Our pets tell us what they want and need.
Quite a few years ago, I first began feeding my cats wet food in addition to kibble. At the time, Mollie had a UTI and needed the extra hydration. I would split a small can between the three of them, but Mollie got all the extra juice.
One morning as I was preparing their portions, her brother Teddy jumped up on the counter and looked me directly in the eye. He said quite clearly, “I want JUICE!” There was no mistaking the message – I heard his voice in my head.
I chuckled because that was classic Teddy. I told him he could have the juice this one time and then explained to him that Mollie needed it to help her heal. He was satisfied with that and never asked again.
Kitty la Mew also communicated very directly but in a much different fashion. She consistently let me know her boundaries. She would ask for some pets, but two or three were enough. If I persisted past that, I would get swatted. She also trained me to be present. She could tell when my mind wandered while petting her, and she didn’t hesitate to express her displeasure.
About six months before she died, Kitty spoke to me with a very clear message: “I am dying. I’ll be gone soon. Please love me and then let me go.” It was unexpected as I hadn’t even been aware she was sick. That was Kitty, strong boundaries right up to the end. When the time came, I asked the traveling vet to come to the house and euthanize her.
Over the last several months, Mollie has been communicating with me – not directly in words like Teddy and Kitty, but with her energy. Through our intuitive connection, I received the message that she was tired and would soon be ready to die.
Two nights ago, Mollie told me it was time. Earlier that afternoon, I brought her home from a trip to the vet. She hadn’t been feeling well for the last year, and the vet was unable to make a definitive diagnosis. In the evening she crawled into the cat carrier – one of her safe places – and began fussing. When I went to check on her, she was flopped on her side laboring to breathe. My initial reaction was to rush her to the emergency vet in Middleton, but I held my seat. She had told me she wanted a natural death, so I allowed.
I wrapped her in a towel and climbed into bed with her next to me. We snuggled, and I talked to her and gently stroked her fur. I told her I loved her and reminisced out loud about some favorite memories of our time together. Four hours later, she took her last breath.
It would have been far easier on me to have her euthanized because watching her struggle to breathe was difficult. But Mollie had told me what she wanted, so I honored her wishes and allowed her to die peacefully at home, cuddling with me in the bed where she spent much of her time. It was a beautiful, emotional painful, peaceful, wrenching natural death.
This work is real, and it matters.
October 7, 2021