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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Wil,
This is the first comment I’ve posted here, but I visit a lot… I just wanted to send my love and support to you and your family. I know how it is to lose a pet– When I was only about fourteen my sisters and I lost our cat Sugar when our neighbour’s wolf attacked it… I actually had to hold Sugar and watch her die, so I definitely understand your trouble. As a few others have said, I’m sure Sugar will also be there to welcome Felix.
Nani
Sorry for the loss you and your family are going through. Memories keep friends dear.
Sorry for the loss you and your family are going through. Remember memories keep friends dear.
Dear Wil, Anne and family,
While I am deeply sorry for your loss and this terribly difficult decision that you all have had to make, I have to thank you for opening your hearts and home to dear Felix/The Bear. To love is to risk such pain and you did so anyway. Thank you for your compassion for The Bear and having the strength to be able to say goodbye. I cry for your loss and I hope that the joy you have had will soon outweight the pain of saying goodbye.
Just signed in to tell you this. I’m so deeply sorry for your loss.
Your kitty trials of late have mirrored my own. My darling Fizgig was diagnosed with a similar heart condition about a week after Sketch went through his drama. Fiz is 11 and I can’t bear the idea of losing him, but I’ve had the Talk with him and he understands that I won’t let him suffer. Fortunately it looks like the old man will be around for a little while longer, but one never knows.
My heart goes out to you and your family. Felix sounds like he was a lovely addition to your family and I know he will be greatly missed.
I wish I had something more to say, I’ve read your blog for years now and never commented. You’re a very interesting man and I’m always delighted to read your stories. Give Sketch, and Ferris and the whole rest of the family my love.
Lots of tears and love from here, Wil. I’m so sorry. It sounds like Felix had a grand, loving family with you, and that’s the most any kitty can ever hope for.
You’re doing the right thing, out of love. It’s tough, but you all know it. I’ll hug my kitties extra tight tonight and think of Felix.
Wil & Anne, I’m so sorry. Here’s a poem us “horse people” passed around to friends. Hopefully, it will give you some comfort……
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable……….. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster… …. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. …………. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….
My wife and I are very sorry for your loss and send our deepest condolences. Always keep Felix in your heart and he will live forever.
Regards,
Jeff
Wil,
Thanks for this post. My wife and I just put our 16 year old cat down 2 days ago – she had kidney problems, lost the use of her legs and finally gave us the look (with meows). It was hard but we did the right thing to help her. It sounds like you guys are doing the right thing too.
One other thing – keep writing about it. I’m a visual artist and I’ve made lots of drawings as she got sick and now that she’s gone. Keep writing.
I’m really sorry Wil. I’m thinking of you and your family.
I’ve never known what to say at times like this, so I’ll just kinda let it flow and see what happens.
Wil, Anne, the boys, and the menagerie: I’m so sorry to hear about The Bear. I hope that you’ll all take the happy memories you have of him and keep them with you forever. That’s what pets are for: The love and good times shared together, brightening everyone’s lives, including their own.
What you did for Felix, taking him in when you found him and couldn’t locate an owner, that’s real compassion. You’re to be commended for showing unbiased love to him, and he has certainly repaid that debt by giving you guys many years of love in return. Ultimately, you are responsible for making his last years truly happy ones.
Sending out lots of love and recovery mojo to all of you. It’ll be a rough time for sure, and it won’t be easy at first. Hell, I’m sure it won’t be easy at all from here on in. But, like I said, just remember the good times and the love that your family and The Bear shared. Even after he’s gone, he’ll still bring smiles to your faces, and that way, he’ll always be with you.
Good Journey, Felix. Thanks for being a part of our leader’s life, and by association, all of the WWdN readers’ lives. None of us will ever forget you.
Tonight, I’ll raise my Guinness high for The Bear…
Dear Wil,
As someone in my family passed away a few years ago, I had the uncontrollable thought that her animals (or the animals that had adopted her) might be her guide in the hereafter…a nice thought that just popped in my head as she left. I know that sounds crazy, but who knows? The thought of a horse, two dogs, and a herd of stray cats waiting for her on the other side kind of got me through the day.
We send our thoughts and love to your family. Hope your memories will comfort you as you all(human and otherwise) adjust.
Wil,
The degree of difficulty you had in writing this latest entry is quite evident.
Thank you so much for sharing these very personal thoughts with those of us who enjoy the skillful writing of this window into your life.
I have worn the cat/vet/saying goodbye shoes on more than one occasion.
Here are a few odd words of comfort: It never gets any easier.
Your Friend & Admirer,
Kevin.
Wil, Anne, Ryan, Nolan, and all the furry members of your family:
There’s a family here on the East Coast who is thinking of you as you go through this difficult time. We’ve been where you stand, and it is a bleak, but necessary place. Rest assured you’ve done what you can for your little friend, and he’s let you know his wishes. You’ve done the right thing for him — as hard as it was for you to do it.
He’ll always be with you. Sometimes at the most difficult times, his purr, his sound, his smell, his presence, will rise up from the universe and comfort you. So, remember that — as long as you remember him, he won’t be totally gone.
Be well and be with each other this difficult day.
We’re with you guys.
Warmest hugs and scritches to all of you, from Spacewriter, Space Composer, Pixel, Miranda, Laz, and Obie.
Oh Wil, all my love to you and your family. I went through the same thing last summer, and it was so hard, but take joy in knowing that Felix will be running around in kitty heaven having the time of his life.
-Bri
I hope all this support helps you in some small way. I really admire how much you’ve done over the years to help Felix, and I’m sure he appreciates it too – fewer animals than we would like are lucky enough to have their people dedicate so much time, effort, and money into giving them every possible chance. It takes so much courage to face this last day, and know that you have a lot of strength behind you, ’cause we’re all thinking about you and Anne and the whole gang. He’ll go on knowing that he was really truly loved, and who can hope for better than that?
I’m sorry, man. I really am. I lost my cat Spot to kidney failure. He was two years old. It was caused by a birth defect in his kidneys. He went through the sonograms, the fluids under the skin, the medications and then he and I had the talk, and I took him into the vet and had him put down. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I know how you feel and I wish I had some words of wisdom for you.
Maybe Spot and The Bear will meet up in the hereafter. I’m sure Spot would be happy to show your kitty around.
Hang in there. I know it’s hard, but you’re doing the best thing for Felix.
As so many others have done, I’m offering my support and prayers to you and your family. This is such a hard thing to go through: I’m about a month from having The Talk with my vet about my Mandy, whose been with me for nearly 18 years. It never gets any easier to actually say goodbye, but it does get easier to know when that time has arrived. My heart goes out to you all.
Signing in late, but I was so moved by the beautiful tribute to Felix you’ve written here, I wanted to let you know.
Wil,
I don’t know if you’ll read these all as you’re probably being inundated with good wishes, mojo, and thoughts. But you know that it all comes out of our love, care, and/or respect for you and your family. To quote former Vice-President Walter Mondale, speaking about his friend and also former VP Hubert Humphrey:
“He taught us all how to hope and how to live, how to win and how to lose, he taught us how to live, and finally, he taught us how to die.”
From your writings, I think we can all see that this applies to Felix just as much.
Stay strong.
As one who had to make the same decision last June – I am thinking about you and your family. Why is it that the most important thing we can do for our animals is the most heartbreaking?
Wil, Anne and family,
Im am so sorry. Our animals have our hearts. I cannot imagine what you are going through and I hope I have the strength, as you both did, to know when it is time to say good-bye. It makes me so sad to even think about it. While he can no longer physically sleep in your bed (one of life’s greatest joys – even when they take up all the room and you have to sleep in the fetal position AND they snore!)…he’s in your hearts forever! With much sympathy. – A.B.
I realised there’s absolutely nothing anyone can say that can make you or Anne feel better. But you’re being thought of, as is Felix – and my own, Binky, Bilbo and Frodo. It’s a terrible loss and my heart goes out to you – but like other readers have said, Felix chose you and Anne, he chose to make his home with you, and you know cats – if they’re not happy, they’ll up and leave.
So Felix must have been blissfully happy.
Felix lived one hell of a life, and he was loved. His kidneys can’t make him hurt anymore.
*hugs*
How are the other pets reacting to his absense?
Oh honey… I know all too well what it’s like to watch a kitty go. My first cat, Pywacket, was 16 when he decided it was time to die. For three days he wouldn’t eat, hardly drank. He was just curled up in the corner of the couch and would love on us when we came near him. Then the third night, he wobbled his way under my mother’s bed and just… went.
Cats are amazing little creatures, aren’t they? Snag your heart with ease and don’t let go. My three now have me wrapped around their little fuzzy paws.
Ah, Wil,
My heart goes out to your and your family. I’ve been reading without posting before but felt like I should because of your tragic news. We have been there twice. The first was 3 years ago Our youngest cat, Smee, got really sick, very quickly. Turns out that he was diabetic and his kidneys were failing. Never had a symptom until he lost alot of weigh in a short period of time, like, 3 weeks. He looked much like your description of Felix…Mr. Burns. It was devastating. He was 7. The second time was 2 years ago when our oldest cat, Ashley, also became very ill, very quickly. Liver failure. She was 15 and I’d had her since I graduated from college, so she’d been with me pretty much my entire adult life. She was with me all through my life as an actor/singer, up through my life as a mom who teaches others how to act and sing. I still miss them both, but especially Ashley, only now it’s not in a sobbing, devastated sort of way. Now it’s with slight melancholy over what things she might enjoy, or how our 3 year old daughter would love her, but mostly it’s just with love. My thoughts are with you.
Well, it certainly looks like a lot of love and sympathies are being shared Wil. Good luck you and yours during these sad-times, I’m sure Felix and enjoyed every loving minute he’s shared with you guys.
–T
This is an unspoken aspect of pet ownership; that we have to willing to make this very hard decision. You did the right thing for Felix, at the right time.
Wil, Anne, Nolan, and Ryan,
I am so sorry that you had to make this decision about Felix. It is never easy having to say goodbye to a loved pet, especially when you have to make the choice for them, because they are not living life to the fullest any longer. I wish there was something I could do for you all, but since I can’t I will just send you (((hugs))).
Tracy
Hey Wil (and family),
I completely understand your pain, and how incredibly hard it is to lose a furry loved one. Our dog died a little over two years ago, and it ripped my heart out. Her death was unexpected, which made it even worse – she was happy and vibrant in the morning, and that evening she was gone. The memories still sting a bit, even now.
I grew up with a cat that found us much the same way Felix found you and your family. He is approaching 18-years at this point, and while still healthy, is slowly deteriorating. My family and I have never regretted taking him in and providing a home for him. It’s amazing how much you learn when you’re “chosen” to be the cat’s people. (I really like how you put that, btw – because that’s exactly how it is.)
I’ve since moved out, married, and been chosen by a new cat (we were visiting the Humane Society – she stood up, stretched and looked at us like, “It’s about time you got here. Let’s go.”). But I still love visiting my parents’ house, and having my now-geriatric kitty curl up in my lap, and sleep on the bed we use. I know it’ll hurt when he decides to move on.
Thank you for sharing your feelings and your experiences of Felix with us. Here’s to Felix, his people, and the love that was shared and he thrived on.
-kre
Wil-
I’m so sorry to hear about Felix. I know what it’s like to lose a cat especially when he’s one that is so close to your heart. My deepest condolences go to you and your family. He was so lucky to have found such a wonderful family to share his life with.
Wil and Anne,
I am so sad and I am so sorry for your loss. The story moved me to tears. Those of us who have been privileged enough to have a wonderful friend like your Felix know the pain you are suffering right now. It’s never easy to say goodbye but you can bet Felix appreciates the fact that you loved him enough to end his suffering. It would be easier if they could talk, wouldn’t it. Make sure that all the rest of the furry kids accept his leaving too. There may be a little upheaval in the hierarchy in the house. Keep going Wil. You are a fantastic author and a great story teller. I look forward to reading the site every day. Much Love and Sympathy.
Wil
I’ve been reading here a while, but this post has moved me to words. I really hope you and your family are looking after each other through these tough times.
Remember the good times with Felix.
Tom
Wil,
Long time reader, first time leaving a comment. Your trial with Felix has brought tears to my eyes a number of times now, and I’m so sorry for you. My partner and I call one of our kitties a little bear too, especially when she stands up on her hind legs. Losing a kitty is losing a member of the family and my heart goes out to you.
Wil,
Our dog Sassy died a couple of days before Christmas just a few months ago. My spouse and I were on vacation. A friend was Sassy-sitting — we weren’t there. I can’t help but believe she felt abandoned and gave up. She was old and quite frail, but we chose not to put her to sleep before our vacation, so we’d never feel that we rushed the decision due to our trip. I can’t express how much we regret the manner of her death. Had we put her to sleep, she would have died with us there to make her feel loved. It’s almost April, now and I still cry almost every day. (Heck, this brief note has been an ordeal to write.) I just want to let you know that while not everyone will understand your grief, many of us do. Further, we understand that putting your pet to sleep for the right reasons is an important act of love.
Steve
Wil,
I was going to give a long sympathetic message, but since everyone else beat me to the punch…I’ll just send you some virtual hugs. Your kitty was very beautiful.
-Kaytlyn
Wil – I am so sorry for the loss that you and your family are suffering.
Alan
Sending some love to Felix and you and your family. Thank you for sharing part of him with us.
I won’t lie to yas, I broke out in tears when my beloved pet rat, Farkus Bulkmire, died in my arms of a genetic defect. You probably aren’t a rat person, Wil, but let me tell you, they are fascinating creatures. Farkus in particular was like a tiny dog, she would come running across my room to me at my command, and greet me with licks all over my face and arms. I would often wake up to her curled up in a little ball next to me on my bed, and it was fun listening to her scamper around and eating whatever edible object she could find. She was truly unique, it was very hard to watch her go.
Anyway, losing a beloved pet sucks, it’s just one of the things you sign up for when you decide to be a pet owner.
Wil, our thoughts and prayers are with you and yours – sorry to hear about your loss. At least you do not have to go it alone.
That’s the bravest decision that you and Anne had to make and you know it’s what’s best for your little Bear. The only thing I can say is that know that he’ll never truly leave. Your memories will keep him alive forever!!!
So sorry, Wil. I lost my cat Fairy to cancer a few months ago. It was very painful to let her go, but I’m thankful for the joy she brought to my life. In time, the happy memories become a comfort.
Wil and Anne,
So sorry to hear the news. My favorite kitty died from kidney failure over 10 years ago — I can completely sympathize with you.
At the time I was away on vacation with my then boyfriend (dumped him before dating Martin), when my parents (who were also vacationing) called me to let me know that my cat, Tuffy, wasn’t doing so good. Our house/cat sitter noticed Tuffy’s deteriorating condition and took her to the vet — my poor kitty’s kidneys were failing. I rushed home from vacation just in the nick-of-time. Normally an outdoor cat, Tuffy had been brought indoors to the laundryroom where she could lounge in her basket bed. As soon as I walked in the door she started purring loudly and meowing as best as she could (which wasn’t much at that point). I was sobbing. I was holding her thin figure in my lap and petting her for nearly 10 minutes when she purred and meowed once more and passed away. I was just devastated. I think she was just waiting for me to come home and let her know that it was okay to go. We had three other cats at the time, Butterfly, Miss Kitty, and Jasmine. I gave each of them a chance to say their goodbyes to the Alpha leader of their group. I really think that they could tell that she was missing. Jasmine especially was affected by the loss, because she was the only one that Tuffy let sleep with her or share her food.
Tuffy was the first born from my first cat’s litter, and she passed away just a day before she turned 15 years old (human years). My deepest sympathies for your family.
~Jody
Wil, I’m so sorry you had to do this, even though you know and Felix knew it was time.
The great mystery writer Kinky Friedman had to say goodbye to his cat Cuddles a few years ago. In his tribute her, he wrote:
“People may surprise you with unexpected kindness. Dogs have a depth of loyalty that often we seem unworthy of. But the love of a cat is a blessing, a privilege in this world.
They say when you die and go to heaven all the dogs and cats you’ve ever had in your life come running to meet you. Until that day, rest in peace, Cuddles.”
I go back and read that when I start feeling overwhelmed with things (two of our cats have similar health issues): it gives me a bit of comfort. Rest in peace, The Bear. Say hey to Cuddles when you see her.
My heart goes out to you and the family.
When I was a teenager we had a poodle mix named Gypsy who I thought was the greatest dog in the world. She used to sleep on my bed most nights. I went off to college and eventually got married. In the meantime, my father died and my mother, who had been boarding Gypsy with friends who had other dogs, decided it wasn’t fair to Gypsy to take her away from those friends, so she gave them Gypsy.
Years later, after my divorce, those friends moved somewhere where they could no longer keep Gypsy, who was getting quite old by then. They asked my mother if she would take Gypsy back, and she asked me if I wanted her. Gypsy was blind by then, and painfully old, but she still knew me, and was happy bumbling around my house for a while.
After less than a year, it became clear that life was beginning to become too painful for her. She never really recovered from my house being robbed while I was gone and she was there. I knew it was time, but it took me two weeks to get the courage to bring her to the vet for that final visit. When it was done, I took her home and buried her in the back yard, crying my eyes out the whole time. Even now, there are tears streaming down my cheeks writing about it.
Anyway, that’s an awful long way to get around to saying I understand what you guys are going through and sympathize. I sure hope Kinky Friedman is right…
Your family and Felix are in my prayers and thoughts.
As long as you remember Felix, he isn’t really gone. Thank you for sharing him with us.
Wow, Wil, that was an incredibly moving post. I’ve only had to deal with the loss of one pet in my life, but it still makes me all shakey to think about when it happened. And it took a long time to come to terms with my guilt for not putting him down when I probably should have. So just know that you ARE making the right decision. You’ll be grateful for that in the years to come, whenever you remember Felix.
Sounds like he was a cool little guy, I’m very sorry for your loss.
My work-day started with tears after I read this entry, and ended with tears after I viewed the picture in your photo blog. So very sorry for your loss. Truly sorry. *sniff*
(((((((((((((WHEATONS))))))))))))))))
You’re in my thoughts. I’ve been through what you’re going through too many times. I just appreciated my angels as long as there were here on this earth sharing their precious time with me.
XOOXXOXO
1cutebird.