Life and Death Decisions, Feline Edition

March 7^th 

During these last two months of grieving the loss of K.B. the spectre of another possible death has loomed in our household, that of my beloved cat, Hildy. She will be 14 (roughly) this year, and since last May she has been experiencing a major health problem (to put it bluntly, she has been experiencing long bouts of constipation—and this is on top of a long-lasting mysterious allergy which no vet has been able to pin down). 

We have altered her diet several times, tried a dizzying array of medications, packed her off to the vet numerous times, sought a second opinion from another vet, and still, the problem persists. Nothing has solved the problem, and it seems to be getting worse. Obviously, a cat that cannot perform this basic bodily function cannot be expected to have a terribly long lifespan.

And so we come to issues of life and death again. As the owner, I would be the one to make the call, in consultation with the vet, as to whether she ought to be put down. I can hardly bear that responsibility, although it is implicit every time you take a companion animal into your house and it becomes a member of the family. 

The idea of losing her at any time would be completely devastating, as she was the first cat I got on my own and we developed a strong bond, one which has survived despite all the times I catch her and administer pills or squirts of syrupy laxative. But to have to have her put down now, while I am still trying to absorb the reality of K.B.’s death, is too much. I think I would be entirely crushed by grief.

As a caring pet owner, though, I have to think of what is best for her, not for me. I think that I am being honest with myself (and with the vets) when I say that despite her condition, she still seems to have a good level of energy. She is as bossy as ever, she meows vigorously when she wants her tummy scratched, and she continues to enjoy being brushed and combed. Her appetite is reasonably good—it’s just that what she eats does not processed out the back end anywhere nearly as often as it should.

Is she suffering? With cats, it can be hard to tell. They keep their cards pretty close to their chests in these matters, as a friend said. Some-times she licks herself compulsively on the lower abdomen to the point that it is red and sore down there. But is that enough to say she has no quality of life? Another friend whose dog was recently put down said that there will be a sign, that somehow I will know when the time has come. I don’t feel that I have had that sign yet.

So I continue to wait and watch. I cancelled another trip that was to take us away for several weeks because I don’t feel that it would be fair to ask a house-sitter to take on this responsibility, and because I would be sick with worry about her the whole time. I pray that she makes it at least until spring, because I would like to take her lifeless body out to the farm for a burial directly after the procedure. But she has already defied the odds already; she may surprise us all by living even beyond that.

She complains bitterly when I administer her medicine, and she howls each time I cram her in her carrier to take her to the vet. Sometimes I say to her in exasperation, “I am trying to keep you alive. Would you rather be dead?” Would she prefer that to all the pills and syringes, to all the discomfort she is in, to the needles and other indignities she endures at the animal clinic? I can’t know; ultimately, I have to make some judgment call as to where she is on the continuum of suffering.