How foolish I was thinking I could prepare myself for the death of a loved one in the hope of easing the pain. Neither time or knowing it's inevitable make it any easier. I've been learning this with my lovely old cat these past few days. For all his sixteen years, and all my adult life, he was my dear black cat. Then suddenly, it was his time. I had kidded myself in to thinking I would cope better when that time came, knowing he had had a good life, knowing he was an old cat, knowing the time was coming sooner rather than later. But it did nothing to lessen the pain.
Saturday night he lay about the house in his usual cat like manner. He was a cat that knew just where you wanted to put your feet, and so there he lay. He was most fond of sleeping in front of the fridge while we attempted to prepare dinner. I think he just loved to feel involved (and annoy my husband.) Amongst the hustle and bustle of bedtime on Saturday night, he had an accident inside the house, but I thought nothing of it until the next morning. When I saw him, his little tummy was blown up like a balloon and I knew something was terribly wrong.
We sat on the back deck with him while I waited for the Vet to open. Crying and cuddling him. Part of me still hopeful that it was just an infection and a table was the answer. But in my heart I knew it was time. I called my husband, my sister. I called my neighbour and arranged for her to look after the children. Then I called the Vet. I explained the situation and she told me it was time.
I brought a baby blanket to the Vet with me. It was a baby shower gift when I was pregnant with my first born. I've wrapped each of my babies in that soft blanket. After the needle did it's work and the Vet helped me lay Seth down, she wrapped him in that blanket too, and tucked him into my arms like a newborn.
He's buried in the garden now. Wrapped in our love, our memories and a baby blanket.
More of Seth's story and my Goodbye letter to our dog, Odin, in this post.