After sinking her claws into life following her Christmas stroke, Mocha has been loosening her grip. In the last five days, her internal fire has dimmed to a pilot light, and she is lost in the strange haze of end of life.
The vet speculates that her renal failure is shutting down her brain as well, because she has been howling mournfully – several times an hour – and wandering around the house like an Alzheimer’s patient. She no longer wants food, so I have been injecting diluted baby food into her mouth with a syringe – after which she stares at me with baleful eyes and hobbles slowly away. And she has developed the curious habit of putting her front legs into the tall water bowl, up to her wee armpits, dipping her mouth down to the water level.
When I told this to Dr. Sue, she said uh-oh, in renal failure they feel compelled to drink, yet they can’t. I noticed, then, that she was in fact not drinking, and it hit me that my dear Mocha is soon to die. I spent the evening fighting tears, cuddling her… and noticing that I could not, for the first time, coax a purr. Her eyes were not focused on me; they were looking out at something distant.
This morning I’m watching her, holding her, indulging her, waiting to hear from the vet. Ready to let her go, if she is also ready to fly. I keep telling her that even though I’ll miss her dreadfully, she should get the hell out of this failing form, and be free.
Have to leave desk, too many tears. I am willing Mocha’s wings to come soon. Lots of love,
dd
I am new to your blog and am just getting acquainted. However, I lost a beloved companion to renal failure when she reached the long age of 17. My beautiful Cindie Marie, a white feline princess with orange spots, had a strong, strong will and a joy for life, but eventually her organs shut down. She asked for my help (she was too stubborn to go on her own), and my caring vet helped her go while I held her close in my arms. To this day, years later, it brings tears to my heart; Cindie has a piece of my soul with her in spirit. But I also know she is infinitely more happy without her failing body holding her back. I am sending my hopes and prayers to Mocha that she is able to soar free to the Rainbow Bridge and to you to know that Mocha will always be with you and loves you for the love you have given her. “Loving you is the greatest gift of all.” I don’t know who wrote that but it’s true. Loving these wonderful animals is the very best gift of all, and that’s why it hurts so much to have to let them go. Prayers and caring thoughts are heading toward Mocha and to you.
Thanks so much, Cathy – love that quote, and appreciate your good and healing thoughts.
So so sorry, Jane
This is too sad; I don’t know how you do it… It takes a lot of courage to let her choose her own time rather than choosing it for her. Fare thee well, dear Mocha. xo