Coco's Death

Coco died at about 8:42 this morning. I don't think it was such a bad death, as far as dying goes. I am definitely glad that I didn't seriously consider the option of dropping her off at the 24-hour vet. They probably never would have gotten around to giving her the shot, and Coco would have died in a strange place all alone with a lot of other cats and dogs wailing and moaning in suffering, as if in hell. I am also glad that I was too averse to drowning her in the tub. Although I could have convinced myself that it was a grand step done in kindness, I would not be able to simply blow off the idea that her last experience in life would be suffering a murderous attack by her own caretaker and companion. I was very tempted early in the morning at about six, she started to cry out more violently, but then I realized that she would stop crying when I lied down next to her and petted her and told her again and again, "I love you, Coco." Then at a little after eight thirty, after I finished my little breakfast, I thought I heard a little cry, and i went to check on her. She was experiencing little but somewhat dramatic convulsions. I was expecting something like this, but much worse, thinking that I might have to end it myself, after all. However, it wasn't that bad. She didn't seem to be in pain. I'm not even sure if she was still alive, thinking that this might be a nervous reaction, but I think I caught some signs that showed she was at least barely alive, as I'd pet her and tell her, "It's almost over, baby. It was a good life, some good years. I love you!" And then it was all over. When I pick her up and held her dead body, I gave a good hard little cry, of course. However, within the hour, as I finished taking care of everything, cleaning up and dealing with the dead body, I was actually feeling pretty good, even a little euphoric. The vigil and the suffering was over! Then I decided to fire up the laptop and take care of some e-life. I wasn't up for serious reading quite yet. As I sat there, waiting for the system to come online, I looked out the window. It's a bright sunny morning, and it hit me from another angle: I am never going to see Coco again.

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Coco was only 7 years old, being born in the first week of April of 2009. I feel like we could have been luckier there. I regularly hear of cats living into their middle teens, rather like dogs, perhaps having a shade less longevity. I was hoping that we would at least hit the ten-year mark with our cats. On the other hand, with all the other cats, those feral cats, it seems lucky enough to make it past their first birthday. So, we could have been luckier, but we did have some good years.