So after catching another feral cat, I turned once again to animal psychology. If I were a little kitten with all these big scary competitors running around and night were the same as day to me, I would probably gravitate towards the daytime. So I set the trap in the am before going to work rather than at night. Lo and behold, when I got home, there was B waiting for me!
I was so excited. I had to bow out of 2 after work meetings. B and the trap and I set off for the vet. B was very good. I had to take it through the living room to go out of the front door and my cat Monte got a chance to get a good look. Monte wasn't scared as she usually is with other cats and seemed ready to get to know the kitten. But there was no time for chit-chat.
I had decided long before to take B to D.C.'s finest emergency vets: Friendship Hospital For Animals in Friendship Heights. They're open 24 hours a day and are super-capable. They were able to help right away when I rescued Monte, so I felt confident they would be able to do some good things for B.
On the way, to keep B calm, I put on some classical music. B seemed to like that. I felt bad that I hadn't put the tea towel at the bottom of the trap for more comfort, B didn't seem to mind too much. There was no meowing. B was only a little shaken by bigger bumps and jolts. It was alert and slightly curious. I could tell it was in a lot of pain though, just from the quiet and stillness.
Finally we got to the vet. I put B on the counter and as one of the reception techs took my info, I had to recount some of B's story. I started to get a little emotional, then misty and then couldn't stop crying. I made everyone there cry. I was just so overwhelmed with love for B.
Why did I love B so much? I don't know. Couldn't tell you. There was just something about that little orange fur ball. The intake tech told me that he'd never seen anything as terrible as B's case. He mentioned one other case where a cat had been abused by a family who finally brought it in for treatment. A kid had been throwing it up against a wall (they thought). I think it pulled through.
I was relieved that they didn't think it was me who had pulled out B's eyes. That was pretty obvious, though, luckily.
A kind friend stopped by and managed to distract me in between waiting to hear from the vets about B's condition. They sedated it by placing the box in a container and pumping in gas. While that was taking place, I had numerous discussions with B's lead vet who would pop in and out of the hospital part to take about treatment plans -- shots, quarantine, acclimatization, castration (as it turned out B was a little boy kittie). The vet warned me that it might be a bit of a project. I told her I knew -- it already had been and I was ready if B was.
Finally, the young vet came out one more time and took my friend K and I into a smaller treatment room. I could tell from her demeanor and halting speech that something was wrong.
As it turned out, once they'd gotten B sedated and started really examining him, they found a large hard tumor the size of a lemon. B was about the size of a large grapefruit so that sounded bad. The tumor, she told me, holding back tears, could be a number of things, including kitty AIDS and kitty leukemia (she used the medical terms for these). There were a bunch of other things it could be and she told me all of them. All of them sounded bad. She said they were all bad and even if the tumor was biopsied and removed, the prognosis was not good with a tumor that size. It would mean a lot of treatment and a hard road ahead with a very uncertain outcome. To spare B more pain, she said they had to recommend
Putting B to Sleep.
Wow -- those words really fell like a ton of bricks or like the trick door on a live animal trap. No, this can't be! I said. After all we've been through, this can't be. But it was. It was a tough decision. One of the tougher I've made. I'd never had to decide on life vs. death on anything larger than an insect.
But I decided that the last thing I wanted to do was put B through any more pain than it had already had experienced in its short time here on earth. The Head Vet confirmed my suspicion that B's eyes had been removed by human hands, not by another animal scratch or some sort of accident. Plus the tumor, plus not having enough food to eat because the other neighborhood critters had discovered his secret stash. As one of the vets said, "That little guy really got the short end of the stick."
K asked if we could see B before going. Once there, I found B's team of doctors and nurses all in tears. Men and women who treat sick and injured animals and even put them down daily. B -- well, you've never seen a more bedraggled creature in your life, but he was still a good-looking guy. Another vet held his little face up to a mask with oxygen and gas. I caressed a paw and stroked him. He looked very peaceful. One of the vets, a young man, told me it was better this way, for B. That his eye sockets were just pus-filled holes of pain. They recommended putting him down -- ending his life -- while he was sleeping. The lead vet told me that where B was going there would be no more pain -- and B would have eyes again. I smiled. Then they asked me about
Burial Options.
See, there was another concept I wasn't quite prepared for. The thought of taking home a dead B was more than I could handle at the moment. I preferred to remember him alive, although now I think it might have been nice to bury him in the garden he loved so much. His home.
But again I took their recommendation -- they would handle it for me and bill me. It's been a few weeks now. And I haven't received the bill yet. Knowing Friendship, it's possible they won't bill me. They are like that there. When I rescued Monte several years ago, they sent me home with a bunch of free stuff. They dig animal lovers there.
I couldn't help doubting myself though. What if I had caught B sooner? What if I told more about what was going on to my family? I hadn't shared much since I didn't want to have to deal with their emotions and expectations as well as my own. I figured I'd tell them the whole story once I got B more settled. Now, I thought, if only I'd enlisted more help. My mother is so smart -- she would have thought of something. My brother loves animals -- he might have had some good advice. If only I'd acted more quickly, more decisively, would things have turned out differently? And geez -- what a name! I *never* thought it would be his last.
Epilogue: Where do kittens go when they die?
I went home alone. I was glad to still have Monte. Monte, from her brief contact with B, caught a nasty kitty cold, but recovered, thank goodness over a couple of days. I was left with nothing but a live trap, a jumbo box of Kitten Chow and a broken heart.
Just as I was falling asleep that night, back from the animal hospital, I felt a little ball of warm light hover over my face - a little fuzzy around the edges. It was there only for a few seconds. Long enough for me to know it was there. Then it was gone. I'm sure I was just dreaming, but I hope that meant that B is in a better place now. That he was glad that I'd tried to do something for him, even if it wasn't what either of us had expected.
It wasn't the happy ending Monte and I'd hoped for: a happy, healthier, if handicapped kitten that grows up to be big and strong -- a fun, very special companion. But for B, it was the happiest ending I could arrange. Given the choice of a slow and painful death and a quick, painless one -- I'd like to think I made the right choice for B's sake.
A friend tells me that there are stories where even the Buddha believed that killing a living being under certain circumstances was the most compassionate option to choose. I've read a number of Buddhist tracts and haven't run across anything like that, but I'd like to believe it's true.
So that's the Ballad of Blindie. The end of our story. May he rest in peace.
Cheryl, I'm really sorry to hear that. It's a sad end, but it sounds like you were right about the treatment options. That people can be so cruel as to blind a kitten is offset by the fact that people can be so kind as to try to take care of the cast-offs.
Posted by: John | September 29, 2004 at 07:44 AM
I see that you have some support from friends about the steps you took. I'm sure that others would tell you the same thing.
This is such a touching story that I think you should submit it to the W. Post or other local news outlets.
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