So hard to say goodbye....

There is a blog that has been rolling through my mind for a few months now. It is one that I was afraid to write for fear that committing it to computer, paper, being able to see the words typed out, would give me bad luck. Would somehow jinx me. But I realize now that it needs to come out, so here it goes.

I've never been one to handle change easily. Anytime a new school year hit as a kid, I would wake up the morning of the new school year with the biggest round of butterflies in my stomach. The same could be true of almost every other life changing thing that has occurred to me thus far.

But one of the biggest changes I have had to deal with probably the least amount has been death. Life's final chapter. I have been fortunate (if you can call it that) in that my 34 years on this earth have seen me loose only a small amount of people and animals in my life. With the exception of a few, most of the losses were people I might have met once as a kid, or was a niece twice removed from. And as far as animals were concerned, it was always the goldfish that got flushed down the drain, or my cute little parakeets who one day decided to leave.

But as I write this, I am struggling to make a really hard decision, when is the "time to say good-bye" to my cat?

Yes, all, a cat. The first little furball that ever graced my life, the one that made me decide after years of being a dog person that I could handle having a cat. The one who I affectionately called a "punk ass" and various other names, has lately fallen upon ill health.

I remember a different time, 1998. The first time I allowed myself to think about getting a little animal to care for. I had just FINALLY left a job that saw me traveling a ton, as a newly employed kid, I decided that if I was going to be home every night, why not get an animal to welcome me at the door? So after work one day, I wandered off to the Dumb Friends League (yes, an odd name for those outside of Colorado who don't know it), an animal human society of sorts that at the time, was 5 minutes from my apartment. I went in with an open mind. While I was never a cat person, as a kid of 24, I knew a cat fit my lifestyle more. They were more independent, you didn't have to take them out for walks every day, and as long as they had clean litter and food, you were golden. I drove up not knowing what I'd find.

After surveying the cat area, and looking through glass windows more than once, I settled on this little black, gold and brown cat to see and "spend time with" in one of their visit rooms. A cat named Sheeba, who the tag said was roughly 5 months old. The minute Sheeba came in the room, the charm turned up to monumentous proportions. She jumped from the volunteer's hands, onto my waiting lap, and nuzzled in the crux of my elbow and hip, purring away like she was content. What a sell job she did! I left after placing a hold on her for 24 hours to think about it, then immediately went to Petsmart and spent 200 dollars on cat toys, food, a bed, and anything else I could find. That is the moment I knew I was hooked.

I came back the next day, ready to scoop up my new addition. I remember sitting in the waiting area, watching a little kid of around 10, screaming at the top of his lungs about how he was taking Sheeba home, how he was excited for his new cat, all those sing songy ways that a kid who is excited about something they want will display. Is it wrong that inside I had the cheesiest grin, and the "HAHA..you aren't getting her. She's MINE!" type attitude. Honestly, if "junior" had come up and started singing to me, I might have told him off. But I laughed inside knowing I was the one taking her home!

Cut to short of 11 years later. And who knew how much my life would change because of, and with this cat. Sheeba, now known as Sienna (for her burnt sienna colored Tortie coat) is now a staple in my world. She's the little one who was always waiting at the door to greet me, the little one who would "massage my belly" after I arrived home from a hard day (almost like therapy, I used to call it Kitty Shiatsu), the one who still to this day seems most comfortable resting in the crook of an arm or a leg of mine. She taught me responsibility, to commit to something, to put effort into something other than myself. She's made me laugh an infinite number of times. Doug's had to remind me she is "just a cat" because there have been so many times when I treated her like a dog, or a little person with fur, because her personality overshadowed her "typical cat behavior.

Three years ago, in 2006, I found out Sienna had Kidney Renal Failure. Much like us adults, cats can also get struck down with their kidneys failing. According to our vet back in Colorado, Sienna's was caused by an infection in her mouth that just sped up her getting struck with Kidney Failure. I remember when they first told me, a cold February day, knowing that my little furball would not be the same. Her chubby 16 lb frame at the time would get smaller. She'd need water more. She'd need special diets. Her kidneys at that point had 70% damage that was irreversible. She was only going to get worse. But, at the time that seemed long in the future. The vet assured me that many cats live LONG fit lives after their diagnosis if their owners do what they can to help their ailing kitties (like feeding them the special diet, giving the medicine, etc).

So, I poured myself into learning about what was occurring with Sienna. I found great resources over the internet. I appreciated so much the kind and wise words of our vet back in Colorado who took interest in Sienna's case. I began feeding her the stuff she needed. I vowed my cat would be around so much longer, and die of old age, right?!

Three years. I sit here writing this knowing that above and beyond all my efforts, all my prayers all my hopes, the inevitable is creeping up quicker than I want. My little "high maintenance kitty" is succumbing to her disease. The last time they took her stats here in California (at yet another great vet we found), her kidney levels were up. Since moving here, she's been struck with much more (thyroid issues, anemia). She's had episodes where she was near death (right after we moved I had to leave her overnight to get emergency fluids pushed. Apparently the vets think the move and new surroundings jostled her fragile body enough to speed up more of the kidney failure). She made it through that weekend, but I think even back then (last February) I knew the end would come eventually.

Cut to today. My little monster gets more "little" each day. I fight with her to get her to take the pills she needs. I have to give her sub-q's (this means sticking her every other day with a needle to push fluids in to help her not dehydrate). I play a game every morning and say a prayer each day as I drive away that she will eat. Gain what she so needs to bulk up here small little frame.

But I no longer get greeted at the door anymore. Only every now and again do I get a kitty shiatsu. And many nights have her curled up under a blanket hiding from me...or curled up next to me on the couch trying to stay warm.

And it's because of this, this failing, that I know the inevitable is almost here for my cat who was always "much more" than a cat. That day where I will have to go to the vet one last time. And while I know it is right, it is fair to her, why is it so hard to say goodbye?