When I first noticed that Dagny was shrinking and consuming a lot of water but not a lot of dry cat food, she had already lost about half her body weight. Down to under 15 pounds from her maximum weight a few years earlier over 23 pounds. The first round of tests cost me $293 and led to the conclusion that more tests were needed. Second round was $584. And over the course of the next 6 weeks I spent another $142 on testing and then $50 every two weeks for special meds and bags of IV fluids which I had to hang from a wall so I could pinch her skin and stab a needle in and give her fluids twice a day to keep her alive because it felt like the humane thing to do. Dagny was 12 years old and I only had one child, a 14-month-old who was just starting to walk and didn't get in too much trouble and slept (mostly) through the night. When dagny started hiding under the bed with no interest in coming out to eat or drink, I knew the end was near, and on the day I contemplated whether I have her put too sleep, I came home from work to find that she had crawled into a empty Pampers box lying on the dining room floor and died.
Her brother Seymour didn't seem phased at all by her sudden absence, and he continued to eat and talk (almost constantly) for several years before he too started to shrink. Whether or not Seymour became afflicted with the same kidney failure that killed Dagny I will never know for sure. I did not bring him in for $1000 worth of testing, and I never let a vet talk me in to IV fluids. With two demanding children who need my attention and barely enough time for myself as it is, when Seymour started shrinking, I immediately started buying the expensive, fluid-excessive cat foods that the vet had insisted I give to Dagny 5 years ago. And I kept his litter and his water dish clean and full. And the kids and I spent enough time with him that Eva even got over her fear of animals and started insisting that she got to feed the kitty.
Last week during one of the rare afternoons when I was alone in the house I noticed that Seymour was not lifting his head from his cat bed, that he didn't seem interested in moving towards me at all. I found him weak and dehydrated, so in the fifteen minutes I had before I had to pick up the kids I washed him clean and got him a fresh bed in the basement and tried to get him to take some water or food. But it was clear to me he wouldn't last the night, and I had to decide how to handle it with the kids. In the end I left him alone down there and checked on him a couple of times. A friend told me she believed that animals liked to die alone, that it was too hard for them to move on with us there. I don't know whether or not I believe that, but I do know I'm grateful that Seymour died some time during the hour between bedtime snack and the time both children were asleep. When I found him he was stretched out as if the sun were shining on him, and I was glad the kids weren't there.
I told Sam the next day when he and I were alone in the car. He said he was a little sad, but it was okay because Seymour was way up in the sky with Dagny and Grandpa Jim. Then he wanted to know if everyone that ever lived went to heaven, wouldn't there be cavemen there and wouldn't it be really crowded and do they eat in heaven and what kinds of things do they do in heaven and I found myself remembering
those early conversations about Grandpa Jim.
I didn't tell Eva until the next day when she grabbed a can of cat food and said she wanted to go feed the kitty.
"We can't, Honey. The kitty is dead. Seymour died a few days ago."
She looked at me and plopped the can on the kitchen counter and said "Oh" before leaving the room to play with Barbies.
