Nolan.

Right now, as I type this at my bedroom desk, it is raining outside.  I've got a mug of hot coffee to my left and my cat Sophia is curled up on my lap.  I spent almost all day yesterday cleaning and sorting my apartment - doing the annual closet flip, digging out summer dresses and trying to decide which coats will survive another winter.  I'm not finished of course, but I made significant headway and for that I'm pleased.  The day was as normal and routine as they come, and yet, I found myself thinking of my other kitty, Nolan, several times as I went about my chores.

There is no easy way to write this, no poetic lines that might make the fact that I had to have Nolan put down at the end of April sting a bit less.  It is what it is.  And it all happened so fast during the most hectic weeks that I am just now finding a moment to sit down and write about it.  Nolan's death wasn't truly a surprise, I suppose I had been mentally preparing myself for it since August.  Still, there's a difference between knowing something is coming (I mean, we are all dying) versus it actually happening.  The little bugger was made of strong stuff, he bounced back after a few scares this summer, but March and April saw a sharp decline in his overall well being.  The little guy's cognitive skills were shot and at times he could barely walk to his food bowl without toppling over. 

I remember calling my Mom, one Sunday after a school weekend, asking for her advice on what I should do about Nolan.  "You're probably not going to like what I'm going to tell you, Kel" was her answer and of course, she and I already both knew what the likely ultimate end would be.  Still, Nolan persevered a few more weeks until I just knew he had to get into the vet.  I suppose, even when I made the phone call to set up an appointment, deep down in my gut I knew what the eventual outcome of this visit would be and perhaps that's why I delayed it as long as I could. 

I dropped him off on a Tuesday afternoon.  My sweet and kind vet looked him over, agreed with me that he was a very sick kitty. He was dehydrated and weak so we agreed that he should stay overnight so they could properly monitor and hydrate him.  On Wednesday morning, the vet called me with a rather positive update.  We weren't out of the woods by any stretch of the imagination but Nolan, my darling cat who hated any trip to the vet with a passion, actually growled at the technician that morning - whereas the day before he'd been too weak to care who was handling him.  The vet wanted to keep him another day to work on balancing his insulin levels and by Wednesday evening I thought my little trooper was going to rebound like he had in August. However, on Thursday, things took a turn for the worse and when the vet called me that afternoon with an update, I anticipated what might be coming.

"So is this when we talk about whether or not I put him to sleep?" I asked into the phone after learning the latest. 
"Yes, I am afraid this is when we have that conversation." the vet answered, in the most gentle manner as possible.

And so we talked, weighing pros and cons and treatments if I did take him home (things like steroids and more injections and continued insulin when the poor guy couldn't even stand up to pee) and the options if I were to decide to end things.  Ultimately, I made a decision I had never had to make before, one that I did not take lightly but felt sure, even as I hated to say it, that it was the right decision.  My vet's office was wonderful given the circumstances, staying open late so I could get there, giving me plenty of time alone to sit down with my cat, my very first pet that has been completely my own, and say goodbye.  I got to give him lots of nose and belly rubs, two of his most favorite things, while I talked to him, recounting aloud the many adventures he and I had had together over the past twelve years. 

Some friends have told me that they wouldn't be able to stay with their pets while the vet put them down, that they would rather leave the room.  I cannot ever begin to say that the experience is a pleasant one but I felt like I owed it to Nolan to not leave him alone.  It helped me to think of a recent book I'd read, wherein the author talks about how everything has a life cycle, a beginning and an end. I was with Nolan from the very beginning, picking him out of a litter of five before he was old enough to even open his eyes, and I felt I owed it to him to stay with him until the very end.

I am sure that I made the right decision that Thursday night when I gave Nolan a last kiss goodbye on his nose.  No one - human or animal - wants to suffer unnecessarily at the end of their life and I like to think he was comforted and in peace as he took his last breath.  Still, I miss him.  Of course I miss him.  I'm eternally grateful that I still have sweet Sophia breathing life into my apartment, greeting me at the door when I come home each day from work.  But it's weird.  After twelve years it's odd to reach for only one can of cat food at feeding time, it feels funny to find one cat curled up on the sofa and not wonder where the other one is.  It's been just about a month now but I still wake up occasionally, panicked that I'd completely forgotten to give him his insulin shot.

My poor little guy was sick and struggling during his last few days.  But I like to think he had a pretty good life with me, that we had a pretty great time together over the years.  When I think of him now, I do my best to remember the cat I loved immediately, the one who I'd visit at my neighbor's house as a tiny newborn, the chubb-o who loved to lay on his back on my bed and get belly rubs, the one who lounged on top of my microwave like it 'ain't no thang' because that was one of the sunniest spots in the apartment, the fella who would hop up onto my lap when I was sprawled out on the couch watching tv, sometimes crushing my ribs while he got himself comfortable right on top of my chest.  My buddy, Sir Nolan.

When I told one of my friends what happened, she expressed her sympathies.  In her email back to me, she said "at least now he's in a better place where he can eat ALL he wants with no worries."  Which made me laugh, because she is right.  Nolan loved nothing more than to eat everything in sight.  I have been fortunate enough to have a lot of great pets in my life and I like to think that now, all of the ones that came before Nolan, are gathered around up above us, swapping stories.  (And I am quite sure that Nolan is busy eating all of their food too.)

Thank you for the adventures, Nolan.