Put my cat down this morning. Struggling with guilt- I never got the “look” or the “you just know” feeling.

My cat, Peanut, was just put to rest early this morning. She was 17 years old, she made it so far in life. But she had cancer, and she had heart failure.

17 good years, 12 of them with me, and only 3-5 bad days. And only 2 of them in discomfort. Pretty good track record, kid.

I had to rush her to the vet on Tuesday when I saw she was having some difficulty breathing. The vet said she had a pulmonary edema, and it might be time to let her go. My girlfriend and I cried. We tried a thoracocentisis, just to get her home comfortably for lap of love the next day. We cried for 6 hours during the procedure, but when she came out of her sedation, the vet said she seemed so spunky and full of life. After a frank discussion- the fluid could come back, and it could not; it could be the heart failure, and it could be the cancer, maybe even both- we decided it wasn’t her time yet, that we wanted to give her a fighting chance, and then got her on some diuretics.

That was Tuesday. Last night after work I noticed she was having trouble breathing again. I rushed her to the vet, and we had another frank conversation. This much fluid build up this quickly… she would be struggling for the rest of her time with me. Between the CHF and the angiosarcoma in her blood, her inevitable death was going to be awful. Either a saddle thrombus, or suffocating in her sleep. I had some time to accept the end was coming when she got her cancer diagnosis in September, but somehow I had hope that the diuretics were going to be enough to help. That hope crushed me.

It was the hardest decision I had to make. I really wanted her to have an at home euthanasia, but they wouldn’t be able to come for another 7 hours, and I knew she likely didn’t have that long. I got to hold her and hold her cannula for a few minutes, but I knew I didn’t have long. They brought her to me in a sparkly blanket, and I broke down. I had been calling her moon eyes for most of our time together, and she got to go out with a blanket of stars.

My heart is shattered. I know this was the right thing to do. Our last week together was so wonderful, and it was the best gift she could have given me. After her surgery and procedure both, she rallied so well. She started eating again, playing, being snuggly. I got to hear her trill at me and give me slow blinks. A few days after her thoracocentisis, I came to check on her and she crawled into me, laid on my shawl so I couldn’t go anywhere, and purred me to sleep. We had one last big nap together.

I got to see her be herself for her last few days: silly, sweet, playful, kind, and chubby. I think that’s where my guilt is coming in. I always hear people say they tell you when it’s time for them to go, that you see it in their eyes and they say goodbye. But I never felt like I saw that. I feel so afraid she wanted to keep fighting. She had two horrible months fighting an ulcerative mass before she got her surgery, and then a week and a half of feeling better.

I don’t know. I keep telling myself I know this was the right thing to do. She got to go out with her favorite things: a full belly, a really good nap, and my arms around her. I sent her off in her blanket of stars. I just have a lot of guilt that she seemed to be feeling better at the end. I hope I fought for her enough. My vet said a lot of people would not have opted for the surgery, or the procedure, and I’m trying to internalize that. I fought so hard for her, and I saw her fighting, too. Fighting to get better.

I don’t even remember why I made this post. I have her little nose stamp on my fridge, and every time I see it, I break down. I miss her so much, but I’ve been missing her for months when she was barely moving or eating because she was so sick. I hope she can forgive me for not fighting for her more. I just couldn’t stand to see her last day be her suffocating to death, or dying from a painful and scary saddle thrombus. How do you even begin to deal with the grief? I feel like I got good closure with her this past week. But everything opens the wound.