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Most users ever online was 29 on October 1st 2013, 12:09 am


    Silky the Cat. 2000-2015.

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    Bad John
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    Silky the Cat. 2000-2015.

    Post  Bad John on December 26th 2015, 6:50 pm

    My cat died. I got over it with time, but I remember it distinctly as one of the most painful things that has happened to me. As stupid as that sounds, it's the truth.

    It happened eight days ago. December 18th. I came in to check on him during the day, and my heart sank when I realized I couldn't find him. He wasn't sitting in his carrier, as he'd taken to doing recently. He wasn't sitting on the weight rack either.

    When I located him, I only had a moment of relief. He was laying on his side, as if asleep. His eyes were open, and something felt...off.

    When I said his name, he wailed. He let out a meow that sounded scared. Like when he was a kitten, and we'd give him a bath. The kind of wail that let you know he didn't like what was happening. I picked him up, and he didn't move with my touch, or away from it. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed when I set him on my lap, but he did not make an attempt to move on his own.

    For an hour, I was frantic. He made no sound when I held him, nor did he move. He just stared ahead, occasionally twitching. When I would set him down to get something, he would let out that scared yowl. Looking back, I think he knew that death was coming, but couldn't move. He just didn't want to be alone.

    I did everything I could to try to spark some life in him. I got a turkey baster that we used to administer emulsified medicine, and I gave hum water. He drank several gulps, but eventually, he stopped. He let it dribble down his cheek and wet his fur. He'd had enough, but it didn't help. He laid in my lap. The one and only move he made was to push his face against my chest. He knew I was there, and he was asking me to stay. He was praying for comfort as death approached.

    He felt very cold. I set him down, and went to run my hoodie through the dryer quickly. I put him in a blanket, then when the drier was finished, I wrapped him in my warm hoodie. His nose was bleeding, and the blood stained some of the fabric at the top of the zipper.

    Mark came home. We knew he wouldn't last the night. From the beginning, our vet suggested putting Silky down, but I didn't want to believe it would get this bad. But, Silky seemed tired, and other than pushing against me for warmth, he could hardly move. I was time.

    Billy was out of town, and couldn't come home in time to see through the procedure. I used Skype to let him see Silky one last time. Billy didn't know what to say. When he called out to the dying cat, Silky responded a little, but seemed confused. Billy said his last words to Silky. "I love you very much," he'd said.

    We drove Silky to the emergency clinic. The nurses were very polite, and seemed very remorseful about our decision, but they could smell death on him too. Silky was suffering. He couldn't move, and the only sound he made was a plaintive caterwaul whenever we set him down or left him alone. We signed papers, and we took him into a small room with a metal table.

    She weighed Silky to make sure the maximum dosage was correct. She asked if we wanted his body back when the procedure was over, and we agreed. She then asked if we wanted a body bag for him. I asked if it zipped up, and she called it "like a thicker trash-bag."

    "Don't call it that," I said. Mark immediately backed my statement.

    "We've known this guy for fifteen years. Please don't call it a trash bag. If you can't think of other words, just don't grace it with description."

    To her credit, she immediately retracted the statement and apologized profusely. She was sensitive to how we felt about the subject.

    She left us to tend to him for one last time. That was when I broke down. I stroked him and he moved a little. He twitched his paws, like he was dreaming awake.

    "I'm sorry I did a bad job taking care of you," I said. I repeated those words through sobs.

    Mark said nothing, petting him. He didn't need last words. He was just content to be there for him.

    The nurses returned. She rubbed Silky's paw with alcohol. She said the needle would be the worst part, and that he'd go to sleep peacefully.

    When I saw the needle, I choked two words.

    "Oh God." I couldn't bear the sight of it. It was filled with a pink fluid, a little bubble rising into the collected air pocket by the plunger.

    Silky pressed his face against our hands. He purred a little.

    The needle went in.

    "Oh God." I said again, pathetically.

    She pushed the plunger. The words caught on my throat, as I watched the liquid travel into Silky's vein. I watched his eyes. His chest stopped rising and falling, and his eyes grew glassy, the pupils dilating.

    "I love you boy. Just relax." I tried to straighten my voice. I'm not sure how I sounded, but I didn't convince myself, I know that.

    It didn't take long. She pressed a stethoscope to his chest, and said, "he's gone."

    I sobbed over that metal table for a while. One of the nurses wiped her face, like it was a bit too real for her. They said they'd give us time before taking Silky for an exit weight, and wrapping up the body. They left the room. Mark didn't sob, but I saw tears on his face when I had the presence of mind to look up.

    I spent several minutes weeping over Silky. I'd known him for fifteen years.

    Vale called Silky "The Arbiter" after hearing some funny tale about his courage.

    Silky once killed a mouse in my room while I was sleeping, and woke me up by putting its body at the foot of my bed.

    Silky once killed a possum by knocking it off a tree and into a bin of recycled glass.

    He loved shredding toilet paper.

    He would run away, and go to a dentist's office for some reason, and we would have to get him and drive him home.

    The first time we took him to the vet, he saw a dog and climbed my Dad like a tree, clawing him all the way up.

    He's gone now.

    I like to believe that for him, the afterlife is a place with no doors or walls, and he can go wherever he likes and do whatever he wants.

    I don't know that for a fact. I just know I still love him, and wish I could see him again.

    We got him a single cremation, and they're delivering us the urn this Monday.

    Thank you for your time.
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    Shad0wChas3r
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    Re: Silky the Cat. 2000-2015.

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on December 26th 2015, 10:36 pm

    Sorry for your loss John. I know all to well the pain of losing loved companions.

    My cat, Jasper, passed away last year in my lap. I had rescued him from an abusive home the year before. After a quick trip to the vet, I brought him home and kept him for about a year before he passed.

    He was a pretty young cat, maybe two or three. He used to climb me like a tree, but was very gentle in his methods. Whenever I raided my refridgerator, he'd always gently swat the side of my cheek, before reaching in and tapping the cheese drawer.

    We still really don't know why he passed when he did, but I remember that he had made it onto my lap and fell asleep there. Jasper's not the only cat I've lost, unfortunately.

    What I'm trying to say is, I'm no stranger to the passing of cats. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, and I hope that Silky is tearing the great toilet paper rolls in the sky peacefully.

    If you need anything, let me know.


    _________________


    \\'Boyo\\'

    Thanks for Reading!

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    Manny
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    Re: Silky the Cat. 2000-2015.

    Post  Manny on December 27th 2015, 2:05 am

    Believe me when I say you did the BEST thing you could have done in his hour of death: you were there for him.

    My cat was poisoned, and after having gone missing for three days we found him dead and stiff near our house. He died alone right by our house, probably feebly calling for help and never having those calls answered. It fills me with shame to this day; I stayed up late playing video games that entire summer! Maybe if I'd bothered to call for him one last time before going to sleep I might have heard him and been able to do something?

    My point is, take comfort in the fact that you were there. He took GOOD care of him, he lived to be 15 after all. That good care didn't end in his hour of death; you made sure he didn't face death alone.

    Remember, I'm also here if you need someone to talk to.

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    Re: Silky the Cat. 2000-2015.

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