Thanks for stopping by! Get The Way of Cats, delivered, by asking for my RSS feed. Get my free cat advice newsletter by signing up here and get the FREE eBook, Ten Cat Tricks (Every Human Should Know.)It’s always a difficult choice to make; deciding it’s time to say goodbye to a beloved cat.
The heart of the dilemma is absent when a cat meets their demise through misadventure or a sudden terminal episode. While, being human, we search for ways we could have averted this situation, we did not directly cause it to come about.
When our cat is very elderly or very ill, we must make the decision. That is how we become tormented by doubts about making it.
But the very thing that makes this problem seemingly so difficult also contains the seed of what will soothe us.
It is a matter of responsibility.
Since cats live in a World They Did Not Make, we are responsible for supporting their lives from the very beginning. We gladly took on the responsibilities of mealtime, playtime, and cuddle time; yes, even litter time. Our reward was the enjoyment we reaped from their happiness and contentment.
We know what makes them happy. We know what makes them unhappy.
So when a course of unhappiness, such as an illness and the ensuing medical treatment, will not be short, and does not hold the promise of our cat regaining their health; it is our responsibility to once again, and for a final time, make our cat happy.
This is what gets us through The Decision.
If Dear Husband and I had theoretical millions of dollars, we could have had our sick cat Puffy admitted to the animal hospital for tests, and found out exactly what was causing his seizures. If it had confirmed the first probable diagnosis, a brain tumor, we could have then flown him to a veterinary college who does the advanced brain surgery he would have required. If it was the second probable diagnosis, progressive neurological disease, we could have embarked on the constantly moving target of balancing his drug dosages with periodic blood tests and adjusting them as he seesawed between still having seizures and being near-comatose.
We could have visited him in the animal hospital, patted his little head, remark on how glad he was to see us, and leave him, feeling like we were “doing all we could.”
When I put it like that; the decision doesn’t look so difficult, does it? Which is why, even if we had actual millions of dollars, we wouldn’t have done it.
It would have been done to make us feel better, not Puffy.
There are many chronic conditions which involve some daily discomforts for our cat. Diabetes requires monitoring their diet and administering shots. Kidney disease can be handled with home infusion techniques. I’ve had several cats who required a daily pill or a bit of extra procedure, and could then be “normal.” In such circumstances, where the treatment itself is onerous, but brief; our cat can continue to lead their life. Veterinary science has many such management techniques, and I think that’s wonderful.
There are also blind cats, deaf cats, cats missing a leg or have some degree of paralysis; once they weather the precipitating incident, they are no longer in pain, they figure out how to negotiate the world, and they go on. We might feel sorry for such cats, but they do not feel sorry for themselves. They accept their condition; indeed, they may have known no other. These are not suffering cats.
But when we are confronted with a long, tricky, course of treatment with a low probability of success; we must remember that the cat’s feelings should take top consideration. A cat in a perpetual state of discomfort or apprehension is not a happy cat; even if they are still alive.
It’s not even a matter of money, though for most of us that is a sad consideration. It is what we will get for the money.
When Puffy was eight, we noticed an attack of drooling and bad breath which prompted a vet visit. What was supposed to be a routine teeth cleaning turned into a request for emergency surgery. We said Yes; he would have a quick recovery, there was a high probability it had been caught in time, and he would not have any challenges if he made it.
We said Yes even though the emergency turned out to be caused by a congenital condition which confirmed my suspicions that Puffy was the sad product of “backyard breeding,” in this case, the rare and expensive Chantilly/Tiffany breed. We didn’t know what genetic landmines might explode in the future; but he wasn’t showing any other signs of trouble; that we recognized.
Looking back, the fact that he routinely drooled over treat time masked his hidden fang infections. It was this same “Puffy behavior pattern” that masked our realization of what would lead to his final illness; he would go blank for a few seconds now and then; sometimes he would lose track of his tongue and it would flap around until we petted his head and reoriented him, and those paw twitches weren’t the normal cat “shaking water off” action that cats use to express disgust. They were all signs that his genetic problems were deeper than malformed teeth.
But still; he was happy. He could go about his little Puffy business. It’s not like he was operating heavy machinery. Even if we had known he had untreatable, progressive, genetic problems, they weren’t causing him suffering.
A broken leg, a simple heart defect, or injuries caused by an accident can be repaired. Kidney disease, hormonal deficits, or neurological illnesses like epilepsy and senile dementia can sometimes be managed.
But if they can’t be fixed very well; if they lead to a lot of invasive followup, or need drugs with awful side effects, or even a best case scenario leaves our cat fearful and apprehensive of a painful attack or puts them in a chronic state of bewilderment and confusion– we must consider if we are no longer acting on our cat’s behalf.
We must always guard against acting out of our own desire to not lose our cat.
When Puffy was not having seizures, he was still Puffy. But not a happy Puffy. He was injuring himself, and the pain of that would linger. Worse yet, we could tell he was in a perpetual state of of fear over it happening again.
With all signs of it stemming from something that would worsen, and thus defeat attempts to manage it; we came to The Decision.
We weren’t happy about The Decision. But we were not riddled with doubt about the rightness of The Decision.
We were acting in the best interests of the cat.
So when we are faced with this situation, we can find clarity and peace by using our rational mind to weight the pros and cons; and using our emotional heart to ask, Am I delaying The Decision just because I can’t stand to say goodbye?
If we find truth in that thought:
It’s time.
The toughest part of having a cat is deciding to say goodbye. Find help in my posts on coping with end of life issues.
Got here from a Link or Search?
There’s more ways to care for our cat with The Way of Cats than the article you are reading now. See all of my posts on CAT CARE.
My father died of cancer, and I have to agree with him: “The quality of life is more important than the quantity.” What good’s an extra year if you’re in pain? At least humans understand what’s happening and why–cats don’t.
But it’s a terrible decision to have to make. I really hope my kids die of old age in their sleep, just as I hope I do. But I’m also going to get a Living Will. If I can’t speak for myself, I want someone else to know what to do and stop my suffering.
Pammy, you made the hardest decision anyone can face about any loved one, human or otherwise, and you made the right one.
that was a beautifully written blog….one that i will re-read when decision time comes again….i know it will help guide me….
Bill, totally agree with your father (I’m sorry you lost him in such a way.) We all have that worry. Good for you that you are thinking ahead.
Thanks, catlindy. I hope it will help people. In some ways, we get so little moral training about wrestling with such issues.
Thank you for such a well-written article on the most difficult part of having pets.
With cats their quality of life can be very hard to gauge because they are so good at hiding pain and discomfort, in Daemon’s last few weeks we just had to trust our vet’s advice on whether he was in pain. He was such a sweet old soul that he didn’t ask for more than a lap and a neck scratch to be happy even though he was frail, blind and fighting a losing battle with kidney failure.
Thank you for this. My eldest two are aging, and it won’t be long before I have to deal with this.
My only real fear, and it’s very real and very upsetting to me, is that both of my cats are terribly, terribly afraid of the vet’s office, of the car, of the carrier, everything. I can’t . . . I just . . . I can’t bear the thought of taking them on such a terrifying and horrible journey only to have them put down at the end of it, with no homecoming, no comfort, no recourse of any kind.
I know my girls. They adore me. But my presence alone has never been, and probably never will be, enough to comfort them when they are in terror like that. The idea that they may at that point be suffering so greatly that going to the Worst Place and dying there is a mercy is comfort colder than anything I can think of. It is the absolute zero of cold comfort.
My youngest cat, she doesn’t have that fear. She’s happy, she’s fearless, she never met a person she didn’t like. My eldest . . . what does one do? Not for us, not for our pain — my pain means nothing to me, I will always be there fo rmy babies, even to make that last awful decision — but for them, and for their fear? I don’t know how to find a vet who would come to my home and do it. I don’t know how to ask.
Ah, see, I’m crying now. You are wonderful, and you are strong for writing about these things so near to such a time. We are all grateful. You are right. We don’t get much instruction on dealing with issues like this.
That’s an excellent point about how well cats hide their pain, Mel.
One of my clues that my beloved Myron was having a hard time was that instead of relaxing on my lap, he would stay tucked in and tense, and dig his claws into my knee. His personality didn’t change, but his body language was communicating distress.
I picked up Mr. Bond for a cuddle one time, and he made a distressed little noise; though otherwise his behavior was unchanged. But I knew I hadn’t picked him up badly, and it turned out he had a tooth in bad shape; not anywhere near where I was picking him up.
Thanks for the compliment; it has been very cathartic to help others on a subject that doesn’t get near enough coverage.
I understand your worries, Naamah, but it’s the kind of thing that is helped by taking action. Start with the vet you have now; or, if you are between vets, just start calling. Say you have a cat with these fears, and what help they can offer.
Discovering how they react to your concerns is going to be very instructive about how helpful they will be with them. I’m assertive; I hire them, after all!
Remember that vets also have an ethical obligation; they will find it difficult to answer some of the questions if they have never seen the cat. But I live in a tiny town, and there’s a vet here who makes housecalls. Looking for an ad or website which mentions such a service would be a great place to start.
Another new trend I’m very happy about is cat-only vet clinics. See if your area has such a service.
You have to unfreeze from your fears and take action; so you can see what can be done about your cat’s fears.
Great advice WereBear, as always!
Naamah, I agonized over the exact same issue – even though I’d know I was doing the right thing, how could I bring myself to take them on that final trip? When Daemon was in the final stages of kidney failure I asked the vet about this, and brought up our concerns: Daemon was terrified of all Other Humans and very upset in the car. One of our other cats gets very carsick and panics in the car. She said that she doesn’t do house calls but did give us a strong sedative shot that we could give Daemon at home, when we decided his time had come. One day about a month later, he wouldn’t eat and by the time I finally got him to eat some tuna that evening, he was acting strange and couldn’t move one leg. We gave him the shot while he was distracted by the tuna. It took effect so fast that he fell over and couldn’t get up if he tried, and seemed relaxed, remaining so through the trip and procedure. He definitely seemed better off than he would’ve been without the sedative, but part of me still frets: what if it just immobilized his body but left his mind intact to be terrified? Is there any real way to know? I don’t remember the name of the drug but will definitely ask about it and see if there are any other options, the next time something like this comes up when talking to our vet.
It’s hard on us owners to bring up these experiences, but that’s the only way we can compare notes and learn about options to help our pets. This was the first time I had to make The Decision; as my previous pets had belonged to my parents. When it was getting close, I did some searching on the web and read others’ stories of what it is like to be there at the end with your pet. It helped to be more prepared.
Ah, Mel, don’t worry. If he acted relaxed, he was relaxed. If they are under stress, they try to manage “cool.” I’m sure you are right about how he felt; weren’t you pretty good at that? So please be at peace about, after all, handling it so well.
It does help to be more prepared.
I’ll have two more posts on this very subject; because it is such a big one. They will be on Sundays.
For Naamah, I’m following up because I learned more about the sedative I mentioned. I was at the vet today with our youngest cat, so I asked about something to give our worst traveler, Robie, next time he goes in the car. The vet recommended a less-intense dose of the sedative she gave for Daemon for his final trip, so I learned that it is Acepromazine. She asked if shots or pills would be better, explaining that the pills take an hour to take effect, whereas I’d already seen the shot is immediate. For Robie’s routine vet trips I elected pills, since it only takes one person to give him a pill. I asked what to expect, and she said it should just take the edge off his anxiety and that I might see his inner eyelids, indicating he’s very sleepy. The dose that had mostly immobilized Daemon was much higher because it was intended for his final trip and she wanted to make sure the effects would last long enough in case he ended up having to go after-hours at our town’s emergency vet clinic, which he did. So, that was all very good to learn!
WereBear, you are right, my worry was probably mostly grief-driven.
Also, about the cat-only clinic – our town has one and we switched to it many years ago. Our previous vet was not too competent with cats which we found out the hard way. The cat-only clinic is awesome, staffed by devoted Cat Persons and since our cats aren’t used to dogs their absence at the vet is a nice bonus.
After much angst, yesterday I had my 20 1/2 year old cat put to sleep. She was having kidney failure, sores in her mouth, ate less than 1/4 cup of food all week, wobbly back legs, and was deaf. To let her go was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever made. My daughter drove, this was her first cat, and I held Spice on my lap. It was a beautiful day, the sunroof was open and the sun was shining and warm breezes lightly ruffled her hair. I was scratching her head and she was completely relaxed. Of course I was a mess and still am. She was so peaceful after the doctor’s shot, no response to the medicine except slipping away while I was there for her.
Again..although I know it was the right thing, it is still too new and I’m in mourning. Grateful for all the years we had with her…she played and ran and loved to sleep on my lap. She’d get me up at 5:30 AM and patiently wait for me to get to the kitchen for “breakfast.” A couple dogs who visited where put in their place by her hisses when she was a youngster. So many good memories, but such a very tough decision for me to let her go. She’s now at peace.
Kay, I hope you can be at peace, too. You gave her a wonderful life.
I have just come across this as I try to find answers to “cat” questions. We adopted our little friend when we were told he was about 4, same age as our daughter, perfect fit. As we all have read above and experinced in one way or another life does end.
We adopted to help teach our child responsibilty and care for animals, as a married couple we have had 3 dogs, 2 cats and a hammie.
When my wife was diagnosed, treated and eventually I had to make that decision I think how my daughter would react. She knows her mom was sick and that I somehow had to save her but couldn’t. The choice…how do I tell my little girl the cat is sick nad cannot be helped? I am struggling with this and truthfully would just as soon open the door and let him out into the world I saved him from..but?
I am unable to afford a regular vet visit let alone any type of treatment…am I doing the right thing, who knows but when
hw went for her face tonight my mind was made up.
I hope your little girl wasn’t hurt. It is right to stop the cat’s hurting, that is the best you can do. I’m sorry about your wife. It makes these decisions all the more difficult when we have too many to make.