Celestial Cindy

Almost a year ago, I did a tribute post to my lifelong pet and friend, Cindy. I was sad, but at peace today, as we laid Cindy to rest. Since I don't want to repeat anything I've already written so eloquently (again, see tribute post), I'll just share some additional thoughts from today.

I was torn when I was informed that Cindy would have to be euthanized. She's always been invincible--17 years without any lasting health problems. So it was hard to believe that this time, she wouldn't make it. She's always been such a constant in my life--from elementary school to grad school.  It was so sad to think I would no longer see her in that white wicker chair on the porch. She wouldn't be there to greet me every time I came home. She wouldn't be hanging around the garage, waiting for a warm car to pull in or for willing arms to pick her up. She wouldn't be scratching at the door, meowing loudly at night for her food. She wouldn't be following us around the yard, wanting to be the center of attention.
There would just be her earthly possessions left: food dishes, a litter box, and small bed. Empty. How would she feel knowing that this was her last night, her last nap, her last neck scratching session before she died? It was devastating to imagine.

But as we visited the vet for the last time today, I felt we were doing the right thing. Although we knew she was sick, we didn't realize how bad it was--she had cancer on the left side of her mouth. Because of this, she hadn't been eating and ultimately weighed as much as a kitten (4 pounds). The cancer would have spread or she would have starved to death within the next few weeks/ months. It was so hard to see her suffering, and especially feel every single bone in her body as I stroked her for the last time. Even though her body was just a shadow of what it used to be, it was hard to let her go, because she always had a fighting spirit. She hissed as they gave her a shot, just as she always did when we visited the vet. Then she slowly drooped into eternal sleep. The left side of her face was swollen from the cancer, but otherwise she looked completely normal.

I didn't cry as much as I had expected today, maybe because of the peace I felt knowing that Cindy was no longer in pain. I still brought a hand towel to use, since I knew I would just be blowing my way through a box of tissues. My dad picked out the perfect grave site between the strawberry bushes in the backyard- where Cindy would always wait for unsuspecting and rather stupid sparrows. When I was nine, my great-grandmother sent me this painting for my birthday:

I couldn't think of a better memorial. I also know that Cindy was in the best of hands these last few years of her life. She went from being my cat to my dad's. He did everything possible to keep her alive and healthy, even going as far to carry her inside at night when she was too tired and crushing up her food so it would be easier to eat. He gave a beautiful eulogy and prayer at our small funeral service. Up to the end, he was her protector, and treated her with more tenderness than anyone I've ever seen.

Although I wish it would have lasted longer, I'm so grateful for the 17 years Cindy spent with us. My dad stated it best: "she was my favorite cat."

Rhetorically,
Rebekah