Meet Pnut. He’s the oldest of our pets. What can I say about him? He’s 16 and he’s seen a lot of change in his life. Good old stable Pnut with the milk mustache and the ability to see shadows has been as much a part of our family as BB has.
Two weeks ago, he was diagnosed with cancer. He’s had a good life and the pain of chemo would likely be too much for him to bear. So, since he’s 16, we decided that we’d let nature take its course. We brought him home, fed him some salmon and told him he could go any time he was ready.
In the two weeks since his diagnosis, he’s lost an unbearable amount of weight and the tumor in his back hip is growing out of control. His leg has become paralyzed and he can barely get around. He’s in pain. But he’s had a good life, and he doesn’t want to let go of it.
So we had to make a second impossible decision in two weeks: we are going to euthanize our cat. We found a vet who will come to our home and she’ll be here in about an hour. One hour. Sixty minutes. How does one deal with that? How do you look at your cat and know he’s going to die in an hour and just be okay with it? It’s impossibly painful. He’s not just a cat. He’s a valuable and loved member of our family, and now he’s on death row. It’s enough to make me want to drink. A lot.
My heart is broken. My husband, who has had him since he was just weeks old, is crushed. And BB is at a complete loss as to how to say goodbye. He can’t even think about it without crying. And as a parent, that’s just another thing that makes this so hard. I can deal with my grief, but helping my son deal with his is more painful than I could have expected.
What else is there to say except:
Dear Pnut, we love you and we are so, so sorry. You will be missed by all of us. Thank you for all you have brought to our family.