Last Saturday, we had to say goodbye to our Bela.
It was one of the hardest things we've had to go through and my heart is still fairly well bruised. Both Schmoobs and I know it was the right thing to do by Bela, but it's hard to put into words the emotions you feel when you are forced to accept the fact that the final responsibility you have as a pet owner is to make the decision for them if the time comes. That what they deserve is for you to be with them and stroke their head and paws as they fall into one last final catnap.
He had begun slipping downward again last week, starting at about Monday. He was beginning to vomit his food again, just like he did when Schmoobles was out of town last month. But this time, he didn't make a recovery after three days. It hurt my heart to see him wanting to eat, but not being able to hold any of it in. After several days, he just became tired of it all and stopped being interested in any food altogether, no matter how many different kinds of food we tried to give him. By Thursday, the only thing he had had that week were the small bits of Nutrical that I could bear to torture him with and water.
Even though he still had the energy to walk around our house occasionally, he was more and more spending hours upon hours in our guest bedroom in the back of the house sleeping. I told Schmoobs afterwards that I found myself hoping that I would walk in to check on Bela in that calm and quiet room and find that he had passed on peacefully in our home. How sick is that? I hated that I had those thoughts, but it was true. I wasn't sure where I would find the strength to make that call to the vet. Schmoobs told me that he had the same thoughts too. Still, Bela held on. Bela, stubborn and hard-willed to the end.
On Friday afternoon, Schmoobs called me from work to tell me that he and a couple of his TAs were meeting for drinks and to see if I wanted to join. I did. I thought an hour or two to clear my head would give me the capacity to have
that conversation with Schmoobs. Before I stepped out the door in our kitchen to meet them, Bela started throwing up again, and I realized that he wasn't even able to hold down the water he was drinking anymore. A couple of times those last few days, I watched Bela as he gingerly got up from lying down to adjust himself or shift positions, and I noticed that his legs would tremble just ever so slightly, like they were struggling to support his body for the first time ever. And when I petted him, I could feel his bones more and more easily. I was devastated. I sat with him a while as he lied down on the blanketed crate we set up for him next to his cat tower, now covered in the cat nip that I had been giving him all week, and stroked his head and cheeks gently. I apologized to him. I apologized for not being being able to get rid of his cancer. I apologized that I didn't know what else I could do to help him eat. I apologized for getting closer and closer to accepting what was coming.
When I got to the bar, I tried to be in good spirits, mainly because we were with company and also because I thought I should practice controlling my emotions when thinking about Bela. Schmoobs could tell something was on my mind, though. He kept asking if I was okay and what was wrong. I kept trying to tell him that I would tell him later and that I didn't want to say anything right then because I would get sad. But finally, I had to just say, "I think we have to talk about Bela." He knew what that meant. There I was, at a sports bar, trying to hide the tears streaming down my face. At one point, I got up to make a mad dash for the door so I could cry out of sight of the bar patrons, but realized I probably couldn't do it without making a spectacle of myself, so I sat back down and just sat with my back to the bar, facing a wall of televisions and neon signs. Televisions and neon signs can't judge me for crying in the middle of the afternoon in a sports bar. I think golf was on.
I was convinced that it was going to be up to me to make the arrangements with the vet. I knew Bela was Scott's special guy. I've mentioned it here before, but it was Scott and Bela before it was Scott, Ys, and Bela. He had Bela since he was a kitten and nursed him back from near death when Bela had a terrible kidney infection. I wasn't sure if Schmoobs would be able to do it. But while we were sitting at the bar, he just put his arm around me and said, "I'll call the vet tomorrow." It was so sad, but also gave me a much needed breath of relief. Thank you for that, Schmoobles.
Bela was still in the back room, looking weaker and weaker every second it seemed, that night. When it was time to sleep, I went downstairs and scooped him up and placed him in bed next to me. At some point in the night, I woke up and he had stubbornly gone back to his room downstairs. He was always a cat that knew what he wanted.
I showered the next morning and Schmoobs called our vet. We would be bringing him in at 11am. We still spoke with hope. The doctor would see Bela and talk to us about our options. Something to help his tummy. Something to give
him us more time. But we brought him in and spoke to his doctor about what had been happening the past week. The vomiting, the hiding out in the back room, the weakness, the stupid tumor that had grown so large and was growing around his side. She just looked at us and gently said, "I think it's time..."
We were both there with him. That's what my wish was a few weeks ago when I was scared he was going to go before Schmoobs got home. As much as we hurt at this moment, I will always be thankful to Bela for staying strong until now. When he first got cancer, we told him, "Just hold on until after winter so you can be in the sun one more time." When we left the country for a week for my brother's wedding in March, we told him, "Just hold on until we get back so we can be here with you." When summer was approaching and we were buying our new house, we told him, "Just hold on until we get moved into the house so you can finally have the sun room you've always wanted." And when he started taking a turn for the worse last month, I told him, "Just hold on until Scott gets back." And he did all those things.
Bela was good enough to rebound for a while, so we could all be the fearsome foursome in our new house for a few precious weeks. And as much as it hurt to go through it, and to even think about it now, he held on long enough for us both to be with him and hold him, stroke his head, pet his paws, and tell him again and again and again that he was a good boy. He was a good boy.
When it was done, our vet and her assistant left us in the room to be with Bela in private. It was only then that Schmoobs broke down.
*
Do you all believe in signs? This last week, just a couple of days after Bela started getting sick again, Schmoobs and I were out in our backyard grilling for dinner. There, on our gravel driveway just at the bottom of our porch steps, was a blackbird that had somehow gotten severely injured. It was just standing, limp, as if in a daze, and twitching its head repeatedly. I wanted to call somebody to come help it, but it was beyond saving. I tried to give it some sugar water, but it didn't help. Before long, it had started writhing around on its back. The next morning, it was passed. That was a sign. Preparing us, and preparing Bela.
But there was another sign. Like, literally, a sign. After we left the vet on Saturday, I had no desire to just go back to our less occupied house right away. I asked Schmoobs, "Do you want to just drive around for a while? Maybe check out the Arboretum and see if we can take BB there sometime?" So we did. We pulled out of the driveway of our vet and drove down a main road that we drive down on a daily basis. A road that's less than a mile from our house and we've driven down virtually every day for the past year. But it was only this one time that we had been driving down for less than ten seconds after leaving the vet, that I looked outside my window just in time to see a street sign that I had never once noticed before: "
Rainbow Rd."
And I smiled and couldn't help but think that Bela was already trying to tell us that he was okay.
It still hurts. It will hurt for a while. It might hurt a little always. I'll forever think with fondness of his years with us and will be always grateful for his companionship. Even when he tried to feast on my toes on occasion. Minions must be kept in line. He knew that.
Bela was truly one of the greats.
Yesterday, Schmoobs and I went to have supper and drinks at our favorite gastro pub downtown and we had a toast to Bela. It was the first time we were able to sit and talk about our distinguished kitty without dissolving into tears. The gin helped, probably.
We'll get his ashes back later this week and he will have a prized spot on our fireplace mantel. When we do get him back, I think I'll feel a little less empty and sad.
My next post will be happier. Memories of Bela that make me laugh. Or at least laugh and cry.
Thank you for everything, Bela. Rest in peace. Or whatever it is you're doing up there - Sunbathing in peace? Licking your special bits in peace? Smacking around little doggies in peace? Feel free to snack on my
appetoesers anytime in my dreams.
President of the Finer Things Club. Our Night Watchman. One half of the Beebla. Smella Bela. Tres Assoles. Fists of Fury. Yoga Master Level Ten. Distinguished Kitty. The Most Interesting Cat in the World. Belanator. The Sun King.
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