Pele was wheezing and struggling to breathe on both Friday and Saturday.
The last few days, she had also been fighting every time she was picked up for her forced feeding. She didn’t want to have it; she didn’t want to do it.
Saturday morning, she was in the master bathroom on the floor with her bowl of water in front of her. She would just hover her face about a quarter inch over the water, as if trying to decide whether not to drink. Or to drown herself.
She would just wait and wait and wait. Then she would have a few licks of water from the side of the bowl. Then she would stop and hover. And she would like a little bit more.
Saturday morning, Linda called the vet, and I took her in, sadly, for euthanasia.
The vet assistant first came to my car and took Pele into their offices so they could install the shunt. They then called me in and brought Pele to me. Then they asked me when I was ready. I said in a few minutes.
Pele was on a blanket and faced away from me, so I spun the blanket, so she could see me and I could see her.
The veterinarian came in with three needles. Quickly, briefly, the veterinarian explained the process of the three needles, with the last needle that would stop the heart.
I kept both my hands on Pele as she received the three injections.
Pele never flinched or showed any signs of discomfort.
After the third injection, about 10 seconds after, the veterinarian took her stethoscope and listened to Pele’s heart. The veterinarian said it was a ‘good passing’ and that Pele peacefully died. So did a part of my soul.
Where does the soul go, where does the spirit go, what happens? Linda seems to know…
I drove Pele home. I had Gato Barbieri on my CD as I drove home. It was Goo’s favorite music.
I came back via the Bridge on the river Kwai, so I could find a lava rock to mark Pele’s grave.
It’s morning, as I am writing this, I have some tears. And Koa is sniffing my face, right by the tears. LiLi just came into the room too, jumped up, and put her nose right by my eyes as well. Then they both just jumped down.
They both were either acknowledging what was going on, or they were trying to figure out if it was time for breakfast.
I often wonder if cats live so much in the moment, in the present, that when a cat leaves, such as LiLi’s kittens, do they really miss them, or are they even aware that the cats are no longer there?
Are the cats so immersed in the experience, such as we saw in the winner of the TV show Alone. He said he was so absorbed in the experience of his time in the wilderness that he didn’t really notice the passage of time. He became a part of time.
Linda and I decided on where to bury Pele. It is next to the Hau trees as you come in on our driveway.
We got a brown paper bag from Ken and Lucy, I asked Linda to adorn it, and I gave her a magic marker. Linda wrote on the bag, and I took a picture of it.
I placed Pele into the bag so she wouldn’t get dirt on her skin, her face, or her hair.
I placed Pele into her grave, and Linda had her Tibetan bowl. It was sad.
I placed the lava rock as a tombstone marker for her grave.
After talking with Liz, I also realize it might be a deterrent to having a mongoose try to dig her up.
I don’t cry much, but I did for Pele. Linda tried to comfort me by sharing that it was simply a passage and not an ending.
I created a photo album of Pele. Found every picture I could, and uploaded those to the shared album with Linda and Kenzie.
May 29, 2018–Aug 6, 2022: It was after I completed the album, but I noticed Google automatically inserted the date range, showing the date of the first picture, which was the day we brought her home from the Humane Society and the date of the last picture which was the date she died.
It was a sad day, but at least Pele wasn’t suffering.
I also recall that I did a Facebook posting when Gigi died as well.
Linda and I love and loved Pele.