One morning a few years ago, Anne walked out into our garage to put some towels or something into the dryer. I heard the door close, and a minute of so later, she called out to me, “Wil? Can you come in here? Quickly?”
There was a tiny bit of urgency in her voice, so I jumped up from the couch, ran through the kitchen, across the breezeway, and into the garage. She stood next to the dryer, a pile of wet clothes in her hands.
“Is everything okay?” I said.
“Shh!” She said, and pointed to the middle of the garage. “Listen!”
I did, and after a few moments, I heard a very soft meowing. Both of my cats were indoor cats, so I called out, “Biko? Sketch?”
I turned to Anne. “How did they get out of the house?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but —”
A sleek black cat came walking out from beneath one of several piles of crap we have out there (putting a car into our garage is about as likely as one of us building a rocket in the backyard and colonizing the moon). He had bright yellow/green eyes, a white star on his chest, and little white “socks” on his front paws. He had no tail.
“Hey, Kitty!” Anne said, “what are you doing in my garage?”
She shoved the clothes into the dryer, and crouched down on the floor. The cat began purring loudly as he walked over to her. She extended her hand and he rubbed his little face up against it.
“You are such a little Bear!” She said, as she scratched his ears.
I’ve seen this from her before: she was in love. She looked up at me, like a child. “Can we keep him?”
“We already have two cats, Anne,” I said, “and what if someone misses him?”
“We’ll wait a week, and look for signs around the neighborhood. If we don’t find signs, and he’s still here, we’ll take him to the vet and make sure he’s healthy.”
I’ve also seen this from her before: her mind was made up.
For the next week, he stayed on our patio, and we looked for signs in our neighborhood. We called local shelters. pet stores, and vets and asked if anyone had reported a missing kitty. Nobody had. As far as we could tell, this kitty had just shown up out of thin air; if anyone missed him, they weren’t being very vocal about it.
The first few days of that week, I tried not to get too attached to him, but whenever I walked out onto the patio, he’d talk to me a bunch. If I got close to him, he’d start to purr and rub up against my legs. He was so affectionate, it took about three days for my him to win me over. I started counting down to the seventh day, when we would take him to the vet and know for sure if he could officially become a member of our family.
At the end of the week, we took him to the vet and had him checked for diseases and stuff.
“What’s his name?” The receptionist asked us.
Anne and I looked at each other. Over the week, we had both loved this little guy a lot, but we’d never thought to name him.
“Oscar?” I said.
She smiled and shook her head. “No.” She turned to the receptionist and said, “His name is Felix.”
“Yeah!” I said, “Felix the cat!”
While we were there, we saw a picture on the wall of a cat that looked just like him, and we found out that he was a special breed called a Japanese Bobtail. Over the next few years, this would lead to us calling him “Stumpy,” and referring to his activity as “just stumpin’ around in the yard.” His blood work came back the following day: he was free from all diseases, but his kidney levels were a little high — probably the result of him being just a little dehydrated. We know now that it was much worse, but at the time we were blissfully ignorant, and the Wheaton household grew by one.
We brought him home, and introduced him to our cats. Biko was indifferent, but Sketch cranked at him right away. Ever since he was a kitten, Sketch has been a daddy’s — then (and now) a momma’s — boy. He didn’t like that there was a new kitty in our house who would be siphoning away some of the attention and affection. For the next week or so, there was a lot of peeing on the furniture, but eventually, Biko and Sketch accepted that this new kitty wasn’t going to leave, and his arrival didn’t diminish our love for them.
Felix loved us, but always on his terms. There’s a saying, “Dogs have masters. Cats have staff” and so it was with Felix. He was always affectionate, but he made it clear that he wasn’t our cat: we were his people. We didn’t mind at all.
A few years passed, and Felix brought all kinds of joy into our lives. He had his “rotation,” where he’d sleep on Ryan’s bed for a week or so, then Nolan’s, then with me and Anne. Even though he was just a cat, when he chose to put you on his rotation, you couldn’t help but feel special. Chosen.
We learned quickly that Felix didn’t take any shit from anyone, especially other cats. In the first year that we were his people, he went to the vet several times for shots and stitches after fights with other neighborhood cats. When he went outside, Anne and I started telling him, “Watch for cars, and don’t get into any fights!” He rarely listened, but he was an incredibly tough little guy who earned his nickname “The Bear,” and as far as we know, he never lost a single fight.
About two years ago, we noticed that he spent a couple of days acting a little strange. He didn’t want to be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat very much, and he just looked like he didn’t feel well. We figured it was the result of his latest fight, so Anne took him to the vet for more antibiotics. When she came home, her eyes were red and her cheeks were shiny with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“The vet said that Felix doesn’t feel well because he’s having kidney failure. He could die within a month.” She collapsed onto our bed and sobbed. I did my best to comfort her, while I processed the shock of the news.
“Is there anything we can do?” I said.
“We may be able to give him special food and fluids, but —”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I said. And we did. We gave him some fluids every morning, put him onto special food, and gave him a little extra love. Within a couple of days, The Bear was stumpin’ around the yard, chasing birds across the grass, and curling up in our laps whenever we sat on the couch. His sleeping rotation put him into our room, and I fell asleep for many nights listening to his soft purring.
The rest of that year, he had ups and downs. One terrifying weekend Felix was rushed to the emergency vet because the gardener sprayed weed killer in our front yard — which I’d specifically told him not to do — and Felix had walked through it. During that stay at the vet’s, I visited him often. WWdN readers were really supportive of Anne and me, and I blogged a “note” from The Bear:
“Hi. ThiS iS FELix. My Mom AND Dad ToLD mE HoW MUCh WWDN ReADerS SupPoRteD ThEM whiLe I wAs SiCK, aND i WaNT to sAY ThANK you. ThEy LovE ME A loT AnD I KnOW THIS Was hard FoR thEM.”
During that stay, we found out that his kidney disease had progressed more rapidly than we expected. He was up to about 85% failure, and he was starting to become anemic. He had lost a bunch of weight, and was down to about 11 pounds. Again, we made mental preparations for the worst, and again Felix surprised us all by bouncing right back to life.
A few weeks ago, Felix started to look and act like he felt icky, so we took him to the vet yet again. This came on the heels of my cat Sketch’s near-death experience, so my nerves were pretty frayed. “I wish I could get frequent flier miles here,” I joked to the receptionist for the hundredth time. She politely pretended that I wasn’t the most annoying pet owner in the world.
We ran some tests on him, and the results confirmed our worst fears: his kidneys were almost completely destroyed, and he had developed such a severe case of anemia his body wasn’t able to get any nutrition out of his food. He was, quite literally, wasting away.
It was clear that if we didn’t do anything, he was going to die within a few days. We talked it over with our vet, and she told us that our options were to put Felix to sleep, or give him Epogen injections three times a week, sub-q fluids twice a day, liquid vitamins and an aluminum hydroxyde suspension each morning. It seemed like an awful lot of stuff to do, but Anne and I talked about it, and tried to figure out what was best for Felix, we would not prolong his life simply because we didn’t want to say goodbye . . . but if we could help him feel better, and have good quality of life, then we would do whatever we could afford to do. We talked it over with his vet, and decided that we’d try this out for two weeks.
“What are the odds of him bouncing back?” I asked his vet.
“If it was any other cat, I’d say very slim,” she said, “but Felix is one of the toughest kitties I’ve ever seen. Honestly, his kidney values are so high, any other kitty would have died by now.”
“Is there anything we should watch for?”
She told us what I’ve heard from hundreds of WWdN readers: “Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go, or if he wants to stick around and try to feel better.”
That was two weeks ago. For the first week, Felix perked up, but he didn’t bounce back the way he always had before. He stopped being reclusive, but he wasn’t as affectionate as he’d always been. I hoped against hope that he’d miraculously recover, like he always did, but it just wasn’t happening. I realized that I was watching him die.
A few nights ago, I sat in my dining room and read my book. I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down and saw The Bear. He was so skinny (just over six pounds) his spine stood up on his back like Mr. Burns.
“How are you feeling, The Bear?” I said.
He let out a slow and quiet meow, and walked into the living room. He wavered when he walked, like he was unsteady, or uncomfortable, or both. When he was about fifteen feet away from me, he stopped, crouched down on the floor, and flicked his little stump.
“Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go . . .”
I got up from the table and walked over to him. I felt a lump rising in my throat as I got down next to him on the floor.
“Are you done?” I said.
He flicked his stump, and looked up at me. His eyes looked a little cloudy; his third eyelid was closed about a third of the way.
“Okay, Felix. Okay.” I scratched his little bony head. He purred weakly and tightly shut his eyes.
I knew this moment would come, and I hoped that I’d be prepared to face it, but I wasn’t. Huge sobs shook my body. Giant tears fell off my face and ran down my nose.
Ferris cautiously walked over to me from the kitchen. She stopped about three feet from me, sat down, and cocked her head to one side.
“Felix is dying, Ferris,” I said. “I’m okay. I’m just sad.”
She sighed, and laid down on the floor with her head between her paws. She watched me while I sat there and cried.
Later that night, Anne and I had The Talk. We decided that we’ve done all that we can to help him, but it’s just not enough. He’s not really living now . . . he’s just staying alive. We promised each other, and we promised Felix, that we wouldn’t keep him alive just because we didn’t want to say goodbye. Yesterday morning, I called the vet and had The Talk with her. We made an appointment to bring Felix in tomorrow morning.
I know I’m doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any easier. As I’ve written this today (and it’s taken most of the day to write — I’ve had to stop writing this several times just to get a grip on myself.) I have realized that Felix hasn’t been The Bear for a long time.
I will miss seeing him stand up and stretch himself out on the trunk of Anne’s car, before he jumps down onto the driveway and greets me when I open my car door. I will miss him jumping up into my car, and talking to me while he walks around and explores the passenger compartment. I will miss watching him sit in the grass and torment the squirrel in the tree next door. I will miss watching him stump around in the backyard. But most of all, I will miss being on his rotation. Even when he decided that four in the morning was when he needed to go outside, and the best way to accomplish that was to run across our heads until one of us woke up and let him out.
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I’ve never commented to one of your posts before, but I’ve been reading your blog for over a month now. I’m so sorry to hear about Felix. I work at a vet clinic and unfortunately get to see this side of things from time to time.
You gave Felix a great life and you loved him. You’ve been wonderful to him, and him to you and your family.
Blubbery mess now.
And not because I’m allergic to cats.
It’s because I now feel for a cat I haven’t even met.
Not to co-opt this into a political thing, but it’s a relief (to me) in our society that at least we can assist our pets into the next life if they let us know their time this round is through. Wish it were that way for our human friends and family.
I am so very sorry about this, Wil. This is a very hard decision to make, and I am certain that Felix will thank you for respecting him and his wishes up until the very end. The truest sign of love is the willingness to let go when the time comes.
Wil,
I am sorry to read that about your cat.
FG
Wil, I sat here for a half hour typing and retyping my comment. Then I said, “I won’t comment because I don’t want to be stupid or cliche”, but screw it.
Dude, you and Anne are awesome people, and if it weren’t for you guys, The Bear would have never had a family and would have walked around getting in fights with nobody to clean him up afterwards. You were a blessing for the Bear, and I imagine the feeling is mutual.
We’re all keeping the Wheaton family in our prayers.
My wife and I went through the same exact situation with our cat Tigger. My wife got her when she was just a kitten and when she turned 9 or 10 the same thing happend to her. For two years, my wife religiously gave Tigger an IV of lactaited ringers. Eventually though, it just didn’t help, and we had to put her to sleep. It was probably one of the hardest days in our life, because unless you have a pet, you don’t realize just who much a part of the family a dog or cat becomes, and it is the saddest thing when you lose one. My thoughts are with you.
Bless you, Anne, and the kids. Remembering the good times with Felix will help you long-term. It’s Hell short-term though. He was a lucky cat to choose you.
Love & Peace, Clarence
I know there’s nothing some dude from Indianapolis can say to make you feel any better, especialyl after all the wonderful comments posted before mine. But know that the posse mojo is going your way. I guess it’s about remembering who he was, not that he’s gone. I know that Felix’s memory will live on not only with you guys but with the whole Posse.
Wil! hugs and comfort to your whole family… there isn’t anything harder than knowing you won’t see any more of a familiar and loved face. you guys hang in there! ~~jolene
To paraphrase a quote from the movie The Crow: “If the things we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.” First time poster, Wil, and my heart goes out to you, your family, and Felix. I can remember being about 3 or 4 when we had to say goodbye to our dear little Kit-Kat. My mom has told me that when she first brought me home, KLit-Kat slept by my crib. When I was older, she slept in my bed, and was basically known to the family as “Anna’s Cat,” even though we had come by her long before I was born, in much the same way that Felix came to you and Anne. We had to put her to sleep because she had been hit by a car, and there was too much damage done. I loved the little bugger, as my mom referred to her, and I miss having her around. Reading this reminded me of her, and how much I loved her. My mom will probably be coming out soon to tell me to go to bed so I can get up for school, and I know she’s going to ask why I’m crying. My friends and I have been following this for a while now, and this is breaking our hearts. They want to say something now, so (on behalf of my family and little sister, who has been asking for updates every day) I wish you and the family all the love in the world, and send hugs.
(My friends want me to add these bits, they’re on Yahoo Messenger and sent me these that way.)
Maddy: Oh my god…*cries* Poor Felix, poor Wil and Anne, poor Nolan and Ryan! *cuddles Mikey and Sassy The Wonder Cat* I’ve been in that situation before myself, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. You and yours have all my love, and I send hugs as well.
Angie: *is crying too and cuddling Treat* Awwwww…I was hoping he would get better, but sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to. I’m a recent pet owner, and I love my little Treat to death. I send hugs, love, and everything else to you and your family, Wil.
We prayed every night for Felix and your family, and we’ll be praying again tonight. Just know that you did the right thing, and Felix will always love you for it.
Love and Hugs from the Sisterhood of Shes (Pennsylvania Division),
Analee Harriman (shewhobeatsass)
Madeline Kimmel (shewhokicksass)
Angela Stevanus (shewhowhupsass)
Wendy Harriman (shewhoistooyoungtostayuplate)
Wil,
My mother was given a Siamese kitten shortly before her wedding. Simon was the Supreme Kitty Overlord for eight years before I was born, and for years I was convinced Mom loved that cat more than me. Near the end of her life, Simon’s body started failing her all at once. At that point she was 21 (human) years old and had many problems, kidney failure among them. She was old and frail and we did everything we could to make her better and keep her comfortable and happy. In the wake of treatment, she suffered a severe stroke and as we struggled to deal with the aftermath Mom had to make The Decision.
We could have kept Simon alive, but she let us know quite gracefully when she was ready to go. Simon remained affectionate and alert until the end, and we could tell she was grateful that we had cared for her and given her a chance to say her final goodbyes to what had been a long and full life.
As painful as those last goodbyes were, Mom never doubted that she did the right thing. Simon had been with her longer than most cats dream of living, and she would have never been as healthy or long-lived as she was without the care and love that she was given in our home.
You, Anne, and your family have given Felix the greatest thing any animal (or human) could ask for – attention, respect, and love, even to the exclusion of your personal feelings. Felix is a very special kitty; whether he’s been with you six months or twenty-one years, you both gave each other your best, and that’s what’s important.
Kudos for having the guts to make your decision, Wil, and remember that we’re all going through this with you, every painful step. Ya done good. You guys will be in my thoughts tomorrow and I’ll smile at the thought of Felix winging his way to kitty heaven. Tell him some of my friends will be waiting!
Wil, thanks for your post about Felix.
We had to put our dog Woody down two years ago this month, before he was even a year old. Your post really brought back all that pain and the memories of how difficult and sad that time was for us. But it felt good to feel that again, and to know again how much I loved that little dog and still do.
Our version of The Talk and the decisions that came out of that was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. But in the end I know that we did it out of love for our friend. It felt cruel that the most loving action we could take was to end his life, but that’s how it was.
It wouldn’t hurt this bad if it wasn’t real love, and I hope there’s some comfort for you and your family in that.
Oh.. I had to go cuddle my cats after reading this. Such a sad time for all of you! Felix was definately a member of your family, and his memory will be a bright spot in your lives always. My thoughts are with you and know that Felix has a lot of friends on the other side, including my Ziggy, Calico and Autumn.
hey Wil,
Man, I am so sorry for your family’s loss, but as a lot of others have already said, you guys are great people, and I’m sure that Felix has had a great life. He will live on with you.
Terry
Wil,
That’s rough stuff. You write so well it was as if we were all there in the same room with Felix on your lap on that last night. You both did the right thing in that garage on that first day. And did all the right things until the very end. Like any good cat’s staff should. 🙂
My thoughts are with you.
Oh man. That had to hurt, to write. Thank you for sharing it with us, and all my sympathies to you, Anne, Nolan and Ryan. I will be thinking of you all, and Felix, tomorrow morning.
You don’t know me, Wil, but I felt compelled to comment anyway.
Through your writing, you’ve shared The Bear’s life – at least that part of it he lived with you – with all of us. We’re the richer for having known him, even second-hand, and I’m sure we all feel your loss.
You know you’re making the right decision, and you certainly don’t need me to reinforce that. But it’s always a fine thing to let go of those you love, when it’s time, and not try to cling past the bounds of reason. I wish you and your family – the two- and four-legged members both – all the best in the days to come. Think of The Bear often, so he continues to be a part of your family, and I’m sure he loved being part of it, however much he might have tried not to show it.
I’m so sorry to hear that, Wil. I’ll be thinking of you and your family tomorrow.
We’ve had to make this hard decision twice over the past few years. We’ll have to again, soon. Both of our babies are 14 years old.
There’s one lesson I’ve learned. You say:
“I know I’m doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
That’s it. It’s a time when your head must rule your heart. Listen to your intellect, not your feelings, because it will _always_ feel like murder.
It isn’t. My saying that — all of us saying that — won’t help.
But I hope knowing that there are others out here on The Internets who also know that sick feeling will help you deal with it.
In the last year I had to put down both of my cats, both were about 14 years old. It was sooo hard. Pumpkin I had to take to the vet and have the Talk all in the same afternoon by myself. I was house-sitting for my Parents at the time and I had to call a friend to drive me to the vet. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. The other died about six months later and I couldn’t bear to go to the vet with them so I said my goodbyes to her there on the kitchen floor. I know exactly how you feel. I feel for you…
Wil,
So sorry to hear about Felix, all cats are special and letting one go is very hard. You are doing the right thing, however difficult that may be for you.
6.
Wil, I also recently lost a our family cat, a friend of mine sent me this webcomic done by someone who also lost a pet cat. While reading it makes me sad, it also makes me happy to think of where he is now.
http://www.mows.com/and_so_passes_tigey.html
remember the good times, Felix will.
Wil and Anne –
I can’t control the tears as I write this and I can barely read what I’m typing. My heart is breaking for you both. My parents had cats (and dogs) when I was born. I’ve never known a life without them. When most of the kids were out hunting and trapping, we were out rescuing everything in sight. I rescued my first pair of wild cats when I was in the 7th grade. And there have been many more since. Those of us who are lucky enough to be “owned” understand the pain and the loss you are both feeling right now. And there’s nothing anyone can say or do to take that pain away – we can only tell you we’re here sharing it with you. They’re more than just pets – they’re family. They’re your children. And in many cases, it’s more painful to lose a pet than a human. You don’t get all the complicated crap you get with people. The relationship is just simple and pure. Completely unconditional. You feed them, give them water, they love you forever. Even if it is on their terms. You gave The Bear a wonderful and comfortable life. And he knows he was loved. Thank you for having a heart. Thank you for sharing it with a million people you don’t know. Our thoughts are with you.
Melissa (and Pookie, Maggie, Mama Kitty and Stinker)
Geez I know: it freakin hurts hurts hurts hurts HURTS.
I lost my beloved first dog ever, that I’d picked up as a stray in my 30s. Never did I think I would be a dog person, but he chose me… he looked into my eyes like no other living creature has ever done. For 13 solid years he was my Budley boy, a black lab/??? mix. He was doing OK and he BEAT cancer, and he had a great time the weekend before he died swimming in our pool and letting our young niece and nephew stroke his soft black ears, if a bit curmudgeonly.
While we were out one day, he had a complete neurological failure. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t move his head the way he wanted. The vet didn’t know what the hell was wrong. After a day of vet visits he looked in my eyes. It is SO hard to get that bad news from the one you love and feel that war with yourself. The war of wanting to have another day with the sweetie who is your family, battling what love says is the best thing to do, the only thing. Love sometimes is a hard whipping judge with a stern gaze and a solemn hard gavel whack. I hated that. I still hate it. And I am tearing up right now thinking of it. Damn.
Big hugs to you and your family, Wil.
Wil-
Your post brought tears to my eyes. You and Anne are in my thoughts while you cope with your loss. Losing a family member is never easy.
As staff for an older cat with health problems, I fear the day she decides to tell me it’s her time. My heart is with you two.
Wil,
I am so sorry to hear about Bear. I had a hamster named Pippen (after Perigrin Took)that was about 4-5 years old. Now the standard life for a hamster is 2-3 years. I think he was a Lich, because everytime we would bring home a compainion for Pippen, it would die off in a couple of days. Thereby extending Pippens own life. Anyway on March sixth I gave birth to a wonderful 7.8 pound baby boy, who we named Talon David. A week later we went to michigan to take Talon to visit my parents. We stayed for 3 days, then came back to Wisconsin. I went say hello to my little guy, and opened his cage. I found him lieing still, which was normal for him. He was the only heavy sleeper in the house. I found that he had pased away. I was heart broken…I had it in my head that he would be around for a couple more years, so I was not prepared to lose him. When we left for Michigan, he was happy and playful. We lost a very loving, family member that day. I feel what you are going through, and all I can say is…I am sorry. Stay with him, and let yourself (the family) be the last thing he sees. Much love to you and your family Wil.
Wil – my thoughts are with you and Anne and your family. The Bear may be ready, but you will never be. *hugs, tears and vibes*
I believe that Felix found you guys for a reason, and you and your family gave him the life he deserved. It seems that many of us bloggers have lost members of our animal families recently, and i like to think that they are all up there together, playing freely without pain, and doing the things they loved to do. My prayers and thoughts to you and yours…( I have often been moved by many of your posts, but this is the first time i have actually commented)
They leave such a hole in our lives. It can be a shock to realize how important they become in our every day existence.
Love to you and your family Wil. I’m making a little donation to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Felix’s name.
I’ m sorry Wil. Hang in there.
Dear Wil, I’m so sorry for you and your family! I’ve never had to make the decision you’ve had to make, so I cannot imagine how that must have felt.
I’m just glad that you have such a wonderful story to remember Felix by; it really seems like he was meant to be with you, for whatever reason. *hugs*
I’m so, SO sorry, Wil! I’ve been in your shoes so I know how devastating it is. Felix is scampering in that big cat pasture in the sky but you’ve got all the memories that won’t ever go away and will always be a part of your life. Felix and my Runt are probably screeching at each this very moment!
Take care, bud!
I’m so, SO sorry, Wil! I’ve been in your shoes so I know how devastating it is. Felix is scampering in that big cat pasture in the sky but you’ve got all the memories that won’t ever go away and will always be a part of your life. Felix and my Runt are probably screeching at each this very moment!
Take care, bud!
My condolences for your loss, Wil.
I’m sorry to hear about Felix. When I first started reading what you wrote, it didn’t quite hit me why you were writing it, but once it did hit me, I immediately got tears in my eyes. I know how much it hurts to let your furry friend go, as do many of your other readers. I miss my little furry brother very much… so much so that right now my new kitty is looking at me, wondering why I’m crying.
You’ll be okay in the long run, Wil, even if it doesn’t seem like you’ll ever feel the same again. You’re doing the right thing, and I’m sure Felix appreciates everything you’ve done for him.
Wil & Family,
I’m so sorry to hear that Felix has to go – he’s had a happy time, with great staff, warm beds and a loving house and now you’re letting him go with dignity. My thoughts are with you all right now – you’re showing the wee chap such love to let him go now that he’s ready but I know it doesn’t make it any easier.
Cry, laugh and remember; and may he forever walk in your dreams.
love
Claire
What an incredibly moving post. Thank you for sharing all this whilst you and your family go through such a traumatic event. The Bear is expecially in my thoughts.
{{{{{{Wil & Family}}}}}}
i had a dog that i had for 14 years and i just couldn’t part with it towards the end. i should’ve put it to sleep to end the suffering but i was selfish. you and ur family are doing the right thing and i’m sure that it will leave the world happily after being cared for by such lovely people. my condolences.
Hey wil,
I’m so sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to you, anne, ryan and nolan. I’m sure that The Bear is happy wherever he is, and will be with you forever. Sending you some happy/condolences mojo! Bye Felix.
Take care
rach
I’m so sorry to hear about Felix. My cat Kelsey, whom I’d had since I was about 5 passed away in January, and I’m still having trouble getting used to not seeing him when I go to visit my mom’s place. I’m sure Felix will stick around in some way though, he sounds too tough to just disappear completely.
Best wishes.
*HUGS* I’m sorry for your loss… 🙁
I’m very sorry, Wil.
Expect lots of mojo from my neck of the woods in the morning.
~j
*Eyes are red right about now*
Wil,
Felix has blessed your and your family’s lives, but he has also blessed our lives over the internet. Not many cats get to do that in the nine lives that they have. He will be greatly missed.
“If I should ever leave you,
Whom I love
To go along the silent way. . .
Grieve not.
Nor speak of me with tears.
But laugh and talk of me
As if I were beside you there.”
~~Isla Paschal Richardson
Panda the cat, Tim, and I want to bid Felix The Bear a safe journey and a great big hug for his staff.
=^..^=
Wil, I’m sorry to hear about Felix. I remember what it was like to lose my Butterscotch. I had him cremated, and still can’t bear to part with the case his ashes are in. I loved that cat. You have my sympathies, Wil.
(And also, Comments from users on one of the LiveJournal feeds:
Sistersola: Oh Wil I’m so sad for you and your family. I’m so crying right now – I know how much it hurts to lose a friend.
Big kitty hugs for Felix, may we see him again in heaven!
Blackbirdshaq: Oh, Wil.
I’m so sorry.
*hugs*
Jade_Woulf: We just lost a ferret a few weeks ago due to old age. I know how it feels to lose a pet, and they do tell you when it’s time to go. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Prettie_Kittie: This made me weep.
As a cat owner, I dread the day my oldest (who has had health problems) tells me it’s time for her to go.
Wil, I am so sorry for your loss!
))
(Sorry to take up the space, but its so rare anyone posts comments directly on the LiveJournal feed, I thought I would share the ones that are there.)
It’s 1:30am and I’m sitting here bawling my eyes out in front of the computer. For the first time in many years, I feel the steady regard of many feline eyes. Rusty, the cuddly orange tomcat; Spook, black queen of our house; Tough Guy, long and lean and easy-going; Grey Cat, with his sly way of stealthing himself into your lap; Dee, a fierce temper whose heat steadied down into the warmth of love over the years; Abbey, my shoulder cat; and Mallory, who was in our lives for just 3 months and left us so much richer for her presence.
I’ve had many family animals put to sleep over the years, but Mallory was the first one I had to take the responsibility for. She came into our lives seven and a half years ago, a 13 year-old queen who filled the cat-shaped void in our lives. 3 months later, after a terrifying week of Mallory steadily growing sicker and weeker, I was standing in an emergency clinic at midnight with Mallory in my arms, saying good-bye. I held her until she’d gone on ahead.
I was crushed for a long time. Circumstances have conspired to keep us from having another cat, but for many months I didn’t want another one. Mallory helped teach my daughter to crawl in her time with us and was patient and kind.
I feel them all now, looking on me, their hearts and mine reaching out to you and your family. As other commenters have said, Felix will be in good company. I know just a few of the stellar souls he will be joining, and I know he’ll be with you always.
I’m so sorry.
Wil, et al.
I am truly sorry to hear of your loss, I know it’s hard to let go…I’ve just had to do it for the second time several months ago, with our cat Tabby. The first time I had to make that heartbreaking decision was last year with Tabby’s brother, Syd. Each of them suffered from kidney failure, dropping weight at an astounding rate. I wish you all the best during your grieving, I still have those moments when I look for Tabby and Syd to come running down to meet me at the door after work…
Sorry to hear that Wil. I’ll go hug my two kittens (not really kittens, but that’s what I call them) right now on your behalf.
My thoughts are with you and your family.
Craig & Caroline
Durban, South Africa
That really sucks Wil. I was really rooting for you and The Bear, but I guess it’s just time to let go. I remember when my dog ran away for two days, I was an absolute wreck, but knowing your cat is going for good must really tear at you. I am really sorry Wil, I hope things start looking up for you and your family soon.