When I last wrote about the tuxedo love of my life, Hello Newman, he was in terrible shape.  Old, but as a stray, who knows how old, he's definitely past his prime.  He's to the point where even the smallest sign of illness carries, in my mind at least, the harbinger of death.  So a couple of weeks ago, his drunken gait spelled to me the worst.  Even when I had a diagnoses and brought him home, I struggled with whether I'd made the right choice.

We bring animals into our lives for many reasons.   But the gut-wrenching truth remains, that for most of us, we will love them as unconditionally as they love us, even as we know that we'll probably outlive them.  In this, we have to make crucial decisions for them, whilst only guessing what their voice would be.  While we have the ability to write Advance Directives, to help our loved ones handle our dying hour, our animals remain mute on this final step.

For the caring pet owner, the fact of dealing with an animal in pain brings up so many issues.  For some, the cost of care is beyond their ability.  For others who have the luxury of choice, the quality of life concept rears it's horrible head.  The tightrope of balancing a beloved pet's needs with one's own is truly a high wire act.

Today, I saw a miracle, for sure.  I'd gone into the temporary kitchen, (the real one is under construction), where Newman knows that he'll get his wet food.  He actually ran in front of me, his movement only hinting at his diagnoses.  I swear to god that it must be the meds that I got from Girard Veterinary, that have made that old boy spry!  Even though I'd been giving him Glucosimine Chondritine before, they gave me a feline specific pill, which he happily slurps up with his wet food, and has been on since I took him in.

I had pondered whether or not to put Newman down.  As he staggered around, my concern was that he'd fall and seriously hurt himself.  This had a very real basis in fact as my beloved cat Hobbes died suddenly in a freak accident;  he slipped between my bedside table and my bed, breaking, I believe, his neck.  I wanted to spare Hello Newman any needless suffering, and what with his pained walking that had him close to collapse every few steps, this was a very real fear.


For me, the answer came slowly.  I brought him home, ostensibly to medicate and accept his fate.  But truly, I wanted to watch how he lived his life.  Newman is a cat of dignity who has won over the minds and hearts of all who have had the pleasure of his company, serious dog lovers included.   I did not want his life reduced to meaningless movement, just so that he'd be alive for my sake.  But he seemed to take it all in stride, even using the litter box once I'd removed the lid:  a sure sign of improvement!

This morning, when he almost galloped toward his food plate, hair glossy, thinner than he'd been in years, I took hope and held it for a while.  Hello Newman might be able to live into his dotage, along with his presence and pride, but most important;  pain-free.