We had two cats. Sisters. We liberated them from the Humane Society. I wanted one. But there were two in the cage and they were sisters and my wife insisted that we not "break up the family." Two cats came home with us.
They lived with us since 1992. As kittens and adolescents, they hung out together, washed each other, played with each other and slept together. As they got older, they grew apart. They got to be like a couple of old women sniping at each other and always maximizing the space and distance between one another. But they were both always very sweet to people. Quick to purr, craving and loving attention and sometimes, even, acting like a cat chasing nothing and getting all excited about thread or a housefly. But, easily, for the last 5 years, their primary activity was sleeping. Then eating. And, due to the advancing age, I believe, peeing on the carpet.
This past December, one of them slowed down considerably (if you can imagine that). She stopped eating, then stopped drinking, then grew weaker and weaker. We noticed that her mouth was bleeding and that she was losing weight. A trip to the veterinarian was in order.
As is usual for these events, the vet took a careful sympathetic look at the animal and then a careful sympathetic look at the owner and then did a quick estimate of our net worth, and divided by two to determine the cost of treatment. The cat, he said, was severely dehydrated and had a gaping wound in her mouth that might be infected, may have cancer and is lucky to be alive. He suggested a panel of tests, an overnight stay with re-hydration therapy and a batch of antibiotics. And then, he said, sympathetically, we'll determine the next steps.
After a few days, she seemed brighter and he let us take her home with a bag filled with the equivalent of several gold doubloons. Antibiotics, pain killers, prescription food, energy supplements...the works.
She lasted but a few more days at home. She again weakened, would not eat or drink, no matter how clearly I explained the price of the food. With a trip back to the vet, it was determined that she had gone blind and that the cancer had likely spread. She was in pain, she was likely quite scared and didn't have much longer left. We were left with a painful decision.
My son, who had known this animal his whole life was suddenly thrown in to a situation in which he was facing dealing with death in a very real and very personal way. He had heard of loved ones who had died. He experienced it all abstractly but here it was in a very real and concrete way. This animal was going to die and he was not going to be able to see her any more. What's worse is that we were deciding to put her life to an end.
This shocked him. And frightened him. He spoke up and offered opinions that I never knew he had or, quite frankly, I never knew he had the capacity to formulate. "It's wrong to put a cat down!" "You need to die naturally!"
We thought that maybe we could explain the situation. The pain. The suffering. The quality of life. After a slow patient explanation and some discussion with the vet, he seemed to achieve some level of resolution. He didn't like it. But he seemed to be OK with it.
Two weeks later, news arrived at our home of the death of two elderly relatives who my son knew and met. My mother was quite upset with the news and my son absorbed that grief, as well. He began to worry about other aging friends and relatives. He would speak to elderly neighbors about death and call others who lived far away. He would speak to them about whether and how they were able to make peace with death. This led to many calls and discussions with people from near and far. "Are you aware that you son is asking about death?"
Of course, we knew. And we thanked them for their patience. Most feared that he was suicidal but, in fact, that was the furthest thing from his mind. He really wanted to live forever. "I have to much to do to die", was a usual statement.
It was annoying but manageable until one more thing happened...
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