Registered: 1512943958 Posts: 14
Before I start, I just want to say that I am posting this to 1) hopefully alleviate some of the pain and guilt I'm feeling, 2) to stop people making the same mistake I did and 3) to talk about Jake.
Just a few days ago, my family had our beloved pet cat put down, and as any other person with a pet would feel, it is a huge loss to us all. So, I'm going to start at the beginning. Jake was kind of just put on us, for lack of better word. The man who lived in the flat below us had left him on his doorstep in a cardboard box because apparently his son was afraid of him. So, my mum brought him home insisting that we weren't going to keep him because we already had a dog. Fast forward a couple a couple of weeks, no one wanted him, no one we knew was looking for a cat. On top of that, it turned out he got on amazingly well with our dog, they became the best of friends in no time, and Jake turned out to be the most loving and docile cat ever. It felt like the best day ever when my mum finally gave in and said we could keep him. Only trouble was, we didn't know how old he was and our downstairs neighbour had moved out before we had the chance to ask. So Jake's age was never really something we thought about, maybe just a passing thought every now and then. Either way, we kept him for seven years, which, if you ask me, is seven years too short. Very early on in those seven years, he just slotted into place as part of our family, soon finding the best places to nap and the best views to watch the pigeons fly by. One of his favourite places to sleep was on my bed, curled up right next to me, always looking so comfy that I felt bad every time I needed to get up to use the bathroom. I don't know what it was, maybe because I was the one who spent the most time with him when we took him in, but he always seemed to favour me. Always coming to pester me when I sat at my desk writing, or scraping at my duvet until I lifted it for him to climb in. Though I'd call him a pain in the ass, I loved it. I loved him. (I still do.) About a week and half, two weeks ago, he fell ill. It's a horrible thing, to see such a lively and loving pet take a turn for the worse. He stopped drinking, ate only tiny little bits at a time and slept all day and night. A couple of days in, he started to get this faraway look in his eyes, like he was looking straight through you. That's when I had a feeling something was really wrong. My mum booked an appointment for the vets, we took him in and they told us we'd have to take him to another branch of their clinics with the facilities to keep him in over night. They gave us directions to the nearest one, and we went straight from there. So, they kept him in and my mum called the next day and the vet said that Jake had perked up since they put him on a drip and I was so relieved. I was expecting the worst so a little bit of good news like that was enough to make me the happiest person on earth. Only thing was, they wanted to keep him in another night to run some more tests. Next day, my mum calls, vet says the blood test results are clear, nothing abnormal on his x-ray, only thing was that Jake had a polyp in his ear which was causing him great discomfort, which may have also explained his lack of coordination when standing up. They just needed my mum's permission to operate on him to take it out. My mum said yes and we didn't hear back from the vet for the rest of the day. The next morning my mum called, the receptionist said they were busy, that the vet would have called if there was anything wrong. I was confident we would be picking him up that day. A few hours later, my mum comes home from work, and her face said it all. Jake had deteriorated after the operation, and there was nothing more they could do. Here's where my guilt comes in. My mum asks if I wanted to go and be with Jake for his final moments. I said yes. I was set on it. But then she starts saying stuff that would put me off of going. She seemed to think that it would be more upsetting, that seeing him in the state he was in would play on my mind. Another relative started hounding me about it, saying that she wish she hadn't been with her cats when they were euthanized because it played on her mind. Eventually I broke down and gave in. I stayed at home while my mum was on the phone to the vets, giving them permission to put Jake out of his misery. Now, I feel bad. Terrible, I hate myself for not going. I broke down yesterday and confided in my mum. She said that he would have been so out of it on the affect of anaesthetic and painkillers, he wouldn't have even known if I was there or not. That Jake knew he was loved and that's all that matters. She said that the vet had promised to give him a big kiss and a cuddle and I find some comfort in knowing that. But I hate that the last time I saw Jake was three days before, that I couldn't have been there to say goodbye. That's something that I'm going to regret and feel guilty about my whole life and I hope that other people don't make the same mistake I did.