The End
I prefer to start with the end of his life, because I want to end on a positive note.
Fred had a history of getting a urinary blockage, essentially meaning that he had bladder stones and would get blocked, unable to urinate. It's a very serious and life-threatening situation and should always be attended to right away. He had been blocked three previous times and treated by our local vet.
After we arrived home from our anniversary trip to San Antonio, May 20th, Fred was clearly in pain. He was "yowling" (an anguished meow) and had a hard mass that we could feel in his gut (his full bladder). It was right at 5:00pm, so we rushed him to the Vet School instead of our local vet because it was an emergency situation that couldn't wait until the next day.
They took wonderful care of him. It was certainly expensive, but it was necessary to save his life. Even though he was hospitalized, he was still sweet and lovable in nature.
He was in the hospital from May 20th-25th. They catheterized him, flushed out his bladder, and fed him an acidic prescription diet to dissolve the stones. Late on the 23rd, they removed the catheter and monitored his condition to make sure he could urinate on his own before sending him home. He always had a sensitive stomach (got carsick), and so I think because of all the medication and the stress of the catheter being removed, he vomited and seemed nauseous. They kept him in the hospital until Sunday morning the 25th. He had not really eaten since they removed the catheter but agreed to send him home thinking he might do better in a familiar environment.
He didn't eat at all on Sunday, nor Monday morning. Finally on Monday evening, he allowed us to hand feed him.
Tuesday-Thursday morning, he definitely seemed like he was getting back to his old self. Happy and feeling better. He wasn't quite 100%, but he was mostly there. He even ate several meals on his own, and went back to stealing Hershey and Ethel's food after his meal.
Thursday evening, he didn't eat. I figured he had pigged out enough on Ethel's food earlier and just wasn't hungry. But Friday, he still didn't eat. He also seemed lethargic and just wanted to sleep and be left alone. This concerned me, but I felt under his tummy and didn't feel a hard mass (which if I had would have indicated that he was re-blocked again). So I thought maybe he just felt nauseous and had an infection or something. I know sometimes when animals and people are sick, they just want to curl up and sleep it off, so I left him alone and tried not to worry about it.
On Saturday morning, May 31st, we woke up, and decided to go garage sale shopping before eating breakfast or feeding the pets. We got home around 9:45am. While Michael was making pancakes, I took food outside to feed the pets. I couldn't find Fred though. I finally saw the dogs sniffing under the moisture-wicking garden bed (there's a a couple inches of a gap underneath) and I saw that he had crawled underneath it.
I called his name, but no response (he would normally meow in response and come to me). I knelt down and touched him, but he didn't move or respond. I thought maybe he was dead. I panicked and gently pulled him out from under the garden bed. He was alive, but not wanting to move. I brought him inside and pretty much lost it.
I called my mom, my parents rushed over. We took him to the vet school again. I was hoping it was just a bad infection or he was re-blocked. I really didn't think it was life-threatening.
The vet told us he was definitely not blocked (good news), but he was very dehydrated, had abdominal pain, and she wanted to run some blood work. She listed a couple of possibilities of what could be wrong and that any one of them would be bad news.
We took this picture of him and then left the vet school to await the results, hoping the outlook would be favorable.
The blood work revealed that he had pancreatitis - inflammation of the pancreas. The cause is unknown, can be caused by infection, trauma, other things unknown. The treatment required lots of fluids and close monitoring for weeks, and even treatment wouldn't give a high chance of succeeding. And even if successfully treated this time, he would have been at future risk of it happening again. The treatment estimate was over $4,000. If the treatment had a better outlook, and not a high chance of recurrence, we would have likely gone through with it.
We decided the best decision for him was to put him down, but I wanted to be present. I just could not bear the thought of his last sight or touch being a stranger, so I wanted to make sure I was there. I'm glad to have given him that.
When we arrived back at the vet school to be present for it, they brought him and set him on my lap.
It was so hard. We both started weeping.
I guess because they had been giving him fluids for a couple hours, he was more alert and seemed happy to see us. He started purring right away. But he was still very weak and sick.
Michael took this picture of us shortly before they injected the euthanasia medication. We both were weeping when it happened, but I just kept petting his head until he went limp and passed.
They took him and put him in a cardboard box/casket and we brought him home to bury him in our yard. We picked a shady spot by one of the side fences. We plan to make a concrete memorial stone to lay on top.
We slept with all the pets in our room that night and I cuddled with Ethel the whole night.
Ethel seems a little lonely. As you'll read about shortly, Fred and Ethel grew up together.
When we brought Fred home and buried him, we were careful to dig a deep enough hole to prevent the dogs from smelling anything, as well as packed the dirt tightly and laid a large stone on top. When we finished, we stayed outside and walked around the garden. When we were in a different area of the yard, we saw Ethel walk from the porch to his grave and meow a few times like she was saying goodbye. I don't know if it was a coincidence or just cat curiosity, but I choose to think she knew. We've decided that she can stay indoors more often than when Fred was still alive, so that at least she'll be around Hershey or the dogs most of the time.
It's been really hard for me especially because he and Ethel were my first pets that I took with me when I left home. I had him for 12 years. So since Saturday, I'll find myself randomly crying as I remember something cute he did, or remember that he's really gone. Fred was such a lovable and likable cat, he's left a big hole in our family. We're still thankful for all of our pets and many blessings, and are still excited to adopt a baby, but we greatly miss him and I feel sad that he's no longer with us. I know it will get easier each day, and eventually I'll stop randomly weeping, but it's hard right now, and likely for the next couple weeks as the reality sets in.
So now I want to reflect on the good times we shared with Fred.
Fred's 12 Wonderful Years With Us
During the summer of 2002, between my junior and senior years in high school, my mom and I were outside our house washing our cars. A little tortoiseshell kitten ran out from underneath her car, and I quickly claimed her as my kitten. What to name her? We both loved the show "I Love Lucy," so Lucy seemed like a good choice, but we weren't sure yet.
I prefer to start with the end of his life, because I want to end on a positive note.
Fred had a history of getting a urinary blockage, essentially meaning that he had bladder stones and would get blocked, unable to urinate. It's a very serious and life-threatening situation and should always be attended to right away. He had been blocked three previous times and treated by our local vet.
After we arrived home from our anniversary trip to San Antonio, May 20th, Fred was clearly in pain. He was "yowling" (an anguished meow) and had a hard mass that we could feel in his gut (his full bladder). It was right at 5:00pm, so we rushed him to the Vet School instead of our local vet because it was an emergency situation that couldn't wait until the next day.
They took wonderful care of him. It was certainly expensive, but it was necessary to save his life. Even though he was hospitalized, he was still sweet and lovable in nature.
He was in the hospital from May 20th-25th. They catheterized him, flushed out his bladder, and fed him an acidic prescription diet to dissolve the stones. Late on the 23rd, they removed the catheter and monitored his condition to make sure he could urinate on his own before sending him home. He always had a sensitive stomach (got carsick), and so I think because of all the medication and the stress of the catheter being removed, he vomited and seemed nauseous. They kept him in the hospital until Sunday morning the 25th. He had not really eaten since they removed the catheter but agreed to send him home thinking he might do better in a familiar environment.
He didn't eat at all on Sunday, nor Monday morning. Finally on Monday evening, he allowed us to hand feed him.
Tuesday-Thursday morning, he definitely seemed like he was getting back to his old self. Happy and feeling better. He wasn't quite 100%, but he was mostly there. He even ate several meals on his own, and went back to stealing Hershey and Ethel's food after his meal.
Thursday evening, he didn't eat. I figured he had pigged out enough on Ethel's food earlier and just wasn't hungry. But Friday, he still didn't eat. He also seemed lethargic and just wanted to sleep and be left alone. This concerned me, but I felt under his tummy and didn't feel a hard mass (which if I had would have indicated that he was re-blocked again). So I thought maybe he just felt nauseous and had an infection or something. I know sometimes when animals and people are sick, they just want to curl up and sleep it off, so I left him alone and tried not to worry about it.
On Saturday morning, May 31st, we woke up, and decided to go garage sale shopping before eating breakfast or feeding the pets. We got home around 9:45am. While Michael was making pancakes, I took food outside to feed the pets. I couldn't find Fred though. I finally saw the dogs sniffing under the moisture-wicking garden bed (there's a a couple inches of a gap underneath) and I saw that he had crawled underneath it.
I called his name, but no response (he would normally meow in response and come to me). I knelt down and touched him, but he didn't move or respond. I thought maybe he was dead. I panicked and gently pulled him out from under the garden bed. He was alive, but not wanting to move. I brought him inside and pretty much lost it.
I called my mom, my parents rushed over. We took him to the vet school again. I was hoping it was just a bad infection or he was re-blocked. I really didn't think it was life-threatening.
The vet told us he was definitely not blocked (good news), but he was very dehydrated, had abdominal pain, and she wanted to run some blood work. She listed a couple of possibilities of what could be wrong and that any one of them would be bad news.
We took this picture of him and then left the vet school to await the results, hoping the outlook would be favorable.
The blood work revealed that he had pancreatitis - inflammation of the pancreas. The cause is unknown, can be caused by infection, trauma, other things unknown. The treatment required lots of fluids and close monitoring for weeks, and even treatment wouldn't give a high chance of succeeding. And even if successfully treated this time, he would have been at future risk of it happening again. The treatment estimate was over $4,000. If the treatment had a better outlook, and not a high chance of recurrence, we would have likely gone through with it.
We decided the best decision for him was to put him down, but I wanted to be present. I just could not bear the thought of his last sight or touch being a stranger, so I wanted to make sure I was there. I'm glad to have given him that.
When we arrived back at the vet school to be present for it, they brought him and set him on my lap.
It was so hard. We both started weeping.
I guess because they had been giving him fluids for a couple hours, he was more alert and seemed happy to see us. He started purring right away. But he was still very weak and sick.
Michael took this picture of us shortly before they injected the euthanasia medication. We both were weeping when it happened, but I just kept petting his head until he went limp and passed.
They took him and put him in a cardboard box/casket and we brought him home to bury him in our yard. We picked a shady spot by one of the side fences. We plan to make a concrete memorial stone to lay on top.
We slept with all the pets in our room that night and I cuddled with Ethel the whole night.
Ethel seems a little lonely. As you'll read about shortly, Fred and Ethel grew up together.
When we brought Fred home and buried him, we were careful to dig a deep enough hole to prevent the dogs from smelling anything, as well as packed the dirt tightly and laid a large stone on top. When we finished, we stayed outside and walked around the garden. When we were in a different area of the yard, we saw Ethel walk from the porch to his grave and meow a few times like she was saying goodbye. I don't know if it was a coincidence or just cat curiosity, but I choose to think she knew. We've decided that she can stay indoors more often than when Fred was still alive, so that at least she'll be around Hershey or the dogs most of the time.
It's been really hard for me especially because he and Ethel were my first pets that I took with me when I left home. I had him for 12 years. So since Saturday, I'll find myself randomly crying as I remember something cute he did, or remember that he's really gone. Fred was such a lovable and likable cat, he's left a big hole in our family. We're still thankful for all of our pets and many blessings, and are still excited to adopt a baby, but we greatly miss him and I feel sad that he's no longer with us. I know it will get easier each day, and eventually I'll stop randomly weeping, but it's hard right now, and likely for the next couple weeks as the reality sets in.
So now I want to reflect on the good times we shared with Fred.
Fred's 12 Wonderful Years With Us
During the summer of 2002, between my junior and senior years in high school, my mom and I were outside our house washing our cars. A little tortoiseshell kitten ran out from underneath her car, and I quickly claimed her as my kitten. What to name her? We both loved the show "I Love Lucy," so Lucy seemed like a good choice, but we weren't sure yet.
The next day, my mom dropped her off at the vet to get a round of kitten vaccines and while there, saw a little orange kitten face sweetly looking at her from a cage. The little orange kitten had been found as a stray.
My mom went to work, but kept thinking about that little orange face throughout the day. After work, she went to go pick up the tortoiseshell kitten from the vet. When she got home, she set the cat carrier down in the front hallway and came into my room. She asked me to go to the front hallway and get the towel out of the cat carrier so she could do laundry.
When I opened the cat carrier door, not one, but TWO kittens walked out: a tortoiseshell and an orange kitten. She said, "Let's name them Fred and Ethel!"
Fred and Ethel have been inseparable from the beginning.
They often slept curled up and intertwined with one another.
Fred and Ethel were the pets I took with me when I moved out for college. (I later adopted Hershey when my Granny passed away.)
Michael instantly liked Fred when I met him in 2005. (Ethel took a while to warm up to him.) Fred was just like that: instantly likable. He was so friendly and sweet, would respond to his own name with a cute "meow" and loved to snuggle.
Fred was so cool-natured, he got along really well with the dogs, especially Abby.
There are many things that we will miss about Fred. We had a running story in our family that Fred was really Frederick, the King of Purrrrrsia. And that Ethel and Hershey were his concubines. He was a very entertaining cat.
He loved to bask in the sunlight and was a lazy boy.
But he was always curious about what the humans were doing. He would often jump up on the window sills outside and peer in.
He would coo when you touched him while he was sleeping, like you surprised him.
I'll also miss just having him around. I'll miss looking outside in the backyard and seeing him lounging on the hammock or in the garden. I'll miss snuggling with him when he'd jump up on the hammock while we were laying out in the sun.
He loved being outdoors. He also loved to dig a small hole under the fence to get out of the yard and go exploring. I of course wanted to keep him in our yard to keep him safe, so I would go looking for him. He knew his name, and so all I'd have to do was call "Fred!" a few times, and I'd hear the jingle of his collar and then see his orange body emerge from the woods.
One time, we couldn't find him right away, and Michael discovered him hiding out in a drainage tunnel that ran under the street. Such a rascal.
He had a few neighborhood cat friends that he'd go play with. One night we came home from an outing and I saw him hiding in the bushes with a cat friend. I called his name, and he trotted quickly to me as if he was saying to his friend, "Sorry, gotta go, that's Mom calling me!"
He was very special to us. I'm so thankful for getting to have 12 wonderful years with him. He was a sweet and loving companion. My little buddy. My Freddy Boy.
Each day will get easier, I know. But for now, I'm sad. I'm hurting. And that's okay. I'm allowed to be sad and to miss him. Time will heal this pain. I'm glad I was able to be there for his last breath. That he left this world in loving arms. Now all we can do is ponder the sweet memories of him and move on through time.
This is how I'd like to remember him: my sweet and happy buddy.
Fred and Ethel were the pets I took with me when I moved out for college. (I later adopted Hershey when my Granny passed away.)
Michael instantly liked Fred when I met him in 2005. (Ethel took a while to warm up to him.) Fred was just like that: instantly likable. He was so friendly and sweet, would respond to his own name with a cute "meow" and loved to snuggle.
Fred was so cool-natured, he got along really well with the dogs, especially Abby.
There are many things that we will miss about Fred. We had a running story in our family that Fred was really Frederick, the King of Purrrrrsia. And that Ethel and Hershey were his concubines. He was a very entertaining cat.
He loved to bask in the sunlight and was a lazy boy.
But he was always curious about what the humans were doing. He would often jump up on the window sills outside and peer in.
He would coo when you touched him while he was sleeping, like you surprised him.
I'll also miss just having him around. I'll miss looking outside in the backyard and seeing him lounging on the hammock or in the garden. I'll miss snuggling with him when he'd jump up on the hammock while we were laying out in the sun.
He loved being outdoors. He also loved to dig a small hole under the fence to get out of the yard and go exploring. I of course wanted to keep him in our yard to keep him safe, so I would go looking for him. He knew his name, and so all I'd have to do was call "Fred!" a few times, and I'd hear the jingle of his collar and then see his orange body emerge from the woods.
One time, we couldn't find him right away, and Michael discovered him hiding out in a drainage tunnel that ran under the street. Such a rascal.
He had a few neighborhood cat friends that he'd go play with. One night we came home from an outing and I saw him hiding in the bushes with a cat friend. I called his name, and he trotted quickly to me as if he was saying to his friend, "Sorry, gotta go, that's Mom calling me!"
He was very special to us. I'm so thankful for getting to have 12 wonderful years with him. He was a sweet and loving companion. My little buddy. My Freddy Boy.
Each day will get easier, I know. But for now, I'm sad. I'm hurting. And that's okay. I'm allowed to be sad and to miss him. Time will heal this pain. I'm glad I was able to be there for his last breath. That he left this world in loving arms. Now all we can do is ponder the sweet memories of him and move on through time.
This is how I'd like to remember him: my sweet and happy buddy.
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