Hey folks,

I just got some awful news. It looks like my cat Henry has kidney failure and isn't going to make it. My wife and I are devastated. This cat is like our baby. He is only 4 or 5 years old, and we expected him to be with us for a long time. It's funny how much of our life together centers around him, how much we talked about him and missed him when we were away and how much attention we paid him when we were home. He is (have to keep reminding myself to speak of him in the present tense, even though there's not much hope) a real character, probably the most affectionate cat I've ever had. I miss him already.

I'm struggling with this right now, and this is one of the first places I've come for support. I know a lot of you have cats and will probably understand. Also, I wanted to explain my sudden disappearance from our ever-fascinating argument. Bunner, you don't win that easily. But seriously, it seems we didn't have a lot left to argue about.

Anyway, those of you with cats or dogs, please give them a hug and be thankful for this day you have with them. I don't have many regrets about that with Henry. Every time I picked him up and held him, and he purred with his head on my shoulder, I felt lucky to have a friend like him. I know that for a long time to come I'm going to be seeing him out of the corner of my eye, following us around from room to room the way he did, like a puppy.

I'm writing this through a fog and am not sure how much sense I'm making. I know we come here for comic relief, and over the last month or so there's been too little of that. Sorry to bum the place out even more, but I need to talk about it. Thanks, all.

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What others say about boorite!

You have my sympathy. I wish I were not nearly 2000 miles away from my doggie, cause I'd love to give her a hug.

I miss my cats, but it makes me too sad to think of them.

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I am a delicate fucking flower. https://beacons.ai/jesskent

I can't think of what to say except "I'm sorry".

I know it must be painful. I don't like to think about the fact that this day will eventually come for me.

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The what mentioned above is total fiction. Please don't take it seriously!

I'm sorry, boorite. Like evil_d, I don't know what to say other than that, so I thought I'd share the story of my cat, in hopes that it helps somehow.

I got Morris when I was seven. He was the cutest kitten, sleeping on my chest at night and suckling on my pajamas while digging his nails into me, in the painful practice I came to realize was love. As I grew older, and too big for the pajamas, I'd still leave them at the foot of my bed at night, and he still slept on them into my teens. Three things in particular stand out as I think of him as a full grown cat. He was beautiful. (He was white with black spots, long hair and lean, and looked like he belonged in commercials.) He had a dog's tail. (It wagged when he was happy.) He was one mean sucker. (He was like a kitty around me, my sis, and my mom, but everyone else better watch their ankles.)

In the mid-90s I went away to college and whenever I'd come home for Christmas break or summer he'd always follow me around. Trying to go in the bathroom when I go. (Knowing he'd get my full attention since the doors were closed and the other cats never went in there.) I used to try to fool him sometimes, pretending to walk towards the kitchen, then cut for the bathroom, but he was usually a step ahead of me. Over the last couple of years I did something I regret now, and would push him out and close the door.

In December of 1999, right before finals, my mom called me up crying. Morris was dead. As I considered myself a tough guy, I was surprised to find myself crying uncontrollably.

And now when I think back on him, despite the good times we had through his 17 years, the first thought in my mind is how I'd push him out and close the door.

Which makes me pet my other cats a little longer. Or push them off my lap less often. Or play with them a little more.

Morris taught me that.

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I ate a hooker half a bottle of knife.

My wife and I think of Diva, a 9-year-old beige and white kitty, as our child. Diva has nearly died twice. Once she had a severe liver ailment and shrunk down to half her normal weight. The vet did not think she'd make it but she somehow pulled through anyway. Then, a couple of years ago, Diva developed complications due to the liver damage that had occurred earlier. We were told that she only had a couple weeks to live and were told that we should consider putting her to sleep to spare her the discomfort that her liver failure was causing (ammonia was not being broken down by her liver and was causing neurological fits). Again, Diva pulled through. (She now only gets to eat low-protein cat food, which decreases the strain on her liver.) A year or so ago, Diva developed a thyroid problem that would have killed her (she could not keep weight on) without expensive medical care. We shelled out $1200 (fortunately, we had that much at the time) for radioactive iodine treatment, and once again Diva made it through.

Diva has been with my wife and I through a miscellany of hellish situations and living circumstances, and I really don't know how I will deal with her eventual passing. I have been on the verge of watching her die and felt that crushing feeling of helplessness. My heart and deepest sympathies go out to you. Trite as it may sound right now, try to remember that Henry has lived well and is thankful for the years you have shared with him. Knowing that doesn't replace the feeling of having him there with you but it might make it a little easier to remember his life fondly instead of just dwelling mournfully on his absence.

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"And Wirthling isn't worth the paper he isn't printed on."

Thanks for that story, ObiJo. It helps a lot.

Thanks, evil_d and LadyJ. I knew you guys wouldn't give me that crap about how he's just a cat. It really means a lot to me.

Yes, Wirthling, I'm thinking about the good times with Henry, trying to find the meaning in his life instead of his death. Many, many thanks.

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What others say about boorite!

Thanks for that story, ObiJo. It helps a lot.

Thanks, evil_d and LadyJ. I knew you guys wouldn't give me that crap about how he's just a cat. It really means a lot to me.

Yes, Wirthling, I'm thinking about the good times with Henry, trying to find the meaning in his life instead of his death. Many, many thanks.

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What others say about boorite!

[quote]Thanks for that story, ObiJo. It helps a lot.

Thanks, evil_d and LadyJ. I knew you guys wouldn't give me that crap about how he's just a cat. It really means a lot to me.[/quote]

I would never say such a thing.

When I was about 13 years old, I had 2 pet white mice that I named Jack and Gus. I later learned that Jack was really Jacqueline. They had a litter of beautiful little delicate baby mice. I didn't know any better, so I changed the cedar and held them in my hand, stroking their little naked bodies. I put them back in the cedar and went on my way. I came back to find them gone. I learned that the adults will eat the young if they smell like predators.

They had another litter some time later, and Jacqueline died. I didn't dare change the cedar again for fear of a repeat performance of cannibalism, so it's possible that the cedar not being changed and the recent death of Jacqueline is what killed Gus. The babies died very soon after.

I cried so hard and for so long that day. My younger sister's friends made such fun of me when she told them.

If I had a choice between saving my doggie and saving my mom from a burning building, I know I'd choose my mom... but then again, I also have more faith in a dog's ability to get out of a burning building under its own steam than a human's ability. They're just cool like that.

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I am a delicate fucking flower. https://beacons.ai/jesskent

i never had a cat, or dog...
but i had a parakeet...
you can't tell their sex until they are adults, so we named them all gender neutral names.
sam
i loved sam
sam and i would play all the time.
he loved to sit on your head, or shoulder, and he'd even clean your teeth like those crocodile nile birds on tv did...
he didn't like fingers, though... fingers could catch, and he didn't like them. but he'd sometimes sit on them if they were very still...
he'd chase his golden bell all around the floor, and even learned to mimick the way we all whistled at him.

and then one day i stepped on him
we were just playing with his bell and he didn't get out of the way...

he was never the same after that
it took a week or so before he stopped shivering. he never looked at me the same way again. he even started rubbing his naughty bits into the carpet when he looked at his shiny bell, instead of chasing it gleefully around the room.

he lived a couple years after the incident, but he was such a jerk. he went blind and would scream at all hours of the night because he never knew when to sleep or not. he'd bite with malice... i never yelled at him though, because i knew what changed him...

poor sam

oh, and my condolances to you boorite.

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"You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel..." - homer

I've been relatively lucky so far in life in that I haven't had to deal with the death of a pet. But I can understand how you feel. Sometimes I look at our dog and I realize that I'm going to have to deal with his passing at some time in the future. And it really frightens me. Just thinking about it makes me a little teary eyed.

Sometimes I feel as though I make stronger bonds with animals than humans. This thread made me think of a summer about 8 years ago when I was visiting my aunt in Wyoming.

She had a couple of dogs. One was a little yippy poodle and the other was a 160 lb. wolf/husky mix named Reno. Small yippy dogs tend to rub me the wrong way but Reno and I got along just fine. I was only there for two days, and my aunt suggested while I was around we take a drive up into the mountains. My aunt, her boyfriend and I, along with the yippy poodle squeezed into the cab of their ancient 60's pickup salvaged from the Forest Service. Reno took up most of the bed. Once settled we headed up into the foothills of the Bighorns.

It was a beautiful day for a drive and we spend a good hour or two meandering up the twisty dirt roads that led up the side of the mountain. We stopped to get out and stretch our legs at a little meadow off the side of the road.

There was a little stream that ran through the middle of the area, no more than five or six feet across. Some crude bridges had been built across it, consisting of a pair of small logs set next to each other and spiked in place with rebar. While chasing each other around like fools, the poodle decided to take off across the bridge to the other side of the water. Reno followed right behind him. Unfortunately Reno was a bit more clumsy and ended up sliding one of his legs through the crack between the two logs. Once it was stuck he ended up tripping and falling off to one side.

I have no idea how he ended up not snapping his leg in two. The logs were a good foot or so off the surface of the water, and his body was half dangling in the stream, the only thing keeping him up being he leg jammed in the bridge.

He made some of the awful keening I've ever heard out of anything, all the while thrashing at the water, trying to get his leg out.

Both my aunt and her boyfriend were closer than me, but were both just standing there, shocked, staring at what was happening.

I ran over and jumped into the stream, which had looked to be no more than a foot deep when I'd glanced at it earlier. I was a little surprised when I immediately sank up to my waist in freezing cold water that had most likely been snow not long before. I waded over to Reno and hoisted him up, managing to work his leg free. 160 pounds of wet, squirming dog is not an easy thing to be carrying around, I can assure you.

I dropped him on the bank and in typical stoic dog fashion, he gave a cursory lick or two to his leg, as well as a couple to my face, then padded off across the meadow with only a slight limp.

I drove by the nursery at which my aunt was working to say goodbye to her. But when I stopped by her house to pick up my stuff and say goodbye to Reno, I found myself crying at the thought of leaving him. I sat down in the yard next to where he lay and spent ten minutes or so just scratching him behind the ears and watching the clouds float over the mountains in the distance.

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100 pounds of shit in a 25 pound sack.

These animals that share time and space with us are companions through everything. They are empathic familiars. My own dog grew too old to walk and had a few tumors growing. I made the decision to put her to sleep after we shared from 1981 - 1998 together. I may have waited a month too long - she may have suffered too long - others might think you should never do it. The vet came to my home and I held her head as he gave her the shot. She startled only for a moment and then melted away into... what... I can't say. I cried on her for a while and let her go to be cremated. I have her ashes today.

My wife's cat is getting old but still kicking. I fear the day.

We have kids. Loving pets is not crap. Maybe I wouldn't run back into a burning building for the cat like I would for the kids, but maybe that is my flaw. May events be as smooth as possible during this hard time for all concerned.

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"Jelly-belly gigglin, dancin and a-wigglin, honey that's the way I am!" Janice the Muppet

I guess mine is just starting out really.

Barcode (black cat , white stripe under the chin) is the source of my sanity (and i live in Scotland , youd be amazed how hard that is to keep) , and hes just coming up on 6 months now. Hes a pain in the arse like nothing ive ever experienced. Destroys things for fun , climbs to areas he shouldnt be , hides in places i cant catch him.

I wouldnt know what to do without him. :)

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"Life Sucks, Then you Die. The bit inbetween isnt very funny either"

One of my cats got run over four years ago. This guy brought her to the door in a plastic bag. I remember my other cat curiously nudging the corpse, as though trying to bring her round. It's a strange tableau I'll always remember.

We found out earlier this year that Katrina, our 13-year old Maine coon, has hyperthyroidism. She was getting increasingly cranky and drinking gallons of water. Luckily, we've been able to correct the sitution with a prescription. (What? what do you mean my health insurance doesn't cover the cat? She's a dependant!)
Still, it's hard to realize that she's not going to live forever. My sister had a cat that kept going for 19 years, so we can only hope.

I've never been much of a pet person myself... too much responsibility, I guess. But Katrina and Snuggles were non-negotiable items when I met my wife -- they were part of the package deal. Now I can't imagine life without them (and I have only lived with the animals for about 2 years now).

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...Trot and Cap'n Bill were free from anxiety and care. Button-Bright never worried about anything. The Scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and tried to count the stars.

Sorry to hear about it...."just a cat"...bah. I cried when my pet rats died, and they weren't near as personality laden as cats. When my cats go, I'll be a mess, I'm sure. You have my deepest sympathy.

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When they invent BookFace, I'm -there-.