la muerte de un gato (in english) (834 hits)
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Submitted by Corn Nugget (View user info) at 2005-05-25 11:48:20 EDT
At four o'clock dad pulled into the drive, as he did, five days a week. As I always did, I ran out to greet him. I had a few questions for him, concerning evolution, and I wanted to tell him about the fort we had built out back.
The fort consisted of an old sheet draped over the picnic table. Inside our fort we had aluminum tins, filled with handpicked mulberries, and topped with cool-whip. I've always been a good cook.
This day was different. Instead of hopping down from his truck and enveloping me in a bear-hug, he handed me a box.
I hesitantly peer in to the box, then shot him a questioning look, "You brought home a mouse?". His laugh shook his whole body, and he told me to look closer. It still looked like a mouse. A tiny, weak, close eyed, striped mouse.
"Corinne, it's a kitten!"
"It's very little..."
"Yes," he explained, "It's too little. We need to call the vet, and ask him what we should do." He began telling me this kittens story.
Dad had been walking by the loading dock as the high-lo's emptied a truck. One of the drivers waved my father down to ask about a medical benefit, or some such thing. As my dad paused to help the guy, he heard mewing coming from the top-most box on the pallet. The other man was too wrapped up in his question, which was followed by an animated gripe, to notice.
Still listening to this man, my dad casually poked around the boxes that had just come off the truck. Inside one, he found two kittens.
Not two lively, excited kittens, but two kittens that had been born sometime within the past few days. Two kittens who had been separated from their mother, due to where she choose to give birth.
"Aw, shit... hang on Joe." Dad beckoned Joe over, and pointed at the kittens.
"Shit. Those fuckers ain't gonna live here."
One of those fuckers wasn't alive. One of those fuckers had died in transit. The other, the grey tiger striped fucker, he was still breathing. My dad threw the dead kitten away, and took the live one with him, determined to keep it alive.
He worried about bringing such a tiny kitten home to his daughters. He realized that the chances were that this cat would die. He was aware of how sensitive young girls can be. But, beneath his beer belly and witty attitude, something had struck his sensitive heart.
I stood there, in the driveway, holding this brown box, and peering down at the kitten who did not look cat-like. Dad gave me a friendly push towards the house, and together, we showed my mom the kitten.
She called the vet. The vet explained that the cat was too young to be without his mother, and probably would not survive. He suggested we buy an eye dropper with which to feed this cat, and explained the weaning process to us.
That first day, I sat on the kitchen chair, holding the little kitten steadily in my left hand, and fed him milk with an eyedropper from my right. I rubbed his little bottom to stimulate unrination. I cried little tears of worry.
I did this for four days. Then our neighbor came over to announce the birth of their new kittens. Dad suggested making their mother a serrogate mother for our own kitten. We called the vet to ask about this, and the vet advised against it. He said the mother would likely kill this foreign cat.
The sad truth was that the cat would die, either way. I scooped Griffy (named by my sister, the sports fan) up in my palm, and went next door. I laid him down near the resting mother and fresh kittens, and pushed him toward her teat with one finger.
Every day that month I stood vigil, and it pleased me that Griffy seemed to grow so fast that I could see his transformation. He had been accepted into his adoptive litter without question.
When it was time to bring our cat back home, I was overjoyed. I could finally enjoy my kitten without the worry that he'd soon be dead, despite what I was doing to help him. He had transformed to a greasy, mouse looking blob, into a fluffy bundle of excitement.
Despite all the love that he had showered on him for the first few months of his life, this cat was an asshole. His favorite thing to do was to hide under beds, and accost the ankles of passers by. By accost, I mean: Spring out, claws extended, wrap around ankle, and bite into flesh while holding on. He also disliked being petted in particular ways, and if you made the mistake of petting him in a disagreeable way, he would make your mistake known to you by biting your hand, as hard as possible.
The truest measure of how mean Griffy was could be shown through the actions of our friends. People tip-toed down the hall at our house, shifty-eyed, waiting for the ambush. They would reach out to pet Griffy, but flinch away at the slightest movement he made. We often had to warn people, "Oh, I wouldn't touch him..." as he came up to them, sweetly rubbing against their legs, and meowing his elicit meow. Most new visitors scoffed at our warnings, fooled by his apparent loving nature. These people left with band-aids.
Griffy figured out how to open doors, which proved to be a problem. The first problem was that he could get outside, and he was an indoor cat. The second, and more embarrassing problem, was that he seemed to always open a door while someone was on the toilet, changing clothes, or one very unfortunate time, while the parents were doing the hokey-pokey. Needless to say, we didn't go long without buying locks for the doors.
Our pit-bull was terrified of the cat. There was evidence of foul play all over his face, in the form of long, thin scratches.
Griffy liked to sleep in beds, but you were not allowed to move if he was sleeping in your bed. If you did move in an effort to gain comfort, he would move in an effort to bite your foot off.
When my parents got in their car accident, Griffy was with them. He was jostled about a bit, and thrown from the vehicle. A woman who lived nearby came outside when she heard the crash, and she took Griffy from my mothers arms, promising to watch him until they were better.
Two days after the accident, I went to this womans house to retrieve the cat. He had a huge (huge) piece of gauze wrapped around his right fore-leg. He looked banged up, and I doubted he would live. I expecially doubted it when I got home and removed the bandage.
You see, Griffy was already 15 years old at this point. More seriously, the wound on his leg was terrible. It measured nearly two inches in length, a vein was exposed, and I could see bits of gravel and dirt enmeshed in the reddened skin. Griffy's fur had become greasy, he wasn't eating, and his eyes had a thin film of death over them.
I cried as I drove to the vet. I knew he'd have to be euthanised.
I put Griffy up on the metal examining table, and held on to him while the vet poked at his leg. Griffy, being true to his mean nature, tried to bite the vet. Over time, he had stopped biting family, but strangers, expecially strangers who were hurting you, were fair game.
The vet explained the wound to me, and looked surprised that I understood. I explained to him that I worked for a vet for a few months, and had learned quite a bit about veterinary-type-things. I said, "I understand if you have to put him down... he's old... I know there isn't much to be done...".
The vet looked at me, a silent shock spreading over his face, "Well, um. If that's what you want to do...? But I was thinking we could push that artery back into his leg, sutcher it up, and hope for the best."
"Oh, yes, that's what I meant". I coughed to hide my embarrassment and shame. He had a technician come in to hold the cat, so I could wait outside. Remember, though, that the cat would still bite strangers. I waited near the door of the room, and after hearing the cat scream, and the tech scream, and the vet curse, I decided to rescue everyone. "I can hold him, he'll be better if it's me".
Both the vet and the tech looked skeptical. Not only did they doubt I could control the cat, they doubted that I could control myself as I watched my cat disected and sewn together. Again, I reminded them that I had worked for a vet, and had seen many operations. I had shaved dogs balls before they were neutered, and asisted the vet when she popped them out. I had administered shots of morphine up a cats ass. I had helped control wayward dogs. I would be fine.
The look of doubt didn't fade, probably due to my earlier gaff, which I kept thinking about, over and over... "I understand if you have to put him down..." How stupid how stupid I'm inhumane how stupid, etc.
After twenty minutes of holding the struggling cat, watching blood shoot from his leg, holding his mouth shut so he didn't attack the vet, it was finished. I will admit, it is much more difficult to see your own pet in pain than it is to watch someone elses pet suffer.
Over the next few weeks my life was filled with funeral plans, visitations, vistors, funerals, crying, and cat nursing. My fathers sister, as struck with the grief of her brothers death as much as the rest of us, is a veterinarian. Through our grief, the two of us focused on making this 15 year old cat live.
Now, six months later, he's dying.
It began with an incident with tin-foil. Tin foil that the cat decided to eat because it smelled good, like the juice of the steak it had been wrapped around. He spent two days hacking up bits of foil, and yesterday an unbelievably huge piece came up. Had I not seen him spit it up, I would not have believed that it had been inside of him.
I could tell you his symptoms and his demeanor, how skinny he already is, how slow he moves, but I'm sure you can imagine, for yourself, what a cat on the verge of death is like.
Last night he was laying in my bed, unmoving and silent. I waited to see if he was breathing. I ran my hand down his spine, trying not to flinch at the feel of his bones protruding through, unmuted by fat or muscle. He hadn't ate anything for days, since the tin-foil incident.
I scooped up a spoonfull of moist food, and fed him, bit by bit. I laid a saucer of milk before him, and cried as he lapped it up.
The irony didn't escape me. I had nursed this cat to life, and now I was nursing it towards its death.
User Reviews
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2005-05-26 18:12:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
thanks for the heads up corn, will do.
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2005-05-26 10:36:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by RandomJose (user info) at 2005-05-26 00:07:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Hola mi amiga!
Submitted by girlintheworld (user info) at 2005-05-25 19:59:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I had a cat. My sister named her Churchill (yeah, I don't know either). Anyway, when we first got her, I was about 3 years old. I had just seen a Freddy Krueger movie shortly before we got her, and little did I know that she was an ankle scratcher.
I woke up once, in the middle of the night, 3 scratches across each ankle and screamed bloody murder, "FREDDY GOT ME!! OOH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" tears tears tears.
She had a stroke a month ago, and we had to put her down. 'Twas a sad day.
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-05-25 19:40:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Knucklehead... go to www.djmattb241.com/ubercon and scope that shit out. Mainly the post "How to get in and who are you..." etc... (camping related) It pertains to you because you'll have to be registered at a site in order to get into the campground.
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2005-05-25 19:22:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I had to put my girlfriends cat down for her. She didnt have the heart. She gave me some money and sent me off to the vet. Needless to say I pocketed the money, got out the ole 22 and got the job done alot cheaper and alot less pain for the cat. I felt bad afterward, until I doubled the loot at motor city casino. WOO HOO GO PISTONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2005-05-25 16:56:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Geekboy_1 (user info) at 2005-05-25 16:37:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
So sad...I cant think of anything to say.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-05-25 15:49:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I have a cat whose disposition is exactly like Griffy's, if you'd like to have him.
No really, it's ok.
Seriously.
...I'll pay for shipping.
TAKE THE GODDAMN DEMON-CAT FROM MY HOUSE, I BEG OF YOU!
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-05-25 15:31:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Aw, Munkey... I don't care about ratings. I do care about the comments... so it's alright. Truth be told, there were enough spelling and grammar errors in this post that it really didn't deserve a straight +2.
I have a habit of furriously typing a post out, running spellcheck, and posting it. Sometimes I dont bother with spellcheck.
I would say, on average, a post takes me about 10 minutes to write... maximum time I've spent on a post... maybe 30 minutes. But that's unlikely.
My next post will be polish... no no... polished. I will write it, proofread, revise, and re-write it. Then I'll write it again, for good measure.
I feel like that would actually stiffle my creativity, for some reason?
IN ANY EVENT, Watch out uber, it's coming!
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-05-25 15:18:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
maybe this will help even out peckerheads -2.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-05-25 15:05:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Blitzen (user info) at 2005-05-25 14:38:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this made me cry. about six months ago, my cat of 20 years passed away while i was holding her. she was a part of the family, having lived with us for that long, and we got her before i can remember, so it's been hard to not have her around.
now we have a new cat that my brother found abandoned outside of a Blockbuster in Windsor. this new cat has some abandonment issues. since we got him about 2 months ago, he's been following me around the house and my mom tells me he meows and carries on when i go to work for the day. when i come home, as soon as he hears me, he comes racing around the corner to bite my legs and try to curl up on my lap only to bite my arms... he's so cute
Submitted by swamp_donkey (user info) at 2005-05-25 14:35:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Kitties + tin foil = sadness
Submitted by shark25 (user info) at 2005-05-25 14:21:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF I'm not reading all of that!
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-05-25 14:17:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Peker.. what?
Of course I care more about the humans in my life. Of course the death of my father affected me more than my ailing cat.
Although I love my dog (and cats, to a lesser extent), I love my friends, family, and... well everyone else, more. If I had to see my dog get hit by a car to save my disgustingly annoying neighbor, I would.
It's ignorant of you to assume that because I write a post about my sick cat that I place more value on his life than on the lives of people.
Oh, and sorry about Maria.
Submitted by MANICMOTHER (user info) at 2005-05-25 14:16:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Pokey, humans decided several thousand years ago to start taking care of animals for the benifits they gave man in his struggle to surrvive. We have slowly shaved away the wild instincts to make them more to our purpose. Now we use cats and dogs as companions, members of our own family. Would you ignore your family member if he/she/it was in pain? Would you turn your back on them as they lay dying after giving all it could to you in their short life? People are assholes, they ignore everything that doesn't directly involve to them, but I have seen some of the hardest individuals I know cry when they lost someone, man or beast, that was close to them. This is no different. Your wife should not have had to go out like that but you shouldn't down play someone else's pain because of the bitterness you gained from her death.
Submitted by PokeyPecker (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:49:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I don't mean to be an asshole. I really don't. And that's a great story, and you're an excellent writer.
But it always strikes me as ironic, sad, and evil, the way people care more for their pets than they do for the humans surrounding them.
Nobody but me shed a tear when Maria died. Nobody tried to help her survive. She suffered alone, deserted on a mountain top in Mexico.
Life kicks me in the balls.
Sorry about your cat though.
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:46:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Caesar... It's amazing that he survived this long. The way to get him off of your ankle has always been to kick, which launches him through the air.
And I'm not getting another cat. I don't particularly like cats.
Submitted by the_lone_stranger (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:25:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn, damn good.
With all that love you have to give, give another kitten a good home.
Maybe this one won't be such a bastard.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:18:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh damn what's with all the dead and dying kitty stories today.
Submitted by Helmut_Cat (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:15:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Put a lime on his head.
It will give him superpowers.
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:11:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great story CN.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-05-25 13:04:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No comment.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-05-25 12:52:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I assisted a verterinarian also. neutering males looks pretty easy, eh?
Sorry about your kitty. That's just so very sad.
Submitted by jumpinjellyfish (user info) at 2005-05-25 12:26:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very touching. My cat died last fall...he was 16. Hang in there.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-05-25 12:19:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Somehow I knew just enough Spanish to decipher the title. That's very sad, Corn.
But a cat that acted like that in MY house would never have survived as long as he did. And everyone with pets eventually has to go through what's happening to you. :(
Submitted by TheSpook (user info) at 2005-05-25 12:05:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn you woman. My cat's 16 and you're not helping with this good story.
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2005-05-25 12:02:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Kitty.