I've written this before, but I'll write it some more...I used to journal pretty regularly throughout my childhood and adolescence, which really was good for me especially in my early teenage years. My thirteen year old self found it as a place of emotional safety, to share thoughts or feelings that I would be otherwise embarrassed to share. I grew up, got busier and busier, and had less time to write, for various reasons. But I am back here, feeling a bit like my 13-year-old self, looking for a place to write some maybe-overly-dramatic, but very-real-nonetheless emotions about my silly old cat, Dexter, dying.
Before he died, I often thought that I wouldn't be too sad when he was gone, because he'd lived a long life, been a good friend, and he was starting to have some crazy behaviors. Afterall, he was starting to get on my nerves a bit too with all his outdoor adventure bravery and strange desire to eat non-cat friendly food. But now in the quiet afternoons of summertime these past few days, I find it to be the most difficult time without him. Lucy and Dexter were my afternoon company, following me around the house, as I finished up chores, getting in the way of me trying to exercise, or staring at me hoping I'd drop a crumb or two, or even look away long enough so they good grab my whole sandwich. And last week when all these things were annoying me, I had no idea that this week, he'd be gone. So I pushed him off the desk, scatted him away as I did my downward dog, or plopped him on the floor as I went to sit on the couch, because I needed my "alone time" with no one looking at me or touching me. I feel a lot of guilt and regret for not hugging on him a little bit more, petting his bony head, or simply being less annoyed by him. I am sad that his story is over, and some guilt and regret on how it ended too.
Dexter has gotten skinnier and skinnier for the past year or so, and has a very sensitive stomach to anything other than his special type of food. But even with others' noticing this and their comments, I had thought he'd be around for another few years, if not for many more months. But then, this past month he's done some insane things like walking all the way to the back fence and going in our neighbor's yard, grabbing whole pieces of chicken or even pizza off the table and running away with it while growling at us if we tried to get it back, throwing up almost everyday, and a usually very clean cat letting his personal hygiene go. And then last week, he was a little more of all of these things, which I didn't notice much until the end of Sunday, when he seemed out of sorts more than I'd ever seen him. He tried to get on the couch but had poop and litter all over his back paws, so we immediately gave him a bath. Dexter didn't fight the bath much, which was really weird, and didn't run away quickly after being dried off and petted some. But I didn't think too much yet. Then we went on a few errands, and came home to find that he had peed on the couch. Initially I thought he was doing it as revenge for the bath, so we thought he need to be scolded. I picked him up from the couch, showed him what he had done, swatted him, and put him on the floor, but instead of running away, he just laid down. I knew he wasn't okay then, and started crying right away because I felt so guilty for getting on to him. He only would take a few steps before laying down, even after trying several things that I know he loved. We tried to get him to eat and drink, and he did some, but then just wanted to be still. We laid him right next to Lucy, and his usual responses didn't happen. Instead, he seemed to snuggle up to her, and let her sniff him. He seemed dizzy and uneasy, and it was apparent he wasn't feeling good. So we sat with Dexter, snuggled him, kissed him, and told him he was a good boy. We laid him on a towel by the backdoor, his "space", and said our goodbyes, thinking he would be gone by the morning.
We woke up and went to see what had happened, and found him still alive, but barely moving and breathing. He had pooped and peed on himself, and a few other places in the living room, evidence that he had slept on the couch and more recently moved back to his area by the backdoor. We didn't know if had minutes or hours, so we wrapped him back up in the towel, hugged him, laid him on the back step, and told him it was time for him to go. That we'd see him soon and that we loved him and that we was always a good cat to us. We got ready to leave for Dallas for the day, as we had planned for my sister's birthday, trying to decide whether or not to take him to the vet. Just before it was time to leave, we decided to put him in the backyard on a cushioned bench, and let him finish out his time in his own time. He wouldn't have to be afraid, he'd be home, and he'd be in his favorite space at home. We left for Dallas, and once again, said our goodbyes. We cried in the car on the way, wondering if what we were doing was right, and there was a cloud over us all day, even though we tried to have fun and get our minds off our poor old cat. As we were leaving Dallas, we realized it was raining here in Norman, and I prayed that he was already gone. We arrived home after dark, about 10:00 pm, and went out to find his skinny and wet body still on the bench. It looked like his chest was slightly moving and I touched it one more time, I believe feeling the last faint beats of his heart. His paws were limp and his green eyes no longer had black pupils looking back at me. I was overwhelmed with sadness thinking that this poor old man cat had been here all day by himself, in the rain, suffering. Chris reassured me, though, that we made the best decision we could for our sweet little black-and-white buddy. Thankfully, Ellie didn't understand what was going on, so she squealed with joy when she saw our poor kitty man, as she did many times before. We had decided even before we left that we would bury him when we got home, so after we put Ellie to bed, Chris came out and dug a hole for his body in our flowerbed. We laid him in his final resting place, told him one more time how much we loved him and that he was such a good cat boy to our family. Chris covered him up with dirt and we placed a rock as a makeshift tombstone until we get a bush to plant to remember him.
It seems so ridiculous to me that I am still so upset that he is gone. Afterall, I had been so irritated with him last week, I had prayed that his time would be soon. Now I keep asking myself: Was I selfish to leave him here all alone all day? Should we have taken him to the vet to end his suffering? Why couldn't I have had a few more days with him? Why couldn't I have been a little kinder, a little gentler to him in his final days? Did we do what was right by him, and not just easiest to us? I'll probably never know the answer to these questions, but I do try to find some peace in these things: He was with me for 13 years. He was part of my everyday for at least the last 10 of those, and he was my friend, and sometimes only roommate. We got him when I was a junior in high school, as a brother to Max. He put up with an ornery little brother who gave him his name, Dexter, because of his favorite show, Dexter's Laboratory, and whom he also learned to find his "happy place" with. He moved in with Jennie and I in 2005, and lived with me at our spiral staircase house, where we had to say goodbye to his always-peeing brother, Max, became "homeless" with me for a few days until I moved into our tiny upstairs apartment, and often stayed with Chris at his place when we needed to hide him from our various landlords. Dexter was our first pet together as a married couple living in our first rent house, moved gracefully with us into our first home, and was kind enough to not scratch up our furniture, even as a new cat did. When we got Lucy, I think he still preferred to be an only child, but still tolerated her nonetheless. In recent years, he kept our house almost bug free, he loved snuggling with both us when we napped, and his piercingly green eyes always blinked back sweetly when we would talk to him. We weren't always the perfect cat parents, and he wasn't always easy to live with, but we loved him and he loved us. He even loved Ellie: she was always happy to see her cat brother and he was always patient enough to let her pet him.
There are so many regular everyday moments that I am going to miss him too. I miss him meowing for fresh food in the morning, even when he was just fed and had plenty to eat. I miss him trying to eat my breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I miss his snatching a piece of Lucy's food before she could get it and only drinking fresh water from her bowl. I miss him trying to get on the desk and lay right in my arms as I try to type this. I miss him sneaking outside, even though he's never been an outside cat. I miss him pushing the top of his head on our hand, arm, or leg to try to get some attention. I miss the sound of his tiny cat paws on our wood floors. I miss him snuggling up to us in the mornings or during naps. I miss him stretching and reaching his paws out to us while on the couch, and seemingly hugging us. I miss his tiny, squeaky meows. I miss him purring when his cat-allergic parents or baby sister finally petted him. I miss telling Lucy to "get the cat" because he was once again on the counter or table trying to sneak a crumb of food. I miss his little face popping up at the end of the table, as if he were dining with us. But most of all, I just miss him being there. Being there to bend down and pat, or there as I walk by and scratch his head, or there to have to move out of the way for whatever reason. I keep thinking I see him out of the corner of my eye, or remembering to not leave food out, only to realize he's not here anymore. He was my cat buddy, and I was his person. I'm going to miss him everyday, but in time, I hope the pain will fade. I don't ever want to forget him, or minimize his importance in my life these past 13 years.
Love you Dexty-Boy. You'll always be in our hearts.
