Almost two months to the day of losing our first cat, we lost a second. Jupiter was my cuddle buddy. She would go lay in bed with me when I read, follow me out to the couch during the times of Tim’s intense snoring, snuggle beside me any chance she got. When I had surgery a few years ago, she wouldn’t leave my lap for a week. Anytime I wanted to get up, I had to have someone physically remove her.
She also had cancer, and developed two tumors in her lungs. She started getting fluid around her lung tissue at the end of October. I noticed her breathing had changed. She didn’t seem in any distress, but it was faster and heavier, and by the end of her life, she had lost weight and muscle mass because all of her energy was going to trying to be able to get as much air in her lungs as possible. We came home from an errand one morning last week and found her lying on the living room floor, stretched out on her side, still alive, but we knew that was the moment. We sat with her while I called our new vet, and she moved around a bit, pushing her head against my husband.
At the vet’s office, one of the assistants took us to a room, had me sign the paperwork and pay then, so we wouldn’t have to worry about it after the procedure, which I thought was super nice. She left us alone with Jupiter, who was lying on a plush, fleece mat. It was at least ten minutes before the veterinarian came to put her to sleep, allowing us time to have with her. Jupiter wasn’t always the best patient, and unlike Lexus, who started moving around and even bit the doctor in WV, she didn’t even raise her head when the doctor entered the room. The first shot of anesthesia given to relax and put her to sleep pretty much did what the second shot intended to do. Jupiter had a heart condition, and though we managed it well over the last 5-6 years, I think her poor little ticker wouldn’t have lasted much longer even if we hadn’t gone that day. Jupiter’s blood pressure dropped so much that they couldn’t find a vein in either back leg for the second shot and had to use a front leg. By then, if her heart was beating, I couldn’t tell. She only gave a few breaths in between shots, and they sounded like the air reflex instead of actual breathing.
When we first arrived at the vet’s office, a woman was standing at the counter, and asked if our kitty was sick. Tim told her that we were actually there to put her to sleep. That poor woman. She immediately teared up, telling us that she lost her dog last month, so of course we felt even worse.
Now we have one animal in the house and it’s quiet. Isis is turning into a lap cat, which she’s never really been, and sleeping with us each night, which she didn’t do often because Jupiter would jump on the bed and stand near her until she got up and went away. Jupiter may have been a passive-aggressive snuggler. 🙂