Ode to Charlemagne

Well, last I left you, our Charlemagne had survived surgery and seemed to be recovering. However, it is unfortunately necessary to report to you that he did not recover as we had hoped. We nursed him through the weekend, keeping him quiet and feeding him pureed food. After his little spit up of blood, I did not notice any more. There didn't seem to be any drainage from his nose either which was supposed to be a good sign. However, he did seem to be struggling when he ate or drank. I tried to convince myself that he was kind of gasping, NOT because the hole had re-opened but because there was a wound in his palate that hurt. Early on Wednesday morning, post-op day 5, we took him to the vet. We had to leave him there for further sedation, but, also, because we had a prior appointment elsewhere. On our way to the appointment, alone in the car with only The Scribbler as the Farmer Girl was alone at home, I received a call from the vet. She reported that the hole had re-opened. She told me we had two options, either an attempt to re-close it or to put him down. He could not survive or live with a hole in his palate. Drinking, eating and breathing would all be a challenge and would expose him to chronic lung infections or aspiration, and probably, ultimately death. I told her I needed some time to call my husband. She told me I had about 30 minutes since he was all ready under sedation.......I was sobbing and could barely drive to get Katie to her appointment on time. She placed a call to her dad telling him to call the vet. He did so and she further explained the timeline and the improbability of further surgery fixing the hole. She said his best hope had been the first surgery. We arrived at our appointment and I called him to find out the decision for our dear eccentric cat, knowing the best option for him was the one I had most feared. I think the thing that kept me most upset was poor Farmer Girl having to deal with the loss of her cat and the bizarre and freaky nature of the entire thing. I just didn't understand why? and how could we have kept this from happening? I think I had rather he had something more tangible or uncontrollable. This just seemed so....preventable.

We made the decision to bring him home and explain the circumstances to Farmer Girls that evening, allowing her time to further digest the inevitable and to have some quiet time alone with him, saying her good byes to him.

Later that day, we picked him up and brought him home. Bob explained to her what was necessary and she asked to be alone with him. Later, she disappeared from the house and we caught sight of her, walking the property. Apparently, in prayer, as she later told us. Charlemagne, although much skinnier and quieter, seemed content to lie on her bed or hide under the covers, being petted. He just purred and purred. One of the hardest parts to digest was how "normal" or "healthy" he looked. He was still interested in cleaning himself and jumping up in the window to watch the birds, enjoying the breeze through the screen. Farmer Girl and I just laid there together with him, crying intermittently and talking while petting this lovely purring cat. I had always thought about how he and his sister would love to run and play in this house after enduring the miniscule space of our previous living quarters! He never really got to enjoy it.

We had many decisions to make regarding time, location, burial site. We alternated between as soon as Friday or as late as Monday, wanting to have more time with him while he still felt well. The vet said since he wasn't eating that it wouldn't take long for liver failure to occur, but that the weekend would be all right. Thursday was spent in intermittent tears, denial, and just trying to forget about the decisions we were facing (isn't that the same as denial?). Farmer Girl, although she longed to be with him and loved him very much, found she could deal with it better while she stayed away from the room where he nestled in the covers.

After many tearful discussion, Bob made the decision for Friday morning. It would allow us to move on with a very busy weekend, full of activities, without the dread and fear of what lay ahead, only delaying the inevitable. It wasn't going away and there was no other option for him.

Bob made a lovely pine box for him, sanded and smoothed. Farmer Girl wrote the words, "I Love you, Charlemagne" on it. She felt much better about the decision of sooner rather than later. Still it was a sad evening as well as night for all of us. I awoke looking at Sara, his sister, in my window, saddened by the memory of how they liked to clean one another's faces and how they liked to play with one another. I was also saddened by how she would miss him and how lonely she would be without him. Farmer Girl slept in. The vet, due to an emergency, could not see us until noon. Farmer Girl wanted to be there at the vets although we weren't sure this was the best decision. We wanted to do what she felt comfortable with and what she would be most happy with.

Two things helped me during this time. One, a friend told me that often God uses the death of an animal or pet to teach us about death and the grieving process. Also, that morning as we lay saying our last good byes to him and I was second guessing our decision, was it the right one? Should we wait? He seemed so healthy and so content. Should we get a second opinion? Is there more to be done? Charlemagne began to drink, licking up much water like he was really thirsty. I was praying for confirmation from God that it was the right thing. As he drank, he began to choke and cough and ran under the bed. Of course, I was upset at his distress, but it allowed me to see that just the normal task of drinking would be difficult for him and that this' as difficult as it was, was the best thing.

The three of us traveled to the vet's office in a quiet car, the silence only broken by the occasional sound of Charlemagne's loud meow as he hates to ride in cars. Only Farmer Girl and I went into the office. She was determined to be with him even if it was the most difficult thing she had ever done. The vet suggested sedation before the injection as they often struggle causing trauma for all. We struggled with yet another decision as we wanted him comfortable. It was the best idea as he relaxed in her arms looking at her calmly and allowing her to hold him until the end. We found that cats don't have the reflex to close their eyes so we didn't really know he was gone until she pronounced him so. Farmer Girls was sobbing as was I. We placed him in a basket wrapped in a soft blanket and I hugged her telling her what a brave girl she had been.

Once home, we placed him tenderly in his specially made box wrapped in soft fabric for burial. We carried him back to the spot in the woods under a honeysuckle bush where Bob had dug a hole. Tearfully, I said a few words, not thinking I could make it through the speech.

He was a great cat, and lived up to his name Charles the Great. He will be sorely missed and was much loved. God continues to comfort us each day in the visible hole in our lives. Farmer Girl most misses him when she wakes in the morning and doesn't feel the remembered lump in her bed.
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:27-29