Doing that hard, right thing

John D. McDonald's character Meyer tells Travis McGee that the right thing to do is usually the hard thing to do. There are lots of philosophies espousing why the right thing is usually the hard thing, but this "right thing" feels so wrong. On April 12, I had to do that unbearable right thing for my remaining cat, Little E. It was most certainly the hard thing; I'm still praying that it was, in the end, the right thing.

Little E was actually christened Edna (after the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay), but quickly became Little E as her companion adoptee, Ezra Pound (after the poet Ezra Pound) affectionately became Mr. Pound. Adopted together from the Johnson City/Washington County Animal Shelter in March 2001, Mr. Pound and Little E were not related by blood, but by love from me and Dave.

Little E, the early years

There were so many cats in the shelter that Saturday afternoon. I had my eye on a beautiful Siamese kitty who was in the first cage to my left. I wanted to give them all a fair shake, so I walked on by, knowing I could go back to get her. As I walked by a set of stacked cages, a little skinny paw reached out and grabbed my shirt. I turned to look and saw a tiny tuxedo cat. Not quite a kitten. Not quite a full-grown cat. She came right up to me at the bars, pawing through to keep me engaged. I made the quick mistake of opening the cage, allowing her to practically leap in my arms and start nuzzling me and giving me head butts and kitty cat kisses. Her purr was so loud and constant, I was completely overtaken by emotions. Only a few weeks before, I had to do the right, hard thing for the cat of my young adult life, Slim. She was a tuxedo cat, and I didn't want another one to remind me of that pain.

I peeled the needy critter (soon to be my Little E) off my shirt and put her back in the cage to continue my walk. But I kept going back. Each time, she would come straight to me, head butt my hand through the bars on the cage, and purr, purr, purr. And, just like that, tuxedo or not, she purred her way right into my heart.

Little E (left) and Mr. Pound
in one of their few poses together

Little E and Mr. Pound came home with us the next day, and so our new set of adventures began. Little E had the worst breath--another constant throughout her 16-and-a-half-years. Her teeth were in terrible condition, something the vet said was hereditary. But that cat could purr. You could hear her motor across the room, and she purred constantly. However, once we got her home, that sweet, little loving kitty from the pound didn't exist. She wouldn't let us touch her. If I reached out to pet her, she cringed and ran. If I was successful in catching her, she would scratch and claw until I let her go. Dave and I would laugh through all the years we've owned her that she duped us to escape the fate of a shelter cast-off.

Little E was extremely skinny. The first time off the leash in the back yard, she squeezed right through two of the fence slats into the neighbor's yard behind us. She really didn't know her name then, or even much about the neighborhood. I'm sure we looked ridiculous, carrying an empty leash, yelling for a cat.

Little E (far right) was never one
to shy away from a nap

In the house, Mr. Pound quickly established himself as my cat, and the alpha cat of the premises. Little E, I thought, seemed content to let that happen. She took on the role of the family "dog." If the doorbell rang, she growled to alert us, and ran to the door to fend off unwanted visitors. She begged for food at the table (well, anywhere really) and loved almost every single human food she tried--especially pizza. She was an active player and hunter. Every day, she would search for the Catnip Mousey Guy (CMG), catch him in her mouth and cry until we acknowledged her conquest. Then she'd drop him and take a bath. She always had beautiful, soft, luxurious fur that she kept clean through multiple daily baths--usually taken in the middle of the night while we were trying to sleep.

Little E loved to sit
on my sewing projects (2015)

It wasn't until we lost Mr. Pound in June 2015 that I noticed some changes in her. She suddenly became a lap cat. Yes, the cat who wouldn't let anyone (almost anyone) touch her started following me around. Sitting on my lap every time I sat down. When I was sewing or embroidering, she would paw me to crawl up in my lap, and she would sit there on me or behind me while I worked. When I was working on the computer, she would scratch at my legs until I picked her up. At night, she would lay on me or next to me and if I fell asleep on the couch, she would paw me until I got up and took her to bed.

Dave and I have marveled and pondered over this change. While I've enjoyed and come to cherish the companionship Little E provided after Mr. Pound's death, her overwhelming love has made me feel guilty, at times, because this sweet little cat who chose me played second fiddle to a more affectionate cat almost her entire life. As a single cat, she was at peace and, for once it seemed, at home.

Little E enjoyed the outdoors.
She's checking out the frozen ground (2014)

Two weeks ago, she became sick. When I got her to the vet, it was serious but they didn't know what was causing the infection. Toward the end of the week, she rebounded and started acting more like herself. Purring, eating a little (not enough), playing and hunting the CMG. At the follow up visit, the vet said she was dehydrated and had lost too much weight. The next few days were tormenting because that right, hard thing was looming over every other event.

By the beginning of the following week, Little E stopped eating. She would paw at me, and I'd pick her up and put her on my lap, pet her while she purred and fell asleep.

By Wednesday, even though she'd be in my lap, she would continue to paw me. She would sit there, but wouldn't relax as she had before. It was then I noticed that what she didn't have was her tell-tale purr. It was also then that I had to decided to do that right, hard thing because my little girl cat was no longer ok, and wasn't going to get better.

As a pet owner, you always know that time is going to come. When it does, however, it still takes your breath away. It is a tremendous burden to choose to end a life. A life that has brought so much joy; a life that has enriched your own on a daily basis. I have never wanted to make an animal suffer. I have also never wanted to make the right, hard decision to put an animal to sleep. With Slim, the vet told me that it was time. With Mr. Pound, other forces spared me from having to choose.

One of my last pictures of Little E.
She's laying on my legs, stretched out
on one of my quilts. (Feb 2017)

The word euthanasia comes from the Greek, meaning good death. Our vet is one of the most compassionate people I've ever met. And, as with Slim, she and the entire staff, all came in to say good bye and offer condolences. The tech, Dina, who was the only person there that Little E liked, cried as much as I did when she took her final breath. Was her death good? It was painless, I pray, for her. I can't say the same for me. It does little to heal my heart to have been the force that stopped hers. It is an unbearable burden, somewhat alleviated by the fact that she chose me to be her human.

I'm still looking for her: catching myself peering at the space reserved for cat faces on the patio door when they wanted to come in; listening to hear if she scattered a mouthful of crunchies on the floor; stumbling in the dark early in the morning or heading to bed at night, wondering if she is under my feet; bending down to fill her water dish when I brush my teeth. It will take time to stop these behaviors, I know. And each day that passes, I pray the pain will subside and I'll be able to think of her without tears or second-guessing myself.

I'll never know why Little E chose me that day at the pound. As a tribute to her memory, I will choose to make the most of the love and joy she provided as the cat of my middle age. Did I do the right thing? All I can say is that I know I did one of the hardest things I've had to do, and I am trying to convince myself that it was the right thing.

RIP Little E
March 2001-April 2017