Saying Goodbye

“So, are you a dog person, or a cat person?” This is a question that most people will hear at least once in their lives. Whenever I’ve been asked this, I’ve always felt a bit perplexed. As someone who’s grown up with both animals as pets, I struggle to find the words to express my stance, which is, to say, that I don’t favor one over the other. 

Dogs, with their blind loyalty, unconditional love, and perpetual desire to please, are true companions, while cats, independent as they are, set the relationship on their own terms from the get go. Dogs tend to hang on to their owners every move, while cats often broadcast a detached indifference towards those who dutifully fill their bowl with kibble and tend to their stinky litter boxes.

For those who favor dogs, they see this dichotomy as a direct indication that cats do not appreciate their owners, that they simply expect royal treatment without anything in return. On the other hand, cat worshippers often see dogs as oblivious simpletons, beasts of dependence whose obedience is born from a need to be coddled and spoiled. It should be said that both of these stances are generalizations, that there is, in fact, little sense in comparing these two very different animals, other than the fact that they are the two of the world’s most common and beloved pets.

I suppose, just like with anything, I can find kernels of truth in these comparisons. There have been times when, as a dog owner, I’ve felt my dog’s constant shadowing and need for attention to be extremely annoying and exhausting. Conversely, I’ve often found myself turned off by my inability to illicit any type of acknowledgment from my feline friends. With that being said, I’ve always understood this disparity to be nothing other than a difference in disposition, one that doesn’t reflect either species inherent value to me as an owner.

One thing that both these animals share is their ability to become, once they enter our lives, much more than simple possessions. They become family. This realization hit home with particular poignance over the past six months, as my dear cat Linx waged a  battle against cancer. Over a year ago, some lumps began to appear. At the time, these growths didn’t set off any alarm bells, after all, she was nearly fifteen years old. However, when a sizable lump below her ear began to erupt into a nasty crater, I felt compelled to bring her to the vet for inspection.

As it turned out, this malignant bloom was in fact a mast cell tumor, one that arises from mast cells, a type of immune cell involved in allergic reactions. These cells release histamines and other chemicals, which in Linx’s case, resulted in inflammation and eventually, a rupture. The veterinarian suggested a fairly aggressive approach, in which the tumor would be extracted, followed by localized radiation and chemotherapy. 

My choice was fairly simple, invest in a solution that might see my kitty see a few more years of comfortable existence, or just let the process, which had already resulted in a couple more suspicious looking growths elsewhere on her body, take it’s course. On one hand, the decision did have it’s financial considerations, as surgery and treatment would not come cheap, while on the other hand, simply letting the painful growths slowly consume her could prove to be a lengthly, and traumatic experience for both of us.

As I weighed these equally troubling scenarios, I took some time to reflect on the journey that had gotten us to this point. You see, Linx came to me in a time when I desperately needed some light in my life. By the time I adopted her in 2009, I had been experiencing crippling chronic pain for a number of years. When that evolved into a scary autoimmune disease diagnosis and a growing reliance on heavy duty pain medication, I spiraled into a dark place. The depression became so overwhelming that I rarely left my house and spent more time asleep than awake.

At the time, I’d been living with a few childhood friends and although I was less than a mile away from the home I grew up in with my parents, they must have felt helpless to provide the level of support that I clearly needed. So, that year, for my birthday, they offered to buy me a kitten to keep me company. I’d always been an animal lover, yet up until the day I met Linx at the animal shelter, I had no idea just how transformative her presence would be.

When I brought the petite buff tabby home, who I’d named Linx,  something amazing happened. With this little precious soul so suddenly and completely reliant on my care, I began to think outside of myself. While I may have not immediately ceased my unhealthy lifestyle choices, at least now I had another being with me in that dark room. As our bond grew, I found myself more upbeat and willing to engage in life. As the years progressed, having this little ride-or-die homie on my team greatly increased my ability to see the blessings in my life. It didn’t erase my pain, but it sure did make my suffering more tolerable.

Seeing the impact she’d made on my life, how could I do anything but everything I could to take care of her in her own time of need? Sure, cats, more than dogs, may come off as indifferent or unappreciative of their owners at times, but they still deserve every bit of protection and consideration. With that realization, I decided it was worth the expense to give Linx a fighting chance to live out the rest of her days free from pain.

Up until a week ago, it looked like that gamble was going to pay off. The surgery, although aggressive, looked to have eradicated the tumor and slowed the growth of the others that had spread to her torso. When I took her into the vet for her check up, the doctor, upon inspecting her body and blood labs, seemed optimistic about her ability to complete her treatment by June 15th. The expenses involved in her recovery, as well her struggle with the toxicity of the radiation, seemed to be well worth the trouble.

Unfortunately, I awoke on Tuesday morning to find that my companion of nearly sixteen years had passed away in the night. The fur ball that had spent all those hours snuggled up on my lap and sunbathing by my side as I read in the backyard was, in the blink of an eye, gone. I spent nearly an hour there, cradling my cold and stiff sidekick, as the tears came in torrents. Eventually, I wrapped her in a towel and reluctantly began digging her grave.

Nothing can prepare one for such a loss. Whether it’s a goldfish, a lizard, a dog or a horse, saying goodbye to a beloved pet is one of the hardest things one can experience. While they all have their own unique and distinct qualities, the one thing they share is their importance in enriching our lives. So the next time your dog’s incessant shadowing gets on your nerves, or your cat’s blasé response to your presence offends you, try not to take it personally. They could be gone before you know it.