Parting with a Pet

In my story of Boo Boo Kitty's medical travails a few months ago, I asked the question all loving pet owners must often face: when is it all too much? The question is based in part on the assumption that the treatments—so plentiful, so much more sophisticated today, and often extremely expensive—will help the pet, though the accompanying pain and the effect on the quality of life may also be severe. This time, I knew that the treatments could not save Boo Boo. They could only prolong his pain. When I called his name and petted him, he raised his head for only a second. He could do no more. After I lifted him out of his oxygen cage to hold him for a few seconds and then placed him back inside, his breathing became even more labored.

I knew the time had come. I would have to face the companion question to the "When is it too much?" question: when do you end your pet's life? They may not be able to speak words to guide your decision but their visible pain and suffering send a powerful message. The doctor brought Boo Boo to me wrapped in a towel and I held him while she administered the final drugs. Cynics may scoff, but I noticed a striking difference when he was gone. His eyes, which had been watery blue with distress and pain, had returned to the cerulean brilliance of his youth. Perhaps, wherever he was now, he was seeing a bird or a mouse or a toy-some prey that he could once again chase. That's what I choose to believe anyway.

© 2003