the smedley log - suburban scrawl

Thru the eyes of Ruby (an exercise in morbidity)

We took in a black cat a few years ago. Her name was Ruby. She was of the adult female variety, not unlike the cat who already lived here. The two did not get along well at all, but having agreed to take her in from friends, it was resolved that Ruby would not be evicted in favor of the existing feline tenant. The two would be forced to co-exist.

Quite recently, it was noticed that Ruby was developing a large lump on her right side, near her hind leg. Because of a combination of long hair and Ruby’s reluctance to be handled by humans, the lump was not noticed as soon as it might have been otherwise.

A visit to the vet was scheduled and kept. Ruby stayed there overnight for testing and a biopsy. She came home with pain medication and a morbid prognosis.

The lump, along with her pain level, continued growing as her appetite diminished. She remained relatively active until yesterday, when it became apparent that she was lacking the energy to maintain her own balance as she waddled about the house.

By last night, she was relegated to lying almost completely limp on an old blanket on the floor. Her voice was reduced to a whisper, a sickly, faint cry which gave way, as the rest of her did, around midnight. In just a few incredibly short weeks, she’d gone from a wild outdoor explorer to a lifeless mass on a blanket on the floor. The end was especially quick.

I don’t know what becomes of animals when they pass, if anything. But whatever the reality of the pet afterlife, I hope it’s more restful than these last few weeks have been for Ruby.

My heart goes out to you Howard. It’s never easy watching a friend go.

I struggle thinking about the day we took Richelle’s family’s old dog Teddy to the vet to be put to sleep. Sixteen years old. He was suffering very baddly and no longer able to function, acting much like Ruby in the end.

My hand was petting Teddy as he went. It was painful to watch, even though he was very restful thru it all, and at peace in the end.

One moment he was there – and the next – not.

Howard,

Sorry to hear about Ruby. Losing a pet is always painful. I lost a cat last spring. He also went quickly—a blood clot disabled and killed him in a matter of hours. We get so attached to our furry friends. My thoughts are with you. Whether Ruby knew it or not you gave her some happy years with a good home and an understanding of her temperment. Sometimes in life that is all we can do and sometimes it is what is needed most.

two friends of mine has an ailing cat. they told me that cats tend to not show any pain until it is almost too late, i guess a leftover from instincts living in the wild.

here’s to ruby being in a peaceful place.

Howard,

I’m really sorry to hear about your cat. Maybe there’s a kitty heaven or something with all the mice she can possibly catch and unlimited piles of clean laundry on which to sleep.

Melissa

Oh Howard, I am so sorry. I hope you won’t compound your grief with feelings of guilt. What Albert said is absolutely true, I’ve seen it a few times with my own cats.

In times like this I’ve been comforted by the knowledge that God cares so much about His creatures that He considers even the death of a sparrow a matter worthy of His notice. I think there probably is an afterlife for kitties and that, even as I write this, Ruby is feeling exhileratingly free.

I’m very sorry to hear that. Pets are family, too.

Thanks for the condolences everyone. I personally didn’t think I was that attached to the cat until the last couple weeks, which is I guess how things sometimes work.