Your Pet Loss Stories'My Valentine'
I got Vincent when he was seven weeks old. He was born in a house with over 20 other cats/kittens. He was full of fleas and poop, and had a terrible case of ear mites. He was thin, and not well groomed, his litter was probably his Mother's fifth or sixth.
I was fifteen years old, and I brought him home under strict orders to "Never bring another animal into this house!!" So I kept him in my room for a while, spending every second I could with him, and only leaving for short periods of time while he was asleep. He literally became the light of my life, everything I did was to make sure he was happy and safe, and got better.
I ended up showing him to my Mother two and a half weeks later. He was chubby, his ears and eyes were clear of gunk, his fur was soft and clean, he was the cutest perfectly presentable little man in his tuxedo, he sold himself and all I really had to say was "I already named him."
Month by month he became more and more trouble. Jumping up onto the table, pushing plates off, wiggling his butt as he watched them smash to pieces. I got yelled at for him at least once a day, he knocked something over, spilled something, or climbed up something and got stuck. All I ever said was "he's so handsome tho!" It seemed like the more of a punk he was the more I loved him, he could do nothing wrong. He was always very healthy and always going crazy or doing somthing. I thought that he would be causing trouble for years and years to come.
It was Feb 13th at around 9:00pm, I was at my best friends house, I was supposed to be spending the nite. My Mother called me and told me that my cat was inside the couch, making strange noises. I thought he had simply gotten inside and was stuck. Looking out the window at the 4 inches of snow that was on the ground and the rain hitting the window, I told my Mother to get my Brother and have him lift the couch or figure out a way to get him out, and to call me back when he was out and let me know if he was okay.
I thought nothing of it until my Mother called back. He was out of the couch but was far from okay, she didnt know what was wrong but he was acting funny, I put my low top sneakers on and tredged the two blocks home. He was laying in the middle of the floor, exactly where they put him down, he was shifting his weight from side to side, grunting and breathing heavy. I started to talk to him and he looked up at me and let out a long meow. It was 10:00 by then and I quickly decided to
call the emergency vet that was about an hour drive from my house.
It didn't take long for the vet to tell me that the situation was serious, but she did not recommend I make the drive, and neither did the weather channel. The highways were full of ice and it was expected that the rain fall would quickly turn to snow making the highways much worse. I reluctantly agreed with my Mother who told me that she would take me to the local vet in the morning, that it was probably nothing.
I stayed up with Vincent all nite long, he was in pain and he hid under my bed all nite to be alone. At six thirty we were in the car outside the vet, waiting for the Dr to show up. He was the first patient and I was glad that we didn't have to wait long. Most unfortunately it didn't take long for the Dr to find the problem. Vincent had a blockage in his urinary tract, his kidneys were small and hard and his temperature had dropped five degrees.
The Dr. looked over at me and told me that he would need an operation, that it wasn't 100% going to work, the problem could come back, and all together with medication it would cost at least $2000. I reached into my pocket and crumpled the $180 my Mother had scraped together. I don't really remember talking, or what I said but the decision was final before I decided.
He was on a metal table in the back room, the Dr sedated him and left so I could say my goodbyes. I remember looking at the window, wishing I could just pick him up and sneak out. I told him how sorry I was. He was quiet, his eyes were open, I knelt down in front of him, put my face to him and he pushed his into mine. I reached up to touch his chin and he quickly looked straight up to let me scratch his neck and chin, he had always done that, since he was a baby. Most of what happened after that was a blur in my mind. I was crying so much I couldn't breath or talk, I just wanted to go home with my cat.
On the way out, with my small cardboard coffin, a nurse asked me how old he was and I told her "He was going to be two in March, he's still a baby" that's really the last thing I remember saying for the rest of that day.
We brought him home at about 8am, and I spent hours and hours trying to dig a hole in the frozen dirt. It was pitch black at seven o'clock, Feb 14th when I pushed the dirt back to fill in the hole. I am 20 years old now, and every spring I go outside to make sure the bleeding heart plant over his grave is starting to grow.