Sweet Dreams Dear Friend

BEAR

This is the most painful blog post I've ever written, but it has to be done. As a trained grief facilitator, I know it's good therapy. And I need hugs from all of you out there. 

Normally, Bear would be helping me with this post by padding across the computer keys ZZZZZZZZZZZVv11!!!!!!, but he isn't here. He had to be euthanized yesterday. It was so sudden, and such a shock, I can't get my head around it.

Bear was sitting on the front porch with me at 5:30 a.m. for our routine early morning coffee, cat treat "chat". Then I let him back in the house where it was cool and went to the barn. When I returned from the barn, he greeted me at the door as always. I picked him up, gave him his customary cat hug, put him down, then let him outside and left the back door open so he could come in when he got too warm.  When he came back in he "chirped" his usual cheery "hello", then went upstairs to lay on the cool tile in the bathroom. Nothing unusual so far.

Within five minutes I heard a painful meow. I went into my office where he was trying to get comfortable and noticed him breathing heavy with severe panting and inability to use his back legs. I immediately called the vet. They said to bring him right in.

When Dr.Brattom checked Bear's hind legs, Bear had no pulse in either of his back legs and no pink color at the base of his toe nails. One of his back toe nails was purposely cut short to see if it would bleed. There was no blood and absolutely no blood supply to Bear's hind end. He was suffering from cardiomyopathy and getting worse with labored breathing, drooling, and obvious pain. Dr. B looked at me and said, "Pam, I know this is emotionallhy traumatic for you, but it's his time. You don't want him to suffer."

There really was no decision at that point. Before the syringe with the pink liquid was administered Bear looked up at me, in obvious pain, as if to say thank you for this last great act of love. I told the little guy I loved him, and kissed the top of his head. He seemed both resigned and relaxed as he cradled his head in my arm while the vet injected the pink serum into his forearm. Bear's heart stopped beating immediately. It was a relief to see him free from pain and not gasping for every breath. That's the good part. The bad part is Bear isn't here anymore.

I'm sobbing my heart out as I write this post. I have a hole in my heart the size of the Grand Canyon. He was/is a very special cat. He slept on my bed every night, woke me up every morning, and had coffee "chat" with me on the front porch every day for 11 years. He was my best pal. I can't imagine life without him.

 It all happened so fast. He looked great, was playful, and perfectly fine, then within two hours, he was gone. That's cardiomyopathy. It's a  silent killer. Everything appears to be perfectly normal then bammo; it's over.

I feel a smidge better now. Writing is good therapy. Thanks for reading.

Remember, life is fragile. Love one another, hug one another, and know that I love all of you. Oh yes, please say a little prayer to remember Bear and say one for me so I can get through this devasting loss.

Sweet dreams my dear little Bear.