Saying "Goodbye" to Jewell

I was in first grade.  I wanted a cat more than anything.  A grey cat.  On my birthday, my aunt showed up at ice-skating lessons and told me to look in her car.  There she was--my new grey cat.  Obviously, I was thrilled.  I had a grey cat with pretty blue eyes, and I named her Jewell.  With two L's.  She would let me hold her, she slept with me, she liked dogs (NOT other cats), she was a good cat.  I learned quickly that she liked to be scratched under her chin and at the base of her tail, but, after you pet her, she would give herself a bath.  Jewell found her "hiding" spots--under the rocking horse at the top of the stairs, on a chair in the dining room, and, at Christmas, under the tree.  I could always count on her being in one of those spots.  She was very reliable.  

February 1, 1998

Jewell became ill this past April.  She didn't want to eat or drink (even ice cream).  She started hiding in a new spot and didn't want to be bothered.  She stopped bathing after being pet.  There was nothing for the vet to treat.  Considering her age, I knew what this meant.  But we tried.  She got subQ fluids twice.  She kind of bounced back for a couple days after the 1st round, but there was no improvement after round 2.  A couple of times when I went to my father's house to check on her, she wasn't in her spot...and I realized that I could not handle finding a dead cat.  I knew things were getting worse, and I knew what needed to happen.  It's very logical.  An old pet is sick and dying, so you euthanize them and put them out of their misery.  Right?  Makes lots of sense.  Very humane.  

April 12, 2012

On April 14th, my father was out of town, and he told me to do whatever I thought needed to happen.  So, my mother came over to the house with me.  We found Jewell in her hiding spot.  We assessed her.  Her vitals weren't normal, she was having a obviously hard time breathing, her gums were ashen, and she was making a moaning sound of sorts.  It was clear she was in pain.  It was time.  We took her to be "put down."  It was absolutely, completely horrible.  I had no idea that it would be that hard.  It was probably the hardest thing I've done in my 21 years of life.  And I'm not a crier, but I cried a lot that day.  It was ugly.  And my mom says, "Did you notice the vet?  He was cute."

So she's gone.  Except her ashes are in a pretty box in the back of my closet, which is kind of weird.  Jewell was the perfect cat for me!