Not as bonded

It was just an awful day. 

I slept horribly, had nightmares, and woke with a migraine 2 hours after I finally fell asleep.  I had to take the OTC headache pills, which really messed up my sleep patterns.  Cue more nightmares and very restless sleep, mixed with profound grieving over Gravy because I knew only a miracle would change Ron's mind about putting him down. 

I got up and took my shower, remembering, of course, how Gravy used to stick his head in the curtain to say hello when he was a kitten. 

I went and did my God Time, remembering how he liked to sleep next to me as I prayed and did my Bible study. 

I fed Biscuit and Baby Girl, remembering Gravy liked to eat his namesake. 

Our ride was late, and long, and we were cheated of an hour's work time.  I barely had time to get the sandwiches. 

I had to choose between helping Ron and doing my own work, and threw it in favor of helping Ron - because we were both already pretty emotional. 

We went to the bank (we had to, after the deposit we paid yesterday at the vet).  While there the boss called and said he is bringing the equipment tomorrow, instead of next week.  That totally screws everything to hell. 

Then I got to go to the vet and put the cat down.  That was all around horrible.  Don't get me wrong, they were nice, they were compassionate, but they clearly thought we were assholes for not "trying" surgery. 

1.  $3,500 is a whole lot of money for something that is not guaranteed to work.
2.  Quiet bedrest would be nearly impossible in our household. 
3.  Amputation still has pain, a recovery period, and was a bargain at "only" $700-$100. 

Now, money means nothing to me when it comes to my cats.  We had already spent over $500 plus cab fare.  I didn't care about that.  If they could have slapped a cast on him and been done with it, great.  I had a blind cat but the vet assured me the eye wasn't bothering her, so I spent plenty in fees to get her checked out and cared for. 

I just resented them acting as if 1. everyone had 10K sitting in an account for their cats.  2.  anyone who didn't, was heartless or stupid. 

They kept trying to tell us to amputate or do the surgery, he might make a full recovery, but Ron was adamant he didn't want Gravy to suffer at all.  There was only one answer for that. 

It wasn't my call, Gravy was Ron's cat.  I did tell Ron things would be quite different if we were talking about Biscuit. 

Ron did some dirty techniques in response to that.  I knew someone who kept their cat alive long past when they should have.  In addition to insulin shots,, the animal was incontinent and had to live outside.  The last time I saw him, he was skinny and miserable, practically begging someone to put him down.  

Anyway, Ron referred to me by that woman's name and said I was "cruel" to even think about it. 

I can honestly say if it had been my call alone, I would have done the amputation, not because I was too cheap for surgery but I don't have much faith it would have worked.  Not after seeing that X-ray.

But it wasn't my call alone.  I changed my mind when they brought in poor Gravy.  His pupils were huge, he was clearly terrified, and he was howling the way he had in the cab.  He was miserable.  Poor thing probably thought we had dumped him at the hospital. 

I didn't want him to live like that.  He collapsed on the table, not even trying to get up, and licked our hands frantically as we petted him.  I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but that was kind of Gravy's "thing". 

He loved to lick our hands. 

He did that until the vet came in and did her thing, he collapsed with his tongue out, in mid-lick.  I didn't feel bad about what we had done but I felt very sorry for myself.   I cried a lot. 

Ron will probably get very drunk and then cry a lot.  Gravy was mainly "his" cat. 

It's interesting how cats pick their people.  Biscuit is "mine" - primarily because I feed the num-nums.  Baby Girl is "Ron's".  Torbie is both of ours.  She is currently laying on Ron as he sleeps. 

Earlier, she was curled up in my lap, purring. 

We got halfway home before we remembered the cat carrier, we had to go back for it. 

By the way, I opted for "you deal with the body" option the way I did with Frosty and Bubs.  Ron and I didn't want mementos, pawprints, or urns.  Where would I put any of that?  I have loads of photos to cry over. 

When I got home I let the cats smell my hands so they could figure out what had happened, in their own way. 

Every time, I go to that hospital, I end up with a dead cat.  I don't blame the hospital but I hate going there.  They always put us in room 3.  Maybe that is the cat room, I don't know. 

I am really tired of walking out of there leaving dead children behind.  It's awful. 

Ron and I have decided to build a catio (cat patio, enclosed and safe but still "outside").  We feel they will be a lot happier and healthier if we don't let them roam anymore. 

It has been nearly impossible to confine them because Ron is blind, slow, and has mobility devices.  He can't dart out the door, or in.  The cats can.  They get out. 

I suppose I will have to round them all up and lock them in a room when we leave, leave them there until we return, and only open the door after Ron is in the house with the door locked.  God help us if someone knocks on the door, or I get a package. 

But I have to think it will be "better" than crying over another dead, mangled, cat. 

Biscuit is lying by my foot.  He probably wants dinner but is using his good manners. 

It's the least I can do after taking his brother away.  Thank God they are not as bonded as they were. 

When I found him, he was starving, flea-ridden, skinny, and food-aggressive, with an abscess on his tail.  I took him home, fed him, loved him, got him fixed, shots, etc.  I tried to find a rescue to take him but no one was interested. 

At the very least he had well over a year of being spoiled rotten, instead of being thrown out into a busy street to die (as the other woman was threatening). 

I just wish we could have had more time.