Our senior cat had incontinence issues this morning, necessitating washing the bedsheets twice. So she was placed in the dog kennel while we straightened up and I got to my last scheduled PaizoCon game.
Maybe half an hour in, she began to meow repeatedly, streched out on her back instead of in her usual loaf position on her stomach. I grabbed Shanna and when she picked her up it was pretty clear Remmy couldn't move her neck. Since her mom was on the phone with her, she volunteered to come over and drive them to the vet.
I could have asked for an emergency replacement and went with her myself. Maybe I should have. I don't know. We've been dealing with poor appetite and potty usage the past few weeks. When they got to the emergency clinic, they tried to run tests and had to hydrate her to draw blood.
The bottom line came that they didn't know if they could even stabilize her, or if that would even help, while if she came through the question about quality of life was a big one. Shanna believed it best to let her go. I agreed. And I could have called for a replacement then, but I didn't want to prolong the suffering any more. And I wasn't sure I could take being there when it happened.
So our little lion is gone, a terrible end to my PaizoCon week. On one hand, it's a relief that she doesn't have to suffer more. On the other, there is guilt in not bringing her to the new house from grandma's sooner. There's heartache at never seeing her again. And it's all so fresh and raw. And there is worry that I made the wrong choice, that when Ozzy comes to the end of his puppy years, I won't HAVE the choice to be there when he goes.
June is going to be a long month. 2020 is going to be even longer. "Quality is better than quantity in years" is a noble sentiment with your pets, but it's damn harder to do than to say.