Goodbye, Claudia – a Cat’s Obituary
It is amazing, in fact astounding, just how intensely painful it is to lose a pet. Today, I stroked the fur of my sweet cat Claudia while her veterinarian euthanized her. This was easily one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I’m pretty much an ice queen when it comes to emotions, but I’ve been crying off and on all day. I think there’s just something so intimate and raw about the simple love between a human and a pet. It’s not an easy thing to shake.
A decade ago, when my husband and I first started dating, we decided to get out first pet together. I brought a dog and cat into the relationship already. That’s when we met Claudia, who was just a tiny kitten. She had a hard story. She and her litter mates were found abandoned in a Dumpster. If someone hadn’t overheard their mews for help, she wouldn’t have lived 10 weeks much less 10 years.
Claudia was always a bit of a non-cat. When someone knocked on the door, my other cat would flee for cover while Claudia would sprint FOR the door to eagerly and happily greet whatever stranger was on the other side.
She was a cat who actually loved kids, even the small toddler types who grab tails and smack heads. In fact, even yesterday when she was struggling to breathe and lethargic, she went to the kids’ play area. She chose to spend the day before she died surrounded by screaming 2-year-olds and a raucous 5-year-old.
The twins were there when Claudia was put to sleep. I think they knew something was wrong. My son kept saying, “Claw claw.” He calls her that so much that the whole family actually calls Claudia the same thing just because we’ve heard it so much. We told them both to say bye-bye to Claudia when she was put to sleep. My son told Claudia, softly, “night-night,” as we walked away.
My oldest child, my 5-year-old daughter, was the one I was most concerned about. She wasn’t there to say goodbye. She was always very close, even when she was a tiny baby. In fact, her first word was, “Kitty,” and she said it calling Claudia, who used to fawn all over her as a baby.
We picked up my daughter at daycare. She asked if Claudia was still in the car (as she was when we dropped her off, because we were headed to the vet’s office). I said no. I asked my husband if I should tell her now. We decided to get it done with.
I looked to the back of the minivan.
Me: “The doctor said Claudia was very, very, very sick.” In my mind, I knew I needed to say more. But I couldn’t. I just stared at her.
Daughter: She frowns deeply, and just stares back at me while she digests the idea. “Is she coming home when she’s better?”
Me: “No, honey. She’s gone.”
Daughter: “You mean she’s gone forever?”
Me: “Yes. I’m so sorry.”
Daughter: Her face crumbles. “But she’s my favorite kitty.”
Oh, it was just awful. Luckily, just like a kid, she was off on another subject a moment later. But it was still just so sad.
It’s also crossed my mind many times today how our life’s experiences of the past shape how we cope today. When I was just maybe 2 or 3 years old, our cat died. I was very young, but I distinctly remember the conversation with my parents. They told me she went to Heaven. So I asked where this alleged Heaven was, and when we could go visit her there. I couldn’t help thinking about this when deciding how to tell me children their cat was dead.
About a decade ago, a few months before adopting Claudia, I went through almost the exact same experience with my cat who was just 4 at the time. It was just awful, starting with the same symptom (rapid, labored breathing) and ending with most of his organs shutting down, an all-nighter wondering if he would make it, and a $1,000-plus vet bill.
I remember afterwards feeling that people just didn’t understand the difficulty of a pet’s death. It’s like people think, “Why are you so upset? It’s just a cat.” If only it were so simple, or easy. Afterwards, I regretted putting him through so many painful procedures and drawing the whole thing out. It was something in the back of my mind when my husband and I decided to euthanize Claudia, as the doctor felt she had a tumor and there was very little chance she would make it. I didn’t want her to suffer.
Many, many years ago as a gritty cops reporter, I witnessed an inmate’s execution by lethal injection. Today, it was just disturbing how much the process of euthanasia reminded me of that memory.
Honestly, I am not entirely sure why I’m writing this post. Maybe it’s to honor Claudia, or maybe it’s to help me cope with this urge to tear up every time I picture Claudia in my mind. I would like to think it’s a way to help or connect with those who have lost a pet, or will lose a pet.
Did you lose a pet? Feel free to add your pet’s obituary in a comment below. Or I hope in some small way this post helps you understand that it is OK to feel devastated, even if it’s “just a pet.” Because pets are, truly, so much more, and their death is no easy thing to endure.
Claudia update:
Thanks everyone for such kind comments. It really makes it all much easier to know I’m not the only one who got so upset about the death of a pet.
Also, and I find this a bit demented, but here’s a sign of a family of writers. My dad learned about the death of Claudia in his email inbox… when he got the daily feed email from my blog. So then wrote a poem, which he emailed me. This must be a case of modern technology and the interesting ways in which writers cope with bad news. Anyway, here is his very nice ode to Claudia:
Claudia, oh Claudia, what a character you were
You could prance, and prowl and purr
You walked and skipped with a happy face
Needing to keep your keeper in pace
You shunned being apart
Preferring to be in at the start
Which is why you were a marvelous pet
One of the best I’ve seen yet
I also got some amazing and sweet condolences on Twitter.
I posted this:
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typeamom anyone have tips on explaining cat’s death to a 5-year-old and two 2-year-olds? or to a 30-something mom (aka me)? :*( |
I’m just in awe of the way the simple Twitter interface connects one person sitting on a laptop with so many others. Here are the nice comments, and it’s amazing just how much people can say in 140 characters. For those of you who are/have dealt with the death of a pet and explaining it to a child, there are some great book recommendations:
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FabGirl @typeamom Awww, saw this earlier and it made me so sad. We lost our PepperCat a few years ago. ON the weekend of my girls’ night out. |
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FoodieTot @typeamom sorry no advice, just sympathy and best wishes. |
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christinalemmey @typeamom So sorry about your cat! We had a similar experience in March and the Rainbow Bridge poem is great but had me in tears |
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followthatdog @typeamom there is a Mr. Rogers book called something like “When a pet dies” that we used for our son when our dog died. Very direct & kind |
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summerm @typeamom Oh how sad. I hope they take their cat’s death OK.  |
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ParentopiaDevra @typeamom Great book on death for kids “Fall of Freddy the leaf” and “Dinosaurs Die” also “10th best thing about barney” good for all ages! |
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busymom6 @typeamom sorry about your cat, great book called Cat Heaven |
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mpelzsherman @typeamom I mean, who better to trust with this stuff than Mr. Rogers? |
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chillnc @typeamom I’m so sorry to hear that |
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mpelzsherman @typeamom ouch! that’s a tough one. I’d suggest this book: http://tinyurl.com/y7p3d7 |
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vmarinelli @typeamom No helpful tips here. Just, I’m so sorry. That can be such a heartbreaker all around. |
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Owlbert @typeamom Lots of empathy. Tell them about the Rainbow Bridge – http://www.rainbowbridge.org/ |
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Treece @typeamom http://www.petloss.com/poem… The Rainbow Bridge always helps me. |
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dawniemom @typeamom Awww that really sucks. so sorry. I explained it that the kitty had gone to kitty heaven LOL Probably doesn’t help. |
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