My cat Smuttynose, a.k.a. Smutty,
Smutters, Nosey, Noser, Tigger, Fluffyface, Winkins, Scion of Evil, and Elnie’s
Baby, died on Nov. 1.
Smuttynose came into my life in
2000, a birthday present from my ex-wife. We went to a local animal shelter to
pick out a kitten, but we found a scared orange cream neutered male cat who
winced in his cage. We brought him home and he immediately hid under the bed
(as newbie cats are wont to do), but through time he showed an eagerness and
friendliness towards humans. He was more dog than cat, always exploring
whenever people were about.
During my separation, Smuttynose
came to live with me in my shitty (former) apartment. He stood by me, all whiskers and fluffy paws,
through divorce, moving, evacuation from Hurricane Sandy and moving again.
My girlfriend Elnie fell in love
with him and called him her baby. He was a well-fed, well-loved house-lion, a
tiny beastie who never lashed out in anger and was a gentle creature.
He was the King of Kitties.
But even kings are not incorruptible
to the crushing forces of time.
He developed diabetes, a heart
murmur and early stages of kidney disease. We gave him two shots of insulin for
a year and worked on lowering his blood pressure.
A month before he died, he vomited
six times in one day, prompting an emergency vet visit.
Then, on Nov. 1, we noticed him
limping, dragging his left front paw. I knew immediately what was happening.
We’d have to say goodbye.
The vet told us he developed a
blood clot. Though she recommended a follow-up with a cardiologist and an
aspirin regimen, the vet’s grim prognosis was that Smuttynose had six months
left. He would be living in pain, and if nothing could be done, the limb would
turn gangrenous and have to be amputated. The idea of a tripod cat didn’t
appeal to us, since the poor animal suffered too much already.
We decided to have him humanely put
down.
I sign the papers authorizing the
euthanasia as he sits on the examination table, one leg folded under He’s been
through so much, a lifetime of bliss and trauma. He’s an old man, stricken with
diabetes and a heart murmur.
The vet inserts the catheter as
Smuttynose rests comfortably on a plaid blanket. We say our goodbyes, but are
still in shock. Even when the vet inserts the first injection, the one which
will stop his heart and “send him to heaven” as the aide told us, time freezes.
Smuttynose’s head sinks low. His pink tongue lolls out of his mouth, his eyes
wide open. Elnie and I lose it. I turn away, unable to process what’s
happening.
In that one horrible transformative
moment, he ceases to exist. He’s gone, leaving his still-warm body curled in a
heap on the blanket.
Smuttynose embarks on his final
journey, one taking him beyond the stars to Bastet’s realm.
My first pet and four-legged child is
no more, dust for the ages.
Shaken, we thank the vet and her
assistants and leave silently.
Five days later we receive the
cremated remains in a rosewood box adorned with a brass engraved plaque reading
“NOSEY”. We also receive a card about the Rainbow Bridge, a mythical place in
the afterlife where all pets go to await their owners. It was beautiful and
comforting.
We bought a bouquet of flowers and
delivered it to the animal hospital, thanking them for the compassion they
showed during the whole agonizing ordeal.
I’d like to think Smuttynose is on
the Rainbow Bridge, chasing squirrels and birds, rejuvenated and young,
breathing sweet air and eternal happiness.
