At approxiamately 12:20am June 11th, 2012, my son was killed. To those that would think me melodramatic, ******** off. My feline family members are as much my children as my girls emotionally. We get them as infants, raise them, care for them, bond with them, fight with them, and provide for their every need at the expense of our finances, hearts, and minds. When I arrived home at about 9:25 on June 10th, my neighbor across the street warned me that a van had hit some small animal (cat or a dog) hard. The animal had run behind my house by her estimation. We had been gone 12.5 hours, and when my cat Ash did not run to the door to greet us . . . I knew. He was searched for over an hour with no response to calls. Finally, we found him in a storm drain by my house. He had often ducked in there for safety and security. He was farther inside than ever, and blatantly ignored calls, tuna, and pleading. When a broom was used to try and coax him out, he moved- with a combination of hissing, growling, and cries like none I have ever heard him use except in extreme pain. He retreated so far that I couldn’t see him. In desperation, I called the animal hospital of Punxsy for advice to find a recording and advice to call Pittsburgh. I called 911. Within minutes a steady stream of arrivals came with emergency workers, most in plain clothes. I felt mildly silly for calling all of Punxsy for my ‘stupid.’ Still, I was very grateful. Soon, they had opened one grate, and began pumping water down another to try and coax him out. Soon, they had him and I called Brookville Animal Hospital. I helped get Ash into the cat carrier and knew. His tail was totally limp.
The doctor responded, and I flew out there. I cried the whole way. When the doctor pulled out some sort of pliers to test reflexes, Ash had no reflexes in his tail, left leg, or rectum. That isn’t just broken bones, it was severed nerves. I knew, and collapsed as they took him away under painkillers and sedation for an X-ray to confirm what I knew. He had broken his spine in two place right about his pelvis. His pelvis was in more parts than I could count, and collapsed over his intestines. They had him under heavy painkillers and some sedation at this point as the doctor kept going on and on over the complete diagnosis. It was all the same, it was all confirming what I knew the moment I saw his limp tail. I chose to end his pain. He could not be saved with any quality of life. He was alive, but his pain would be overwhelming. He would never potty again with any dignity. He would never walk again, much less bound. His eyes flinched when the light hit him, so I stood to give him shadow. The doctors gave us time to talk to him while they wrote up the notes and prepared to end his life. Dana and I talked to him, loved on him, and I swore I would not let him hurt ever again. His body was unresponsive, but his eyes . . . by all that is holy, his eyes! They twitched and moved slightly. I saw him try to purr. Dana saw his jaw move as if he were talking to us. Without the pain, he was just ready to be himself again. I loved on him everywhere I could without harming him. I insisted on being with him when they put him down- I had to. I owed my son that goodbye . . . or perhaps I owed it to myself. He would not be hurt anymore, and I would not let him go alone.
He was let go. I literally moved the entire town with my bare hands to save him. I would not let him die alone and cold in a pipe. On the drive out he didn’t respond to Dana, but he cried for me. He responded to me even in pain. I let him go . . . and it feels like it’s killing me. I always called him my son, and he is dead. If this was the right thing, why does it hurt so? This is being written at 3:14 in the morning. I am tired, but cannot bring myself to sleep. The pad/pillow Dana made for his outside box sits on my couch. It is dirty, filthy with sticks, dander, hair, and is the last bit of him I have. When this is posted in the morning, I will put the pad away. The girls won’t read this online, they will hear it from us. Once they know, I will post this account of how I lost the kitten that from his first meeting with me became my son.
He was my stupid. He was smart as a sack of rocks. Sir Du of Fus. Dingus. Idjit. Asherbebebes. Ashies. I pushed myself and every possible resource harder than I ever thought I could . . . and then had to let him go.
Goodbye, my son.
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