Letting Rocky Down Easy

 

We’ve had our cat Rocky almost 16 years, the longest of any animal in our marriage. Now 81 in human time, he’s stone-deaf and arthritic. His once-supple spine feels ridged. One day Rocky was the new kitty on the block, brash and bold. Now he’s elderly. The other day we discovered something that may signal his end is nearer than we thought.

We found a marble-sized lump behind his ear. I brought him to the vet who said it’s probably a cyst. “Still you never know,” he said. “The only way to find out is open it and see what’s in there.”

I shuddered to think of Rocky on the surgical table, given anesthesia while the doctor investigates.

That night, we had a family meeting. We wondered what was most humane. Should we try and prolong Rocky’s life through medical intervention? Or should we let nature take its course?

Coincidentally, I recently read excerpts from Barbara Ehrenreich’s new book, “Natural Causes.” At 76, she’s decided not to seek any more medical attention. “I’ve earned the right to decide when to die,” she said. She stresses this is not a suicide pact. She will go to the doctor with any alarming symptoms, but won’t seek any more screenings, including mammograms, colonoscopies, and routine blood work.

She’s had cancer once and a round of chemotherapy. This time, if the cancer returns, she won’t seek treatment. Instead, she’ll live out her life doing what she loves. “I’d rather relax with family and friends or take a long walk than sit in a doctor’s waiting room.”

I find this attitude courageous. In the West, we treat death as something to be vanquished, to be put off as long as possible, using all measures.

The East takes a more relaxed view, accepting dying as an inevitable part of life.

And I know comparing an animal’s demise to a human’s is a stretch. Yet what Barbara Ehrenreich says still applies. At what point is it best to let nature take its course?

We decided the kindest thing for Rocky is to do nothing. Why put him through a scary medical procedure? If he were young, it would be different. But at this age, risks are great and recovery would be long, if at all.

Meanwhile, this geriatric cat is happy. He still comes into our bedroom each morning at sunrise giving a noisy MEOOOWWW!! (Because he’s deaf, he can’t hear how loud he is).

He still has a good appetite. He still loves sitting on the back of his favorite living room chair, the one that lets him see birds in the backyard. He still hops on the kitchen counter to investigate an open tub of butter. Why not let him live out his final time as comfortably as possible?

Some day the morning will come when he no longer announces he wants breakfast. He won’t be able to jump on his chair or the counter. Stiffness and pain will overtake Rocky. Only then will we make that final trip to the vet, which we’ve done for all our pets.

The other day he sat on my lap. I patted his thin body. He purred and looked at me, slowly blinking his eyes. I’ll miss this kitty. Rocky’s been with us longer than any animal. The first day we got him, he was so little he could fit on my outstretched palms. He had a bad cold and I worried he wouldn’t make it through the night. But he did.  His passing will be the end of an era, as all our pets’ deaths are.

We humans have also gotten older. Time moves on for all.

But for now, I still have Rocky.

And in the meantime, all I can do is give him the strongest and kindest medicine I know…love.

 

(P.S.  Rocky died peacefully in January, 2019).

 

 

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