A family says goodbye to a beloved pet when they feel the time of death is near. I have tearfully said goodbye to Pete approximately 18 times. I really believe that one of his favorite pastimes was playing “Ding-Dong Ditch” with Death.
Born into the Flood of 1993, he immediately became separated from whatever home he’d been born into, and as a stray, was adopted by a woman who had a love of Siamese cats, but felt bad for the homeless kitten. However, after a few short weeks of terror at the claws and teeth of this unruly barn cat, the purebreds were at their wits ends, and the woman began a search for a new home for the wild mongrel she’d named Pizza Boy, and we were so happy to have him.
An irreplaceable replacement cat after the unfortunate death of the perfectly docile, white fluff ball, Flo, Pete was far from perfect. He was a wild beast who prowled the flowerbeds and bit children (who were usually trying to force him into doll dresses). He killed rabbits and strewn their intestines between three different neighbors’ yards. He wouldn’t sleep with us at night. Instead, he would terrorize us by running through the halls while we were sleeping, batting at the light switches and turning lights on and off as he pleased. He could turn door knobs and would bat at your feet under a closed door if you dared to shut him out.
If you did not feed him first thing in the morning, he might bite at your stocking feet as you sleepily trudged past the pantry. If you were having trouble sleeping, he would begin to mewl at the top of his cat lungs just as you’d finally drifted off.
He was aggressive and had many face-offs through screens and windows until Mom would go outside and throw ice at the other cat to make them leave. Pete was always triumphant.
Except for when he wasn’t.
Pete learned to stalk baby birds who couldn’t fly very well, and faced the wrath of a pair of newly-childless Blue Jays who dive-bombed him with frightening coordination and teamwork. This attack and the impending infection nearly killed him.
Despite being such a terror, he really was the best cat for us. He was fun and kitten-like long past being dubbed “geriatric” by the vet. I have so many memories of using him as a pillow as he slept in the sunshine and I read or napped. Christmas morning was always extra entertaining due to his wrapping paper-induced euphoria. He performed acrobatics that would impress any member of Cirque de Soleil for a chance at catching a dangling shoelace or thread. He could purr so loudly that you could hear it in the next room with the door closed.
A few years ago, our vet informed us that Pete’s kidneys were beginning to fail. He began drinking copious amounts of water. I came home from college to say goodbye to him, but other than extreme thirst, he was still his playful self – just a little slower and sleepier.
About two years ago, we believe he had a stroke. He began having balance problems, and it became apparent that he was blind in at least one of his eyes. His appetite began to decline, and we all knew it was the end.
But it wasn’t the end yet. As my mom’s illness progressed, he never left her side. He always wanted to be on her lap, and I wished over and over that he would make it a few more months.
After my mom passed away, I really believe he knew she was gone and missed her. I would find him on her side of the bed when that had never been a popular Pete hangout before. Sometimes, when I got home, he’d come running stiffly to the door, only to take a look at me, as if saying “oh, it’s just you,” and head back to whatever chair he’d been sleeping on.
Two mornings ago, I came downstairs to find that he was very, very ill. For the past few months, he had been losing weight and sleeping more and more, but this was different. I could tell he was miserable, and when I picked him up to put him in his bed, I could feel his insides through the fatless, tissue-thin layer of skin on his belly. He looked up at me, and our eyes met, and I knew it was time.
When we took him to the veterinarian’s office, I was not as sad as I expected to be. I really felt like we owed this amazing pet, friend, and family member some dignity and peace. After the vet gave him the first injection, he began to relax immediately, and soon was lying on his side, looking just like he used to when he’d lie for hours in the sunlight. I kissed him and wished him sweet dreams, and my dad said he was in Kitty Heaven, chasing the birds and squirrels unlucky enough to end up in Bird and Squirrel Hell. I think he is sitting on my mom’s lap, purring loudly and happily as she scratches his ears. No more suffering – only peace.
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| Pete at Christmas two years ago |
