From Reese's Facebook page:
"Way back in 1990 I asked Mason, who was about 11, to go down the street to borrow a funnel from a neighbor. Mason came back with a beautiful kitten. "Daddy, can we keep her, an we, can we???" We named her Sonny Girl. What an amazing cat and friend she has been all these years. Today we had to say goodbye to her. We will miss her and will always love her. :( RIP Sonny Girl"
I HATE LOSING PETS. This year we're on number two. It ain't one of those things that gets easier either.
Sonny was Mason's cat until she adopted me when he moved out. For the past ten years she has been my baby. She's been through five houses. two dogs, two cats, three boyfriends, one husband and one baby with me.
She was simultaneously the most mellow and demanding cat I have known. Nothing about moving phased her. As long as the couch showed up at the new place, we were in business. She didn't like for her food bowl to be below a certain line and if it was, she'd sit near it an yell at me until I filled it to par. She was a sun bather and moved across the carpet, following the sun and sleeping in it's rays until she was a in shadow, then moving again to the sunny spot.
She was a love. She loved to be loved.
Of late, she stopped bathing herself and had become matted. She never peed in the litter box any more and had dropped to just 7 pounds. Her movements looked painful and she spent all her time sleeping on the couch. She hadn't slept in our bed in months.
I really didn't know how to make such a decision. I still don't. Because of a decision I made today, the cat I was sitting next to and cuddling this morning will never be in my arms again. Ever. I'll never again kiss the soft hair behind her ears and smell her Sunny Girl smell. I'll miss it like crazy. I'm tore up.
The veterinarian was kind and gentle. Sonny's blood pressure was so low that finding a vein was practically impossible and was making her upset. So they asked me and I agreed to give her a sedative so as not to have her last moments be so traumatic. It worked. She was practically limp she was so sedated. I held her while they gave her the shot, and then she really was limp. That was it. Gone. I was crying. Loudly. I was not ok. Everything seemed unreal. She looked perfect and peaceful and like she could be roused if I wanted. Watching her belly not rise and fall made me feel hysterical. My longest love had passed.
I freaking hate it.
I want to roll around on the floor sobbing. There is no old, sleeping cat on my couch to snuggle up with.
In my distress there are small comforts: she won't be hurting as hobbles across the floor to the water bowl anymore, she won't be peeing on (and then walking through it) the floor anymore, she won't puke up half the food she eats, she won't not make the jump up onto the couch if the stool isn't there.
The vet assured me that we were on the downward slope of this life for her. Her condition wasn't going to stay the same, it would worsen. I had the loving and immensely difficult task of choosing her end date, if I wanted. I could let her life get more uncomfortable, more undignified or I could spare the possible hurt she'd be in for and let her life end on more pleasant notes.
I hated it. I'm sobbing now. It's such an impossible position to be in. I told her over and over how I loved her, how I'd miss her so, so much. And I do.
I freaking do.