Lanky has been with me for the last 15 years. We’ve been through a lot together. More than what I’ve been through with most humans. Lanky is a short-haired black cat I adopted from a friend who was going through a divorce many years ago — a lifetime ago. He’s been my partner in crime ever since. And now, at the age of 20, he is slowly losing his gusto. He scampers a little less frequently. He gets sick a little more often. And he tolerates my toddler and preschooler to the best of his ability.
The last time I had to say goodbye to a pet was in 2005, when my childhood dog, a sweet and loving Weimaraner, passed away during my second year of teaching. I was devastated and heartbroken, but I was alone, so I was able to mourn by eating ice cream, watching sad movies, and laying in bed for an entire weekend, weepy and miserable.
Now, I’m a mom, and it’s a little different. Rather than just coping with my own emotions over the loss of a pet, I have a 4-year-old asking me questions that I’m not really prepared to answer.
“What’s wrong with Lanky?”
“Well, he’s old, and a little bit sick, and the vet says there’s nothing we can really do except make sure he’s comfortable.”
“Is he dying?”
“Yes. Not right now. But we have to be really careful with him and make sure he’s doing OK each day.”
“Why is he dying?”
“Well, he’s old. And his body is old so it’s not working the way it used to when he was young.”
“Aren’t you old?”
And then I freeze. Because yes, compared to a 4-year-old, I am old. As is my husband. And my parents, who live with us, and who act as caretakers for my two young girls while my husband and I work. So I choose my words carefully.
“Yes. Mommy is old, but people live longer than pets. And mommy exercises and eats good food so her body stays young and strong and healthy.”
“I don’t want Lanky to die.”
“I don’t either, baby. But unfortunately, we don’t really have control over things like that. All we can do is be the best family we can to him for now and hope that each day is a good one for him.”
“When Lanky dies, can we get a new cat?”
And now I have a stunned look on my face. Because just like that, the 4-year-old has moved on. She loves our cat, but the prospect of a new cat, and what she can possibly name it (Mearl or Princess), has taken over her little mind, and she is no longer concerned with why Lanky and I just returned from the vet for the second time in two weeks.
Like so many obstacles I have endured and overcome, I am taking Lanky’s final days one day at a time. I am giving him extra wet food. I am sitting and cuddling with him when I can (which, sadly, isn’t as often as I’d like, but such is the life of a mom). I am watching him and making sure he is comfortable and happy.
During his last visit, I talked to his vet and we decided that while today isn’t his day, it is on the horizon, and the best we can do is make sure he is not in any pain. So I wait and I watch and I hope he is happy. I hope I’ve given him a life that was full of fun adventures, helicopter purrs, and lots of love. When the day does arrive, I will approach it in the best way I can, with my head held high and my cat in my arms, knowing that his life and his death were both full of love.
