I hate that this is the first post I’ve written in a while, because it’s a sad one for me. The last couple of months have just plain sucked, and I have been avoiding writing until I have something positive to say. But I can’t skip over this one.

Noah called me on Saturday morning and said that he was really worried about Phoebe. She was hiding in his closet, not wanting to be social, very lethargic… not at all like her. She also looked very skinny (she was already a skinny cat and couldn’t afford to lose any weight). Her fur was looking clumpy. All of these things had happened a few years ago as well, and I’d been sure she was at death’s door. I even made the appointment to have her euthanized and we all said our goodbyes to her.

Then, the morning of the appointment, she suddenly started eating again and she perked up a lot. So, we waited. And she got better! Back to normal Phoebe. She’s done that to us a couple of times over the last few years, so when Noah called me, I wasn’t *too* worried. If it hadn’t been Saturday, I probably would’ve waited a day or two to take her to the vet. But if something was wrong, I really didn’t want it to happen while the vet was closed on Sunday.

Noah had an appointment, but I asked his girlfriend, Rose, if she wanted to go with me. She ADORES Phoebe. She has spoiled her rotten over the last year and Phoebe was super attached to Rose. I thought that if this was the end of the road for Phoebe, she’d want Rose there too.

When they weighed Phoebe at the vet, I was stunned. She was only 3.5 pounds (down from 5.5 a couple of months ago). She looked like a skeleton with fur. Normally, she would have meowed the whole way to the vet and then fought her way to stay in her carrier instead of getting examined, but she seemed like she was just so tired and didn’t care what was happening.

The vet said her kidney disease had progressed to the point that there was really nothing we could do. They could give her fluids, which would probably help for a couple of days, but then we’d be back in the same spot. And I could tell Phoebe was in pain–it was even hard for her to walk. I asked the vet what she would do if it was her cat, and she gently said that euthanizing her would probably be the most loving thing we could do for her at that point.

She left Rose and I to talk it over and we were devastated. We ultimately agreed that it was what was best for Phoebe. The last thing I wanted was to be with her when the vet gave her the meds because I knew it would crush me, but again–I wanted to do what was best for Phoebe and I wanted her to feel loved until the very end.

In 2009, one of the women in a MOMS Club that I belonged to said her sister had a stray cat that needed a home. We had just one cat at the time–Chandler–and we decided to take her. She was about a year old and had just gotten spayed (she was pregnant at the time, which breaks my heart). We realized she must have had a rough life–she was missing half of her tail and she had a bb embedded under her skin. The way her tail was bent at the end felt like maybe it had been slammed in a door.

This was the day we brought her home

She was extremely skittish around people (which was understandable) but over time, she warmed up to us. She and Chandler were buddies, too. 

She desperately wanted to be an outdoor cat (coming and going as she pleased) and we let her do that for the first few years. One time, though, she was gone for a long time. I was sure she’d been eaten by a coyote or something in the woods across the street. She obviously made it home alive, but that was probably the closest to death she’d ever experienced. I wrote all about it in this post: “And Then There Were Three”. After that, she was strictly an indoor cat, unless we brought her outside on her leash. She was notorious for sneaking out, though!

My absolute favorite thing about Phoebe was this sort of “sixth sense” that she had. I have had a lot of cats in my lifetime, but none of them were as intuitive to others’ emotions like Phoebe. She was SO empathetic. Any time she sensed that I was upset about something, she became very insistent about being as close to my face as possible. It was like she could stare right into my soul. She wanted to curl up on my chest and rub her face on mine. It didn’t matter where she was in the house or what she was doing; if she heard me crying, she would run to me. I felt a special bond with her because of that.

After my skin removal surgery (and my jaw surgeries), she was glued to my chest

And that’s why I wanted to be with her when she went to sleep for the final time. I let Rose hold her on her lap and I just kept stroking her head and telling her it was okay. I wanted to comfort her like she always comforted me. Then the vet pushed the meds into her catheter and I could see her instantly relax. She rested her head in my hand. The vet listened for her heartbeat and told us she was “at peace”.

I know that it was best for her, but it was still so hard to do. Phoebe was the cat that just kept coming back. Honestly, when I brought her to the vet that day, I was sure she’d get some fluids and turn right back into the old Phoebe, having given us all a scare again.

I am so glad that we made the decision to let her live with Noah and Rose over the last year. She was SO happy there as an only pet. She didn’t have Chick and Duck pestering her all the time and she’d gotten her appetite back. She even gained a little weight. Whenever I visited her, she seemed so content, which made me happy. And I loved to see how spoiled she was.

It’s so hard to believe that she was 18 years old. I’ve never had a pet live that long; Chandler was 14 when he died. Estelle is now 17 and Joey is 11. Where does the time go?

I really will try to write soon, even if I don’t have anything positive to say right now. xo