And If I Could Pray...
Say a little prayer for Newt tomorrow morning....
She was so disoriented and wobbly this morning, I knew. I called to make an appointment but my favorite vet wasn't working today. The visiting vet could see us this afternoon, or I could wait until tomorrow for Dots. Having made one decision, having to make another one threw me off step. I was embarrassed by how choked up I got on the phone. I have been expecting Newt to die any day for well over a month but finally talking to someone about it brought out all my emotions. I finally told the clinic I would call back when I had made a decision.
Newt had asked to go out into the shop before I got on the phone, so I went out to talk with her. She was curled on the steps by the door into the house and I sat next to her and curled myself around her and started crying like a baby. She pushed her little paws against me and pressed her head against my lips. Fifteen years. It is so hard to say goodbye--and harder still to have to make the decision. So I sat and cried. It felt good to just let the sadness and frustration and misery out.
I pulled myself together enough to call the Shelter and leave a message that I wouldn't be in today. Then I gathered Newt up and took her upstairs to the bed, nestling her in with a hot water bottle against the pillows. I decided to spend the morning watching the old home videos of her in her youth but had to rewind the tapes. While I was doing that, Newt decided she had had enough of my cuddling and sniffling and wanted to go see the boys in the back room, so I let her go in there for a while.
During all of this, it seemed I had made a decision, so I went downstairs and hit redial to call the clinic--and got Sherry at the Shelter.
I blabbered something about trying to get the vet clinic and when she asked if one of our cats was sick, I tried to explain but just broke down. Sherry managed to piece together what I was blubbering about and was very sweet and sympathetic. After talking with her, I managed to pull myself together enough to call the clinic.
This time I got the vet tech, Cindy. She was really sympathetic and intuitively knew what I needed. "Dots is off today but she'll be in tomorrow. Can you come in first thing in the morning?" I made arrangements and hung up the phone.
I went upstairs, sat on the bed, and bawled like a baby. Little crippled Tiny tottered over to sit beside me, wondering what was wrong. Normally, her duties would have been taken up by Punkin, but Punk was out in the shop slumming. I ran my fingers over Tiny's narrow back and tried to pull myself together.
I can't do this thirty more times. I can't go through this with each of my kitties. It is so hard to put your finger on the calendar and say, "Here--on this date, this life will end..." It's a power I don't want to have.
I know I have done my best for Newt. I know there is no coming back from the condition she has slid into. Life has its seasons and hers is drawing to its close. I just didn't know it was going to be so hard to let go of her.
And if I could pray, my prayer would never end..."
She was so disoriented and wobbly this morning, I knew. I called to make an appointment but my favorite vet wasn't working today. The visiting vet could see us this afternoon, or I could wait until tomorrow for Dots. Having made one decision, having to make another one threw me off step. I was embarrassed by how choked up I got on the phone. I have been expecting Newt to die any day for well over a month but finally talking to someone about it brought out all my emotions. I finally told the clinic I would call back when I had made a decision.
Newt had asked to go out into the shop before I got on the phone, so I went out to talk with her. She was curled on the steps by the door into the house and I sat next to her and curled myself around her and started crying like a baby. She pushed her little paws against me and pressed her head against my lips. Fifteen years. It is so hard to say goodbye--and harder still to have to make the decision. So I sat and cried. It felt good to just let the sadness and frustration and misery out.
I pulled myself together enough to call the Shelter and leave a message that I wouldn't be in today. Then I gathered Newt up and took her upstairs to the bed, nestling her in with a hot water bottle against the pillows. I decided to spend the morning watching the old home videos of her in her youth but had to rewind the tapes. While I was doing that, Newt decided she had had enough of my cuddling and sniffling and wanted to go see the boys in the back room, so I let her go in there for a while.
During all of this, it seemed I had made a decision, so I went downstairs and hit redial to call the clinic--and got Sherry at the Shelter.
I blabbered something about trying to get the vet clinic and when she asked if one of our cats was sick, I tried to explain but just broke down. Sherry managed to piece together what I was blubbering about and was very sweet and sympathetic. After talking with her, I managed to pull myself together enough to call the clinic.
This time I got the vet tech, Cindy. She was really sympathetic and intuitively knew what I needed. "Dots is off today but she'll be in tomorrow. Can you come in first thing in the morning?" I made arrangements and hung up the phone.
I went upstairs, sat on the bed, and bawled like a baby. Little crippled Tiny tottered over to sit beside me, wondering what was wrong. Normally, her duties would have been taken up by Punkin, but Punk was out in the shop slumming. I ran my fingers over Tiny's narrow back and tried to pull myself together.
I can't do this thirty more times. I can't go through this with each of my kitties. It is so hard to put your finger on the calendar and say, "Here--on this date, this life will end..." It's a power I don't want to have.
I know I have done my best for Newt. I know there is no coming back from the condition she has slid into. Life has its seasons and hers is drawing to its close. I just didn't know it was going to be so hard to let go of her.
And if I could pray, my prayer would never end..."
