Strange Machines

Boy ~ 28 January 1992 – 24 April 2009

My sweet baby Boy passed away tonight at 2345h from what appeared to be a cat version of a heart attack. The vet valiantly tried to resuscitate him as his gasping ceased but failed.

He had been eating well at dinner time and seemed his usual self till loud crashes and strange howls from the back around 2240h led me to go investigate.

I found him lying on his side in a pool of spilt water and urine and he was gasping and howling in a voice that terrified me. I carried him to his favourite rug and he foamed slightly at the mouth. He seemed in distress and pain and was shaking. I stroked his fur. He did not flinch.

I tried looking online but found nothing. My Cornell’s Vet book was missing. I phoned the hubby to hurry home. Then I looked for an emergency animal clinic. The nurse took down what happened and told me she’d call the vet.

When she phoned back, hubby was home and getting a box and towel ready for Boy. He said it looks like a stroke and I’d better come along. I burst into tears. For the first time I realised he could die.

I kept telling him as he lay in that box that I was here and I love him. His howling had ceased and he was just gasping.

The nurse was waiting for us downstairs. We hurried up. The vet shaved his paw and gave him a plug. They injected some meds in him and I thought he’d be ok till she put a tube down his throat and the nurse started pressing on his chest and asked us to sit outside.

I knew it was bad then but still held out hope. Tears just burst and I sat while Bear looked at me quizzically. Later he kept asking me where is Boy and all I could say was he is gone forever.

The vet came out and said, he’s gone. I rushed to the room and looked at him. His eyes were open and he merely looked dazed, not dead. One of his eyes had thickened already. I stroked his fur, his perfect soft fur.

It was over but I needed answers. It was too late for a blood test but an xray showed no blockage in his throat nor lungs nor unusual in his heart. Most likely she said, it was his heart, not something he ate.

I let them clean him up and put him in another room for me to say my goodbyes. I stroked him and held him for the longest time, knowing I’d never be able to do that again. Tomorrow he’d be cold from refrigeration. He’d be stiff.

The nurse was kind, promised to wrap him in his towel before putting him on ice. Tomorrow we’d take him to my aunt’s garden to bury him. I won’t have him burnt in some furnace. I held him tight, kissed him, and told him that I loved him before saying goodbye.

He was my first baby and for all of my life, I will never forget him.