Lou Reed, 1999(?)-7/12/2008

I couldn’t stay in the room while he did it. I could not watch the veterinarian put Lou Reed, my cat, to sleep.

Lou Reed (a female, despite the name) had always been an overweight, grumpy cat, so I was surprised when she seemed thinner and more friendly this past week.

By Friday night, she was lethargic and shaky. She seemed disoriented, but only when I picked her up to put her in the litterbox did I notice she was too weak to stand. She fell over in the litter and struggled to even turn over.

I went into Internet research mode, as always, but the results weren’t heartening. Possibilities included renal failure, stroke, or paralysis from high blood pressure, for starters.

Saturday morning, Lou Reed didn’t meow on the way to the vet. I took that as a bad sign. Cooper (my male cat), when he was very ill, had been silent as I rushed him to the emergency vet. It was as if they didn’t even have the energy to complain in that normal, catly way.

The vet explained that Lou’s pupils had no response to light. He couldn’t find a pulse in either of her rear legs; he was surprised, actually, that her legs weren’t cold. She had saddle thrombus, a type of blood clot that blocks blood flow to the rear legs. Likely, he said, that another clot in her brain had affected her eyes.

He drew her blood, and we waited.

The bloodwork came back. Besides the blood clots, her liver was failing. A poor prognosis became a dismal one. And that was it. We knew.

I tried to be practical. But the tears still came. The way the vet called her “princess,” the way he spoke to her softly, held her gently, broke my heart.

The doctor wrapped Lou Reed in a blue towel—”like a big burrito,” he said—with only her head and the paw that held an IV sticking out. I concentrated on the tape that held the IV down. It was lime green with pink hearts. The vet sedated her, and my husband, who had been petting her head, let go of her. Her head dropped.

I left the room.

Is that a betrayal? To leave during the final moments? Like saying, “I’ve decided it’s your time to die, but I will not watch”?

I don’t believe in a Rainbow Bridge anymore than I believe in a heaven. I do believe that I did the best, most humane thing I could’ve done for an animal who trusted me to take care of her.

Goodbye, Lou Reed.

—Bellapoison