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Kiki's Death
Jul. 14th, 2021 09:12 pmMy little love Kiki died this afternoon at approximately 1pm. She was fifteen years old. After a dramatic episode as described in my previous post, we found a qualified pet euthanasia specialist called Peaceful Endings for Pets. The veterinarian was discreet, kind, and most importantly, extremely skilled. Kiki's death was peaceful and smooth thanks to the veterinarian's expertise. Nevertheless, it took 45 minutes and enough anesthetic to put down a large dog to put Kiki to sleep.
The part that tortures me is how badly Kiki wanted to live. She did not want to leave me, no matter how she retched whenever she tried to relax, how bloated and constipated she felt, or how bad her thirst grew, or how her throat burned and her teeth rotted from vomiting.
Kiki was never aloof. She acted more like a dog than a cat. We had a bond that was love at first sight from the first days at the shelter. It never waned. I poured every bit of frustrated childless person mother instinct into loving her and in return, I was her sun and moon. Due to the nature of my job, my husband has always arrived home from work before I do. She regularly sensed when I was coming home 20 minutes before I arrived, despite my erratic schedule, and yowled. When I got to the door, she was usually waiting. It was only in the last year she didn't constantly greet me at the door, and that was because she was resting or sleeping. She lived on my shoulder. "Kiki is the cat you wear" was my favorite joke.
The last three days have been unmitigated hell. The buildup to today's mercy killing was heart-rending. I vacillated many times. I did not want this creature to die, despite my deep faith that she would be received by spirit guides and helped by gods throughout her death journey.
I am incredibly grateful for the prayers sent to me. I don't think I would have any peace without them. This event made me realize why atheists kill themselves. When I adopted Kiki from the shelter fifteen years ago, I was atheist. I don't know that I would have survived this event as a nihilist atheist -- basically I would be alive only because I have people who would be upset by my death.
I didn't want to leave Kiki alone for a single moment in the last 3 days. I plopped her down on some towels tub-side when I bathed, sat her on her perch while I exercised, and ate pizza in bed brought to me by my husband because she had fallen asleep on my legs.
The episode with Welcome Waggin' gave me a poisonous, fleeting hope that it would be OK if I allowed Kiki to die more naturally. Late last night, I woke up tormented by a voice that said "Why micromanage her death so much? Can't you just call it off? In a less luxurious, less industrialized age, in-home pet euthanasia wouldn't be possible. She just wants to live." This voice haunted me several times.
Kiki arrived at the point of her illness where she could no longer sleep. She stared a thousand yard stare. When she started to drift off, her gag reflex would jerk her back to consciousness. She wanted to eat the food laid out for her but she would smell it and her gag reflex would activate. Nevertheless, there was still a small hope that I could heal her with herbs, maybe subsisting off of slippery elm and chicken broth, or at least this is what I told myself. It was only because of two photos I took of Kiki yesterday that I was able to resist the voice urging me to prolong her life. The pictures were worth a thousand words. Having taken literally thousands of pictures of her in her life, I saw the defeat and sadness in the last ones. I saw pain and suffering. I saw a being who was only hanging in there because she didn't want our time together to be over. I knew then that prolonging her life was selfish. I was fortunate to schedule her veterinary appointment in time to avoid even more suffering. This experienced has been a crucible: physically, emotionally, and spiritually agonizing. I was somewhere between Maiden and Matron when I adopted Kiki, but now I am fully the Crone; Gandalf the White.
My husband buried Kiki by one of the baby oaks in the late afternoon. This fall, I will start planting a garden of black flowers around Kiki's grave and the oak.
The part that tortures me is how badly Kiki wanted to live. She did not want to leave me, no matter how she retched whenever she tried to relax, how bloated and constipated she felt, or how bad her thirst grew, or how her throat burned and her teeth rotted from vomiting.
Kiki was never aloof. She acted more like a dog than a cat. We had a bond that was love at first sight from the first days at the shelter. It never waned. I poured every bit of frustrated childless person mother instinct into loving her and in return, I was her sun and moon. Due to the nature of my job, my husband has always arrived home from work before I do. She regularly sensed when I was coming home 20 minutes before I arrived, despite my erratic schedule, and yowled. When I got to the door, she was usually waiting. It was only in the last year she didn't constantly greet me at the door, and that was because she was resting or sleeping. She lived on my shoulder. "Kiki is the cat you wear" was my favorite joke.
The last three days have been unmitigated hell. The buildup to today's mercy killing was heart-rending. I vacillated many times. I did not want this creature to die, despite my deep faith that she would be received by spirit guides and helped by gods throughout her death journey.
I am incredibly grateful for the prayers sent to me. I don't think I would have any peace without them. This event made me realize why atheists kill themselves. When I adopted Kiki from the shelter fifteen years ago, I was atheist. I don't know that I would have survived this event as a nihilist atheist -- basically I would be alive only because I have people who would be upset by my death.
I didn't want to leave Kiki alone for a single moment in the last 3 days. I plopped her down on some towels tub-side when I bathed, sat her on her perch while I exercised, and ate pizza in bed brought to me by my husband because she had fallen asleep on my legs.
The episode with Welcome Waggin' gave me a poisonous, fleeting hope that it would be OK if I allowed Kiki to die more naturally. Late last night, I woke up tormented by a voice that said "Why micromanage her death so much? Can't you just call it off? In a less luxurious, less industrialized age, in-home pet euthanasia wouldn't be possible. She just wants to live." This voice haunted me several times.
Kiki arrived at the point of her illness where she could no longer sleep. She stared a thousand yard stare. When she started to drift off, her gag reflex would jerk her back to consciousness. She wanted to eat the food laid out for her but she would smell it and her gag reflex would activate. Nevertheless, there was still a small hope that I could heal her with herbs, maybe subsisting off of slippery elm and chicken broth, or at least this is what I told myself. It was only because of two photos I took of Kiki yesterday that I was able to resist the voice urging me to prolong her life. The pictures were worth a thousand words. Having taken literally thousands of pictures of her in her life, I saw the defeat and sadness in the last ones. I saw pain and suffering. I saw a being who was only hanging in there because she didn't want our time together to be over. I knew then that prolonging her life was selfish. I was fortunate to schedule her veterinary appointment in time to avoid even more suffering. This experienced has been a crucible: physically, emotionally, and spiritually agonizing. I was somewhere between Maiden and Matron when I adopted Kiki, but now I am fully the Crone; Gandalf the White.
My husband buried Kiki by one of the baby oaks in the late afternoon. This fall, I will start planting a garden of black flowers around Kiki's grave and the oak.
There will never be a day that will go by when I will not miss Kiki terribly. I look forward to my own death someday because I will finally get to be with her again. There are many questions I have for the gods, such as how she will reincarnate, and if she knows how much I have second guessed my decision and how sorry I am if it was the wrong choice. Thank you for your prayers and your words of encouragement for me for Kiki. They have been my salvation.
Kiki and I when we were both a lot younger and thinner.
