under anesthesia, he didn’t make it and the biopsy comes back negative for cancer?

The  thought that I might only have weeks left with Crash was enough to make me want to do surgery. I figured if he did pass while under anesthesia, at least it wouldn’t be painful. Yet, despite that leaning, I just couldn’t decide.  So I emailed his doctor and said I wanted to do a cardiac ultrasound.  Crash has had a heart murmur and an arrhythmia for a number of years now.  The doctor told me that if I was uncertain a cardiac ultrasound (Echo) would be the next step. I couldn’t decide what to do. I spent part of my Goddaughter’s Baptism praying for guidance and I asked the universe to guide me towards the most benevolent outcome. Which is how I ended up doing an Echo.

Though a series of very fortunate events, I was able to get Crash in to see the Cardiologist who was visiting our office on Monday. We did the echo and it certainly made up my mind. He is in heart failure. His prognosis is guarded. He would never survive surgery. We are now just waiting to see which will get him first. Thankfully at least Crash seems to be asymptomatic for both his cancer and his heart failure.  I started him on two new heart medications and a lower sodium sub-q fluids on Wednesday.  He seems to take to them well enough. If he shows signs of really not wanting to take the new medication we will discontinue it immediately. Everything is about making him comfortable now.

For the first few days after Crash’s grim diagnosis–heart failure and suspected squamous cell oral cancer–I was a wreck. I tried to keep a stiff upper lip at work. There are way too many triggers when you work at a vet’s office and are trying to not think about your ill cat. I continuiously broke down crying. One day I was sitting on the couch crying hysterically when Crash came over, jumped in my lap and made me pet him. I started crying even harder then. I am treasuring every moment; even the 4:30 am paw-across-my-face-’cause-he’s-hungry wake up call.

I realized though, that Crash is no different than he was last week. He’s no different than he was last month, or the month before. He acts exactly the same. He eats as well as he ever does–which is to say many small meals throughout the day, and he never knows what he wants. He still snuggles. He still fights his medication with just enough energy for me to know he feels well (but not enough to know he really hates them.) He hasn’t been highly active in a number of years, so there is no decrease in energy. This has been the biggest help for me. The only thing that has really changed is that I have some idea of a timeline for when Crash might pass. Considering I knew he was nearing the end, this shouldn’t be such a big shock to me. He displays so many of the symptoms of the cancer, but he has displayed those symptoms for months. And they are symptoms for many other diseases that he has. He certainly doesn’t eat like a cat who has a cancerous growth in his mouth.

I know people are judging me for adding new medications. I don’t care. He is my cat and my best friend.I will do anything in the world for this cat. I hope when the time comes I will have the strength to euthanize him before he starts suffering.  I realize that the new medications will, at most, only buy him a little bit of time. I don’t care. Crash saved my life when I was depressed. Crash, along with Sam and Muffin, made life bearable when the Depression took hold, but before I knew what was going on with me. He is the last of his litter. When Crash dies, a huge part of me will die with him. I honestly don’t know how I will carry on without him. I know that is why Sneakers came to me…but that is another blog post.

Now, it is all about loving Crash even more than usual. Loving him and appreciating him and enjoying every single moment with this cat. And since he has already assumed his regular position at the left corner of my bed, I guess that means its time for me to go snuggle him.

 

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 4: Support

This is part four in my four part series on grief and pet loss.  Click the links to read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3

“An emotional pressure cooker” is how Becky Murray describes the grieving process. When you are grieving you are building up stress and emotional pressure you didn’t have before the loss of your pet. Just like a pressure cooker you have to release some of that pressure from time to time. Finding a release is the best way to keep yourself moving forward during this difficult time. Talk therapy, support groups, books on pet loss and even writing are all healthy ways to release some of that pressure.

One of the ways I coped was to make a photo albumn

However you grieve, it is important that you don’t do it alone. Find someone you can talk to about your loss. Build your support group wisely. Be aware there are some people who may not understand your grief. Find friends, family, co-workers who have pets and who can understand the loss you feel. Murray advises you “build your support group wisely.” If your best friend just simply doesn’t understand why you are so upset about the loss of Fluffy it’s ok. Talk to someone else about the pain and the grief. You can always talk to the staff at your veterinarian’s office. Having worked at two vet’s offices myself I can tell you that everyone there loves your pet almost as much as you do and most are more than willing to talk about the loss you are feeling.  They can also be helpful if you think it might be time to let your pet go.  Talk to them, they can help you with the loss and the guilt you feel. They have been there, they absolutely understand. Your veterinarian’s office might have resources to help you come with the loss, such as information on local support groups.

As wonderful as it is to have a supportive network to help you get through this loss, there will be people who don’t understand what you are going through. Some people in your life haven’t experienced the loss of a pet. You might get “it’s just an animal” responses from family and co-workers. Be prepared for callus remarks from people who have not experienced that loss, says Murray. She suggests having “canned responses” to some of the callus questions you might get asked. Don’t be afraid to say you have experienced “a loss in the family” without elaborating. After all it’s true.

If you don’t have friends and family to support you, there are support groups that can help you talk through the pain.  Something I didn’t think about, but Murray mentioned, is that support groups can be helpful for people with end of life concerns for their pet. They can help you prepare for what you face ahead and many pet owners will be able to share your concerns as you face end of life decisions you’re your cat or dog.

Just as everyone grieves differently, everyone processes that grief differently. Perhaps talking to someone isn’t what helps you.  There are dozens of books on the loss of a pet, the grieving processes. One of those books might help. Veterinary Specialty Center, where Becky Murray works, has a list of books to help those grieving the loss of their pet. You can find it here Remember not every book works for every person. Perhaps books aren’t even the right option for you. There are a number of websites and articles (like this one) where you can read about other’s grief and what others have felt. When I was preparing for Muffin’s death it helped me immensely to know that there were other people who felt the same pain, confusion and guilt at losing their cat or dog.

Creative outlets such as writing, painting or drawing can be useful for mourning as well. When Muffin died I wrote her a letter. I wrote down everything I felt: the guilt, the sorrow, the fears. I apologized to her and told her I hoped she knew how much I loved it. It was one of the most cathartic things I did. I did not share that letter with anyone; it is still sitting on the hard drive of my computer. It is between Muffin and I. I encourage you to write your words down, draw that picture, make a ceramic figure of your cat, whatever it is that fuels your creativity and helps you mourn the loss of your furry friend.

Poplo’s page has my favorite pictures of him, plus some embellishments that highlighted important things in his life.

 

 

On Sam’s page I have the dates of his birth and death.

 

There are so many different ways to grieve. The important thing is to remember the love you felt for your animal(s) and to take care of yourself. Please find someone to talk to, to share the memories of your loved one; to share the joy and the grief that goes with those memories.  Below I do have a list of resources you may find beneficial if you are looking for more information or support resources in your area.

 

Resources

Association for Pet Loss & Bereavement 

ASPCA/Pet Loss 

VSC’s Client Counseling Page

PetLossCanada.com some fabulous resources here, regardless of where you live

Petloss.net  has some wonderful articles as well as a list of counseling services and support groups in each state!

Hotlines:

Michigan State University College of Veterinary Medicine Hotline 517-432-2696

CVMA Wings Pet Loss Support Group and Helpline: (630) 325-1600

ASPCA Pet Loss Support Program: 877-474-3310

Anti-Cruelty Society: call Tammie Bouschor at (312) 644-8338 ext. 344 or e-mail tbouschor@anticruelty.org.

 

And  in case the grief hurts that much: National Suicide Prevention Life Line  800-273-8255

 

 

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 2: Coping

This is part two in my four part series on grief and pet loss.  Click the link to read Part 1.

I had the chance to sit down with Becky Murray, a Licensed Professional Counselor at Veterinary Specialty Center in Buffalo Grove. We discussed the death of pets and the many ways that humans grief their furry friends. Murray agrees that grief is a “Bizarre  way of being” in part because it is so different from our normal way of being. We are used to schedules, routines, and a linear way of thinking. We complete tasks and move on to the next one. Grief is not like that. With grief the thoughts, memories and feelings are not linear. They can pop into our heads at any moment. Grief is also not something you finish, and move on from; not like the events that make up our daily lives. You can’t allot a set amount of time to grieve and then say “ok I’m done, on to the next thing!” Grief is not something you can check off your “to-do” list. As anyone who has lost a loved one—human or pet—can tell you, life is not the same after the loss.

Grief and loss change people. They change life; which is not to say that life doesn’t go on. It just isn’t quite the same. There are the immediate changes—not having your furry friend greeting you when you come home from work, the empty cat bed by heater, the food bowl you don’t have to fill.  And there are the larger changes; adjusting mentally and emotionally to losing your friend; the knowledge that you will not see them again (at least not in this life, in the form you are used to.)  These are huge changes. It will take time.

I made a memorial shelf for my cats who have passed.

In the days after my cats died I felt like life was never going to get better.  I didn’t know how I could go on living after such a loss.  According to Murray, that is normal.  When we are grieving it feels like we are doing everything so poorly, she says. “After the loss of a pet your goal should simply be to function a little better each day” says Murray. You can’t compare yourself to who you were before the loss of your pet. Instead, compare yourself to who you were the day after the loss.

What is important, she says, is that you function a little bit better over time. After we euthanized Muffin I spent the next 24 hours crying hysterically. I held her bed in a death grip; I slept with her bed and some of her toys, and I cried hysterically. I did not leave my house for two days. But on the second day I went longer between crying. I didn’t cry hysterically. I was slowly finding peace settling back in my soul. Even after the tears stopped flowing, there was a sting in my heart every time I realized Muffin wasn’t sleeping on her favorite chair or next to the pillows on my mom’s bed. I knew she wasn’t but you get into habits of expectation and it takes time to break those habits.  When my Sam died in 2009 I was at work. My parents called me to tell me he had passed and for weeks afterwards I panicked and tensed up every time my cell phone rang. I was terrified that something had happened to someone else.

I told Murray my stories of grieving my cats and mentioned that each time it was different. The pain was different, the thoughts and emotions were slightly different. She said that was normal. “Every loss is different” she says. This applies not just to each loss we experience—the loss of Sam left me numb and shocked for days, while Muffin’s death left me an emotional wreck—but also the how each person experiences their loss. While I cried hysterically over my cats’ deaths, other people may not cry in public. Some people want tangible memories of their cats while some don’t want anything physical to remember their cat by. Some people adopt another cat right away, some will never adopt another cat again.  Murray says however you grieve “as long as it’s not hurting you, not other others it’s ok.” Each person grieves differently but most of these people are experiencing what Murray calls normal grief.  Perhaps you expected to be crying hysterically, but find you can’t cry. Perhaps you don’t feel a crippling grief the way I did. That’s ok.   Murray says the way we grieve is “not a measure of our love” for our pets. We all grieve differently. Don’t judge yourself if  you grieve differently from your partner, your siblings, your friends.

Beyond normal grief, there is complicated grief.  Complicated grief is when you find you are not getting better; you are not getting through the grief. If you find yourself dealing with complicated grief, or you know someone who is, please reach out for support. A licensed therapist can help work through the grief. However you may find that something as simple as reaching out to a support group can help with the grief.

Resources:

PetLossHelp.org

PetLossCanada.com

ASPCA/Pet Loss

Association for Pet Loss & Bereavement 

Veterinary Specialty Center- Counseling Services – You can find books and support hotlines here.

 

Phone Numbers: CVMA Pet Loss Helpline and Support Group: (630) 325-1600

Grieving the Death of a Pet Part 1: Grief is Weird

Grief. Grief is weird.  It has been almost 5 months since I lost Muffin to cancer; I thought was past the worst of the grief.  I was not “over” the loss of Muffin, I hadn’t forgotten her, but the sting of the loss wasn’t so great. I wasn’t breaking down in tears whenever I thought of her. In fact, Muffin wasn’t in my thoughts much at all.  I was thinking instead of Crash, Sneakers, Mama and Little Black. I was thinking of work, bills, life. Then I changed out the litter boxes. Muffin had this thing about clean litter boxes. Whenever I brought up a freshly washed litter box with new litter in it, she would appear from nowhere to use the box. Within minutes of me putting the clean box down Muffin would appear and “christen” it. I thought of this memory a few weeks back when I was changing out the boxes. It was a good memory and I smiled a bit before the floodgates opened and I got smacked with the emotions all over again. I was so sad. From that moment on I was suddenly being reminded of all the goofy things that Muffin and Sam did.  I would be doing something completely unrelated and suddenly be crying over my lost cats. I could be in the kitchen cooking and remember how Sam had to sit on the cutting board (we won’t think about how sanitary that was…). Or  I would be drifting to sleep and remember my last moments with Muffin, the agony I was feeling at that moment. So I repeat, grief is weird.

Working in the world of veterinary hospitals and animal rescue groups, I am confronted with grief on a regular basis. I have seen so many people lose a beloved pet. I have seen so many different responses to that loss. Some, like me, cry hysterically as they ease their beloved pet’s exit from this life. Others are much more practical about their loss. They understand that having pets means loss. That is the sad reality, our furry friends don’t live as long as we do, so we are going to lose them.  Some people cry, others don’t. Some need to be with their pet to the very last moment, while others don’t want to be in the room for the euthanasia procedure. Some people want ashes back, others do not. And ya’ know what? That’s just fine. Everyone grieves differently.

I love the idea of the Rainbow Bridge, and my cats waiting to be with me again.

I’ve had coworkers who told me they couldn’t look at pictures of their cat for years after she died. I had one coworker who threw a party in memory of his cat, because he was so loved by so many. Some people want to hold on to the ashes of their beloved pet, keep them on a shelf with a picture and a collar. Others want the ashes to spread in a meaningful spot, perhaps a childhood home or perhaps they even want to bury their cat’s remains somewhere. The first cat I lost as an adult was a cat who was in hospice care with me. He was one of my favorite cats from the shelter I worked at and the two of us had a great bond. When he died I got his ashes back and spread them in a little pond near my house. It was a perfect spot for him because he was obsessed with water, especially running water.  We all respond differently to the loss of a pet.

The important part of grief is not how you grieve, but that you do it. Grief is a painful experience, and it shakes the ground on which you live.  I was grieving for Muffin before she even died. The anticipatory grief was hard, but the grief after the loss was harder. When I was looking for resources to help me through my grief nothing seemed to fit my needs. So, I am going to write about pet grief. I will write what I needed to read at the time. Hopefully it will help someone with the loss of his/her pet; if not, it has helped me grieve, which is a good start.

 

Articles on Grief & Death:

Euthanasia: A Vet’s Perspective

The Anniversary Reaction: Grieving Your Pet