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#2
July 20th 03, 02:07 PM
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From: "David S."
How can I continue this abuse of indecision? Strange, isn't it, how indecision is a decision in itself to continue to allow the best and the worst to coexist? Eating and death. I am so sorry for what you're going through. It's a very tough decision indeed. I guess it all amounts to quality of life. Do you think she is still enjoying her life? I think no matter what we decide, we will always be wondering if we chose the right time. With my last cat, I did finally decide it would be most humane to put her down. Afterwards, I really questioned whether or not I'd done the right thing. But after I got over the initial pain and shock, I knew that I had done the right thing. I think we'll never know 100% but what's important, IMO, is the quality of life. Is the cat still eating? Is she still going to the bathroom in a normal manner? Does she still move around normally? Does she seem happy, or is she suffering? These are just a few questions. But ultimately, you have to be the one to make that painful decision. Again, I am so sorry. Lauren ________ See my cats: http://community.webshots.com/album/56955940rWhxAe Raw Diet Info: http://www.holisticat.com/drjletter.html http://www.geocities.com/rawfeeders/ForCatsOnly.html Declawing Info: http://www.wholecat.com/articles/claws.htm 
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#3
July 20th 03, 04:21 PM
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It's a really hard decision to make and hte best judge of it will be you.
I will say I think it is time when the pet no longer shows any enjoyment of life. Things she enjoys she doesn't care about (attention, food, toys), she just looks like she is waiting for death to come. It's really hard but you will have to be the one to decide when that is since they cannot tell us, but I think you will know. Alice -- The root cause of problems is simple overpopulation. People just aren't worth very much any more, and they know it. Makes 'em testy. ...Bev |\ _,,,---,,_ Tigress /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ http://havoc.gtf.gatech.edu/tigress |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' '---''(_/--' `-'\_) Cat by Felix Lee.
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#4
July 20th 03, 04:21 PM
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It's a really hard decision to make and hte best judge of it will be you.
I will say I think it is time when the pet no longer shows any enjoyment of life. Things she enjoys she doesn't care about (attention, food, toys), she just looks like she is waiting for death to come. It's really hard but you will have to be the one to decide when that is since they cannot tell us, but I think you will know. Alice -- The root cause of problems is simple overpopulation. People just aren't worth very much any more, and they know it. Makes 'em testy. ...Bev |\ _,,,---,,_ Tigress /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ http://havoc.gtf.gatech.edu/tigress |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' '---''(_/--' `-'\_) Cat by Felix Lee.
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#5
July 20th 03, 06:19 PM
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David,
I'm so sorry you're having to go through this. It's so painful to have to decide when to let your loved ones go. Yvonne had some wonderful advice on listing the things your cat loves and when she is no longer able to do those things it's time. My thoughts will be with you. Karen David S. wrote: Can't sleep anyway. She wobbles. She wobbles when she stands, sits, or hunkers down. Her 3-1/2 pound body is nothing more than fur-covered skin on bones. Every bone is visible. She can barely jump up on the couch anymore, and she prefers her own company to anyone else's. Laps, which used to be her favorite spot to sleep, have been empty for over a month. My sister is her vet. The cancerous tumor in her belly is the size of a baking potato and in danger of rupturing. "If it ruptures, you'll know immediately. She'll be on her side panting and won't be responsive to you at all. She'll be in pain, and you'll need to call me to come put her down as soon as possible. But it might not rupture. There's no way to know for sure," she added. But she is still eating and has a keen interest in food. I manage to keep her hydrated with tuna water and IV water, and she really looks forward to her soft meal after I have given her the prednisone. Her eyes are clear, and she still meows when she wants food. But all the food she eats goes to feed that goddamn disease. With every bite it grows bigger and increases the likelihood that she'll die in agony. But it might not rupture, and she may just stop eating at some point and tell us that she's ready. But ... but ... but ... so many buts. The buts bounce back and forth like a tennis ball in an unfriendly match between two players, both of whom you'd like to see lose. Eating and death never liked each other anyway, but neither player gets a winning edge on cancer's court. The tumor says hello every day and every night. It says hello in so many, many ways. It greets you at the door with a sour, noxious, pervasive smell that requires immediate attention. It smiles when you see the brown and red stains left on the wall and floor and the couch and the bed and the rug. It winks at the litterbox. Oh, it loves the litterbox. The litterbox is where the cries of a distressed, 16 year-old kitten can be heard, as she tries against all hope to keep her dignity from leaping onto the walls and floor. But she still eats. She still walks up every time the refrigerator door opens, and her eyes open wide to greet it. How much of her is still here, and how long can I continue to torture the part that wants to die? How can I continue this abuse of indecision? Strange, isn't it, how indecision is a decision in itself to continue to allow the best and the worst to coexist? Eating and death. Who am I to play God? But who am I not to provide the compassion of death over suffering? But there might not be any suffering. But there already is suffering! I wonder if Taffy died long ago, and the only thing that eats our cat food is the host for a demon. How can I be so cold? What on earth shall I do? I want some more decaf tea. Can't sleep anyway.
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#6
July 20th 03, 06:19 PM
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David,
I'm so sorry you're having to go through this. It's so painful to have to decide when to let your loved ones go. Yvonne had some wonderful advice on listing the things your cat loves and when she is no longer able to do those things it's time. My thoughts will be with you. Karen David S. wrote: Can't sleep anyway. She wobbles. She wobbles when she stands, sits, or hunkers down. Her 3-1/2 pound body is nothing more than fur-covered skin on bones. Every bone is visible. She can barely jump up on the couch anymore, and she prefers her own company to anyone else's. Laps, which used to be her favorite spot to sleep, have been empty for over a month. My sister is her vet. The cancerous tumor in her belly is the size of a baking potato and in danger of rupturing. "If it ruptures, you'll know immediately. She'll be on her side panting and won't be responsive to you at all. She'll be in pain, and you'll need to call me to come put her down as soon as possible. But it might not rupture. There's no way to know for sure," she added. But she is still eating and has a keen interest in food. I manage to keep her hydrated with tuna water and IV water, and she really looks forward to her soft meal after I have given her the prednisone. Her eyes are clear, and she still meows when she wants food. But all the food she eats goes to feed that goddamn disease. With every bite it grows bigger and increases the likelihood that she'll die in agony. But it might not rupture, and she may just stop eating at some point and tell us that she's ready. But ... but ... but ... so many buts. The buts bounce back and forth like a tennis ball in an unfriendly match between two players, both of whom you'd like to see lose. Eating and death never liked each other anyway, but neither player gets a winning edge on cancer's court. The tumor says hello every day and every night. It says hello in so many, many ways. It greets you at the door with a sour, noxious, pervasive smell that requires immediate attention. It smiles when you see the brown and red stains left on the wall and floor and the couch and the bed and the rug. It winks at the litterbox. Oh, it loves the litterbox. The litterbox is where the cries of a distressed, 16 year-old kitten can be heard, as she tries against all hope to keep her dignity from leaping onto the walls and floor. But she still eats. She still walks up every time the refrigerator door opens, and her eyes open wide to greet it. How much of her is still here, and how long can I continue to torture the part that wants to die? How can I continue this abuse of indecision? Strange, isn't it, how indecision is a decision in itself to continue to allow the best and the worst to coexist? Eating and death. Who am I to play God? But who am I not to provide the compassion of death over suffering? But there might not be any suffering. But there already is suffering! I wonder if Taffy died long ago, and the only thing that eats our cat food is the host for a demon. How can I be so cold? What on earth shall I do? I want some more decaf tea. Can't sleep anyway.
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#7
July 20th 03, 07:29 PM
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I am so sorry for this sad situation you find yourself in. It is so
difficult to answer your question, and in the end, you are the only person who can decide when is the time. You are the one who knows your cat the best. All I can suggest is look into her eyes. Ask her what she wants you to do. And listen. With any luck, she will tell you. Blessings to you, Ginger-lyn On Sun, 20 Jul 2003 08:17:57 GMT, "David S." wrote: Can't sleep anyway. She wobbles. She wobbles when she stands, sits, or hunkers down. Her 3-1/2 pound body is nothing more than fur-covered skin on bones. Every bone is visible. She can barely jump up on the couch anymore, and she prefers her own company to anyone else's. Laps, which used to be her favorite spot to sleep, have been empty for over a month. My sister is her vet. The cancerous tumor in her belly is the size of a baking potato and in danger of rupturing. "If it ruptures, you'll know immediately. She'll be on her side panting and won't be responsive to you at all. She'll be in pain, and you'll need to call me to come put her down as soon as possible. But it might not rupture. There's no way to know for sure," she added. But she is still eating and has a keen interest in food. I manage to keep her hydrated with tuna water and IV water, and she really looks forward to her soft meal after I have given her the prednisone. Her eyes are clear, and she still meows when she wants food. But all the food she eats goes to feed that goddamn disease. With every bite it grows bigger and increases the likelihood that she'll die in agony. But it might not rupture, and she may just stop eating at some point and tell us that she's ready. But ... but ... but ... so many buts. The buts bounce back and forth like a tennis ball in an unfriendly match between two players, both of whom you'd like to see lose. Eating and death never liked each other anyway, but neither player gets a winning edge on cancer's court. The tumor says hello every day and every night. It says hello in so many, many ways. It greets you at the door with a sour, noxious, pervasive smell that requires immediate attention. It smiles when you see the brown and red stains left on the wall and floor and the couch and the bed and the rug. It winks at the litterbox. Oh, it loves the litterbox. The litterbox is where the cries of a distressed, 16 year-old kitten can be heard, as she tries against all hope to keep her dignity from leaping onto the walls and floor. But she still eats. She still walks up every time the refrigerator door opens, and her eyes open wide to greet it. How much of her is still here, and how long can I continue to torture the part that wants to die? How can I continue this abuse of indecision? Strange, isn't it, how indecision is a decision in itself to continue to allow the best and the worst to coexist? Eating and death. Who am I to play God? But who am I not to provide the compassion of death over suffering? But there might not be any suffering. But there already is suffering! I wonder if Taffy died long ago, and the only thing that eats our cat food is the host for a demon. How can I be so cold? What on earth shall I do? I want some more decaf tea. Can't sleep anyway.
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#8
July 20th 03, 07:29 PM
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I am so sorry for this sad situation you find yourself in. It is so
difficult to answer your question, and in the end, you are the only person who can decide when is the time. You are the one who knows your cat the best. All I can suggest is look into her eyes. Ask her what she wants you to do. And listen. With any luck, she will tell you. Blessings to you, Ginger-lyn On Sun, 20 Jul 2003 08:17:57 GMT, "David S." wrote: Can't sleep anyway. She wobbles. She wobbles when she stands, sits, or hunkers down. Her 3-1/2 pound body is nothing more than fur-covered skin on bones. Every bone is visible. She can barely jump up on the couch anymore, and she prefers her own company to anyone else's. Laps, which used to be her favorite spot to sleep, have been empty for over a month. My sister is her vet. The cancerous tumor in her belly is the size of a baking potato and in danger of rupturing. "If it ruptures, you'll know immediately. She'll be on her side panting and won't be responsive to you at all. She'll be in pain, and you'll need to call me to come put her down as soon as possible. But it might not rupture. There's no way to know for sure," she added. But she is still eating and has a keen interest in food. I manage to keep her hydrated with tuna water and IV water, and she really looks forward to her soft meal after I have given her the prednisone. Her eyes are clear, and she still meows when she wants food. But all the food she eats goes to feed that goddamn disease. With every bite it grows bigger and increases the likelihood that she'll die in agony. But it might not rupture, and she may just stop eating at some point and tell us that she's ready. But ... but ... but ... so many buts. The buts bounce back and forth like a tennis ball in an unfriendly match between two players, both of whom you'd like to see lose. Eating and death never liked each other anyway, but neither player gets a winning edge on cancer's court. The tumor says hello every day and every night. It says hello in so many, many ways. It greets you at the door with a sour, noxious, pervasive smell that requires immediate attention. It smiles when you see the brown and red stains left on the wall and floor and the couch and the bed and the rug. It winks at the litterbox. Oh, it loves the litterbox. The litterbox is where the cries of a distressed, 16 year-old kitten can be heard, as she tries against all hope to keep her dignity from leaping onto the walls and floor. But she still eats. She still walks up every time the refrigerator door opens, and her eyes open wide to greet it. How much of her is still here, and how long can I continue to torture the part that wants to die? How can I continue this abuse of indecision? Strange, isn't it, how indecision is a decision in itself to continue to allow the best and the worst to coexist? Eating and death. Who am I to play God? But who am I not to provide the compassion of death over suffering? But there might not be any suffering. But there already is suffering! I wonder if Taffy died long ago, and the only thing that eats our cat food is the host for a demon. How can I be so cold? What on earth shall I do? I want some more decaf tea. Can't sleep anyway.
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#9
July 21st 03, 12:46 AM
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David,
I'm very sorry about your poor kitty. Almost exactly 4 years ago, I had my 14 year old cat, Emily, put to sleep for lymphoma. In agonizing over this decision of *when* for several weeks before this, one of my best friends, who has had multiple dogs all throughout her life and who has faced this decision many times herself, said to me, "We always wait too long." To me, waiting too long seemed worse than doing it a little bit too soon. As I said, that was just me. So the day we put Emily to sleep was the day when she didn't come out from under the bed when we got home from work and when she didn't want to be let out in our back yard supervised which was just about her favorite thing to do next to eating. She had already ceased being interested in food and would just take a couple of licks and she already was hiding quite a bit but this day was different. Who knows, maybe she was having a "bad" day and would have felt better the next day but I knew her days were numbered, I knew she had a terminal illness, and I just didn't want to wait too long. To me, possibly doing it a little too early was preferable to waiting too long. I certainly understand that that might not be how everyone thinks, though. My thoughts are with you and your cat during this difficult time. Candace (take the litter out before replying by e-mail) See my cats: http://photos.yahoo.com/maccandace
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#10
July 21st 03, 12:46 AM
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David,
I'm very sorry about your poor kitty. Almost exactly 4 years ago, I had my 14 year old cat, Emily, put to sleep for lymphoma. In agonizing over this decision of *when* for several weeks before this, one of my best friends, who has had multiple dogs all throughout her life and who has faced this decision many times herself, said to me, "We always wait too long." To me, waiting too long seemed worse than doing it a little bit too soon. As I said, that was just me. So the day we put Emily to sleep was the day when she didn't come out from under the bed when we got home from work and when she didn't want to be let out in our back yard supervised which was just about her favorite thing to do next to eating. She had already ceased being interested in food and would just take a couple of licks and she already was hiding quite a bit but this day was different. Who knows, maybe she was having a "bad" day and would have felt better the next day but I knew her days were numbered, I knew she had a terminal illness, and I just didn't want to wait too long. To me, possibly doing it a little too early was preferable to waiting too long. I certainly understand that that might not be how everyone thinks, though. My thoughts are with you and your cat during this difficult time. Candace (take the litter out before replying by e-mail) See my cats: http://photos.yahoo.com/maccandace
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