I had to make one of the most difficult decisions of my life Sunday.
My kitty, Sugar Ray, who was 16 years old, had been battling skin cancer for almost a year. We discovered it last June, although I suspect it started a few months before that. Working with our regular vet and then doctors and surgeons at the Animal Medical Center, we tried a few different treatment options. On our last visit to AMC, the oncologist told me that Sugar's remaining time should be measured in weeks, rather than months. We discussed trying a stronger course of chemotherapy as an option and made an appointment to come back on Sunday.
When Sugar Ray first became ill I consulted with a rabbi, because my choice of how to care for him was an ethical one. Kindness to animals is very important in Jewish law and we are not permitted to let an animal suffer. I found out that if a pet has no chance of recovery and is suffering it is permitted to put a pet to sleep.
I struggled with the thought of not knowing when it would be the "right time." If I did it too early, was I cutting his life short? If I waited too long, as I understand many pet owners do, would I be subjecting him to needless suffering? The veterinary oncologist--who was really wonderful through all this--had told me that many pet owners are in heavy denial, and often think the pet will go quietly in their sleep. Unfortunately, that peaceful exit happens only rarely.
The doctor explained that I know Sugar Ray best and that I should watch for a change in his behavior. "Figure out ten things that he enjoys doing," he said, "and then watch to see if he stops doing any of them."
And that's how I knew.
On Saturday night, he was sick to his stomach and then went in a corner where he likes to sleep. But he never came out. He didn't eat or drink, he didn't want to come out and play, or even jump up on the couch with me to watch television.
I went to sleep and when I got up the next morning he hadn't moved from that spot, and I knew it was time. I was lucky that my friend Marisol was coming over for a visit that day anyway, so I had someone to accompany me to the hospital. She's the kind of friend that doesn't judge or try to talk you out of your feelings and just lets you "be." Plus she had been through this many times since her family had lots of pets when she was growing up.
I had done some research and read that it is often more comforting to be with your pet when they are put to sleep. I'm so glad I took that advice because my voice was the last voice he heard and my touch was the last thing he felt. Being there allows you to say goodbye to your pet, and seeing what really happens is probably better than what your mind would dream up if you leave before the procedure.
I petted him and talked to him while the doctor gave him the drugs through an IV. It took, at most, about three or four minutes and it really was very gentle and appeared to be painless. The doctor had told me that research reveals a mammal's hearing is the last sense to go before it dies--don't even want to know how they figured that out--and that's why it was important that I continue speaking to Sugar Ray until it was over.
So, my brave Sugar Ray, who stood up to Osama Bin Laden and survived 9/11 in a Tribeca kennel a few blocks from Ground Zero is gone. My 12-pound mousing machine who was tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand when I took him home after he stuck his little paw out at me from a shoebox next to the register at the bodega across the street. My Sugar Ray "Robinson--not Leonard and definitely not the band" who was named after one of the greatest boxers pound-for-pound of all time because I got him the week that the champ passed away. That was after I mistakenly thought he was a girl because he was so pretty when I got him and named him Gatita until the vet checked under his tail. That elicited a squeak from the kitten indicating he was indeed a boy. Sugar Ray seemed to be a macho, yet sweet enough name and it matched his personality completely. He was a very, very cool cat.
My Sugar Ray who was with me through three business ventures, two lengthy recoveries from surgery, four apartments, and countless errors in relationship judgement. My Sugar Ray who no matter where I took him--the vet, the kind people at his "kitty hotel" The Wagging Tail, and the animal hospital--always told me what a sweet, sweet boy he was. My Sugar Ray who even my friends who hated cats (yes, I admit I have a few) said they liked.
To my Sugar Ray who was a wonderful companion...I will miss you.
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