Saturday morning we awoke to find our 16-year old (not 14, as previously reported elsewhere) Himalayan, Sylvia, with her legs straight and stiff. She was unable to stand or walk and was not even attempting to. She did not appear to be in any pain and was purring in no time when stroked, so that is a good thing.
We rushed her to our vet's office and was fortunate our favorite vet, Dr Hess, was there. They took Sylvia right back to assess her. Troy and I both dreaded what we knew was inevitable. We just couldn't understand what had happened to her. She's not a climbing cat and is what we call a "hider". She chooses different hiding places and lives there everyday only coming out to eat, drink, poop, and pee. She chooses a spot and lives there for 6-9 months and then moves on to another one. At one time it was a litterbox. EWWW! Needless to say, she didn't stay in that one 6 months! We couldn't understand any way she would have gotten an injury on her spine since she doesn't climb or jump and just stays hidden.
Dr Hess came in and confirmed what we already knew. He said the cause was a blood clot and that there was nothing to be done. He said it's time to let her go, but I already knew that too.
It's so hard letting go of any of our kitties. They truly are members of our family. We talk to them all the time and sometimes they answer back. Like Sam.
Each one of them is special to us. Some say cats don't have personalities, but I promise you, I am an expert on this subject and our cats do. They each have quirks and pecularities. But we love them each and everyone.
We were given a few minutes alone with Sylvia before the shots were given. We each petted her and cried, telling her how much we love her and how special she is. She was alert, in no pain, sitting up and purring. After a little time, Dr Hess returned and gave her the first shot to relax her and put her into a twilight sleep.
I leaned over, cradling her head in my hands. I placed my cheek against her fur so she could smell someone familiar as she took her last breath. I continued whispering to her, telling her how much I loved her, how special she was, and how grateful I was she shared her life with us. As I whispered to her the drug from the second shot sent her peacefully along. As she took her last breath, my cheek was against hers and I continued telling her how beautiful she was, how much we loved her, how grateful we are, and told her to look for the little kitties like Sam that she could now chase.
Does she hear me? Does she understand? I do not know and will probably never know. But I do know that it makes me feel better. It's hard to watch a pet be put to sleep, but being with her as she took her last breath makes me feel I kept my promise to care for her to the very end.
Rest in peace, Dear Sylvia. Beautiful princess.
We love you.
Until we meet again ...
Namaste
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