Today, I did one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and I did it against my own needs, even though it doesn't feel like it. I had Pye euthanized today. It wasn't painful for her, and it was the right thing to do. She had stopped drinking water, and when I finally got some fluids in her, subcutaneously, she ended up with pneumonia-like symptoms. She was emaciated and tired. She had stopped cleaning herself, even though she was always such a fastideous girl. She wasn't going to get better. Sixteen year old cats don't get better, not from something like this.
She had a good life. Her full name was Pyewackette Williamson and at sixteen years of age, she had lived in both Dallas, Texas and Seattle, Washington, had flown on a plane, and had been pampered like royalty. She especially loved good Texas 'nip and licking the gravy dregs from the bottom of the cat food cans. In bed, she had a way of pushing on me, until I woke up, and moved so that she could lay her head on my shoulder.
Of all my kitties, she was my child. She had my demeanor, grumpy, crusty on the outside, demanding, and no patience whatsoever. She had many looks. One was the do you mind? look. When she was pissed, she had a look that could score cold steel. But underneath all that she had a soft, gooey center that could melt my harshest reprimands to nothing more than a request that she be better in the future.
The thing I will remember most is her I meant to do that look which could make me literally laugh out loud. I wish I had that ability, that way of doing something silly and then walking away, head held high, proud, just daring anyone--even her momma--to point it out.
She was a princess, my princess, and I loved her very much.