Letting go

As prepared for the inevitability of such things when your vet calls you up with blood work results and does a lot of heavy sighing during the conversation, it is never easy to accept that a pet is dying. And probably faster than you had hoped.

One of my Maine Coons, Fennekin (named after the Pokémon), has been ill for a while. She was borderline having kidney issues a year ago, but it rapidly progressed until she was showing the beginnings of kidney failure just a month or so ago.

She was promptly put on a special diet with additive to help her kidneys. We thought we saw improvement, even. Until we didn’t.

Last night, she refused her dinner. And treats. She loves treats and loves that she’s been getting stinky, fishy, wet food while the others get kibble. She skipped breakfast and went into a space away from everyone. She refused lunch.

We’re taking her into the vet today, not expecting to bring her home. For thousands of dollars, they can keep her alive. Maybe a month or two. Maybe as little as three days. But her death is inevitable. And soon.

There are people who will spend their life savings keeping a pet alive without once questioning if the pet has any meaningful quality of life while they are kept alive on infusions and tubes. I’m not that kind of person, which will upset some readers. I ask myself, as miserable as she looks right now, if Fenn would thank me for the ordeal or if she might be happier without feeling so damned sick.

And it makes me a little ill myself to know that I have pretty much made the decision that if they can’t keep her alive for the long weekend through some magic so everyone can say goodbye, I’m okay with letting her go.

The appointment is in less than 90 minutes. We’ll see what they say then, but the prognosis from my perspective is not good. She looks like she feels horrible.

What I will miss most is her trilling as she follows me around, wanting me to talk to her, give her a scratch under the chin.