Regret Hurts Worse Than Death

Every day, I scrutinised her, trying to gauge her quality of life.

She was still eating well, drinking normally, normal urine output. Still loving and affectionate.

I asked myself, am I just rationalising because, selfishly, I don't want her to die?

Her activity level dipped. Was she sleeping a bit more? Hard to tell. Cats sleep a fair bit in any case.

There was some litterbox mistakes as well, but this is a cat that learned about the litterbox late in life, so this wasn't totally out of character. It did make it harder to judge output. I tried to be honest about her condition, her quality of life.

There were some surfaces she waited to be lifted on. Arthritis was certain. But she did still jump up on the furnitire or your lap. Cats mask their pain well, though, so this on its own couldn't be gospel. I squinted at her some more.

I noticed some odd moments - times when she looked a bit confused or spaced out. These were brief, and few and far between. They were good days, with bad moments. I think. Was the arthritis worse than I ever knew? Was she in pain all the time? Should I have made this choice weeks ago? Or months? Did I get it wrong?

I felt sure I would know when the time was right. She would tell us.

And so she did. Yesterday morning, she refused her breakfast. Adding last nights leftovers didn't tempt her either (sausages and gravy). My heart sank. Today is the day, I thought.

Shortly after that, she was staring at the front door. "Don't let her out," I said to my family. "I'm worried that it's her time and she will go off by herself to die. I don't want that."

I don't want that.

I. Me.

When the front door was open, she did slip out. I carried her back in. She was very patient.

Today, I promised. But not out loud. I didn't say goodbye, either, not that cats care about such things the way we do.

Maybe, I thought, she just wants to sit in the sun for a bit? I took her out to the patio instead, but, oh gosh is that the time? I will be late for work!

Later, I promised. We will say our goodbyes, and do the hard thing. It has to be today.

While she slept on the sofa, I wheeled the bins out and then went to work. I still didn't say goodbye. I still thought I had time.

When I came back, she was nowhere to be found.

I checked all over the house, all over the garden.

Gone.

I knew what had happened. I know cats do this. I should have been more careful. The door wasn't shut properly when I put the rubbish out.

I tell myself she preferred it this way. She chose it. A vet clinic is stinky. It smells of fear, and disease, and chemicals, and death.

I tell myself I wanted to be there at the end. I wanted to bury her. It was about me.

I tell myself I only wanted one more cuddle. It's been a hectic week and I know I haven't fussed over her as much as I should have.

Would it have always been one more cuddle though? One more hour. One more day. Just one more.

I thought I was strong enough to do it. I don't know whether she did what she did because she believed me, or because she didn't.

Neither, I expect. It was just her time, and she did what cats do.

Why this week, of all weeks? Work is awful, and my daughter has her exams, and and and and... I knew it would be soon. I should have made time for her anyway. Why didn't I? It was enough to look across and see her sleeping in her new favourite spot.

Why didn't I notice that? Her favourite spot was always beside me. Against my foot or my leg, or behind my head. If I wasn't sat down, she kept the seat for me, no matter how many times I nearly sat on her (we really shouldn't have got grey cushions).

At some point this week, or maybe last, that shifted, and then she was always curled up on the cushion a foot or two away.

I should have noticed that. I was watching her so carefully, and I missed it. She was already pulling away.

The other day, she caught my foot with her claw, and I swore crossly. She glared at me, indignant. I didn't mean it. She must know I didn't.

Stephen King said, Sometimes dead is better, and he's right. If I think of her dying, in the time and place she chooses, it's almost peaceful.

To think of her lost and confused, alone, suffering... I can't bear that.

Please be dead little cat.

The neighbour saw a cat matching her description outside her home. I went to look, but it had gone. A selfish spike of hope snags my heart when I think of it.

Maybe!

I was so stupid. I knew that day was "the day", because I'd decided that. I thought the real date, the one we were cheating, the one we were getting ahead of, was days away still. Not hours. I thought I would scoop her up off the sofa, and cover her in kisses. Tell her sorry for putting her in the wicker cage (I know she doesn't like it). And sorry for taking her to the vet again, because that's rotten too. But don't worry, little cat, no more after today. This will be the last, I promise. No nasty blood draws. No more medicine. Just cuddles, and then peace. That's how it was supposed to go.

I tell myself that maybe my timing was perfect after all. That she said, "Today", too.

It doesn't help.

I try not to think of the empty spot by the walled pond, the one that would have been perfect. With her old doggy friend beside her.

I tell myself the dog isn't there either, not in any way that counts. That doesn't help either.

G-

No. I can't say it. Maybe I never will. Maybe the coward in me will always imagine her sunning herself somewhere. Every day that passes makes that more impossible.

Do you know, the night before, I fed her slices of sausage off my fork. She loved them. Did she know how I was indulging her, how it made me so happy to see her enjoying things like that?

I had all these years, (twenty!) and there were so many days I didn't love her enough. Too rushed. Too complacent. They say animals love you unconditionally, but no one says out loud how enormously humbling that is, how it breaks you into iddy biddy pieces when it's too late to fix it and be a better person.

Even when I knew it was coming, I thought I still had time.

I hope she knew she was loved, that's all.

This little cat loved me enough for ten lifetimes, and I never deserved her.

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Thank you.