I did what I could for him--as soon as I saw something was wrong, I texted my vet friend, Dr J, for advice. Ten minutes later, we were out the door. I drove 80 miles an hour along country roads and through construction zones to get to the nearest after-hours vet, all the while hoping that something could be done. I didn't know how bad it was until the kindly vet tech told me our limited options. And then I did the next right thing I could: I decided quickly to end Indiana's suffering, and I said good-bye.
We got him when he was just a half-grown kitten; he was my gift to my then-husband (was-band) for our one year anniversary. But Indiana Jasonville Bruecks became my cat very quickly--so much so that I got custody of him in our eventual yet inevitable divorce.
He was a neurotic goofball and a total dope. He had a big personality, and never knew a stranger. He had massive paws and tiny ears and a beautiful swooping tail. He was a marmalade all over, except for a funny little black dot on his paw. He loved to attack fresh sheets when I was making up the bed, and he would happily commit murder for just a little more wet food. When he was happy, he didn't purr... He huffed and puffed and drooled, like a pervvy old man making the best of obscene phone call of his life. "You're a mess," Middle Sister used to tell him, and he would just huff and drool in blissfully contented agreement.
He was in my life for 10 years, and was hale and hearty right up until that last, godawful day. I thought we would have many more years together, but I was so wrong.
We assume we will have our fur companions forever, but we won't. And even if we did, forever still wouldn't be long enough.
We got him when he was just a half-grown kitten; he was my gift to my then-husband (was-band) for our one year anniversary. But Indiana Jasonville Bruecks became my cat very quickly--so much so that I got custody of him in our eventual yet inevitable divorce.
He was a neurotic goofball and a total dope. He had a big personality, and never knew a stranger. He had massive paws and tiny ears and a beautiful swooping tail. He was a marmalade all over, except for a funny little black dot on his paw. He loved to attack fresh sheets when I was making up the bed, and he would happily commit murder for just a little more wet food. When he was happy, he didn't purr... He huffed and puffed and drooled, like a pervvy old man making the best of obscene phone call of his life. "You're a mess," Middle Sister used to tell him, and he would just huff and drool in blissfully contented agreement.
He was in my life for 10 years, and was hale and hearty right up until that last, godawful day. I thought we would have many more years together, but I was so wrong.
We assume we will have our fur companions forever, but we won't. And even if we did, forever still wouldn't be long enough.
"There will be a hole in my heart forever
That will be the shape of you
And darling when your heart was breaking
You were breaking my heart, too."
-Sofia Talvik
