All of my life I’ve been a dog person.
That’s mostly because that is what I had as pets all of my life. I had one the instant I was born. Shadow, a German Shepherd, was already part of the family as I began my life. My brother and I spent our childhood with that big dog, running around the yard, fetching tennis balls and sticks, exploring the backyard woods, and he was always tough yet gentle. He was trusting and kind to everyone, even to the point of enduring pain – a group of teenagers from the nearby junior high once put out their cigarettes on his head, and he did nothing to them. But as we got older and faster, he got older and slower. Arthritis crept into his bones and made life difficult for him. The day we had to put him down was one of the harder days of my youth.
I did not wait too long for another dog… my family was going through a divorce and comfort was needed. So we adopted another family member, a feisty dachshund who a few years later played chicken with an oncoming car, and lost. Another dachshund we passed on to a farm family when he proved he did not enjoy his indoor environment by destroying my bedroom.
Our last dog, Heidi, was a calmer and happier member of her breed, and ultimately she stayed with me until her 16th birthday. She was having some difficulty breathing that day, and after bringing her to the vet and getting medicine to treat her situation, I felt safe enough to leave her at my place for a few hours.
When I came back, I found that she had passed away in my absence. Even though she had lived a long, good life, it was a profound shock to me to suddenly find her that way. I remember leaving the building and wandering outside aimlessly. It was a few days after Christmas, and I was without a coat not paying attention to the cold. My mother came by eventually and helped me deal with the situation. Heidi’s ashes were put in a tin that I have kept with me to this day. I knew I did not want to experience this feeling ever again, and I swore off adopting a new pet for nine years.
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I was with my girlfriend Ellen in 2009. We had just moved into a roomier apartment with a lot more space. Ellen was not someone who could hold a job for very long (perhaps more on her later), so she would often be alone at home while I was out with work. She decided that it would be a great idea to adopt a cat to keep her company. I was initially resistant, remembering the pain I dealt with at Heidi’s passing. Plus all of my previous pets were dogs – well, there were also fish, insects, frogs, a rabbit, an entire civilization of guinea pigs… but no cats. A friend told me that cats were great for busy people, though; they mostly take care of themselves. You just make sure they have food, water, and a litter box, and you’re good.
So I gave in and she started inquiries. What caught her eye was a flyer at a restaurant: two cats free to a good home. Two? I was hesitant about one, and she wanted two. Still, I begrudgingly took her over to the author of the flyer. The man told us that the cats were his daughter’s, but that she was at college most of the time and he also travelled for long durations. He wanted them both to stay together – they were brothers.
Eventually the two cats stalked into view: one was a big fellow, black and white, and the other was an orange and white with a crooked tail that had been injured early on (caught in a door, the owner said). Their respective names were Tigger and Gizmo, and Ellen was immediately in love. Hoping I would not regret the adoption, we made the arrangements and they were brought home a week later. Ellen rechristened them: Tigger became Marlon and Gizmo was now Hamilton.
It did not take long for them to endear themselves to us. They were both very friendly guys: Marlon was a lap monster and constantly put himself front and center. Hamilton was more reserved and let Marlon lead, but was just as lovable and eager for attention. My reservations quickly dropped away.
Six months into their stay, we heard a strange cry coming from the bedroom. Marlon had fallen off the bed and he wasn’t moving his hind legs. We rushed him to the vet only to find out that he had suffered saddle thrombus – a blood clot blocking all blood flow from the heart back. It was irreversible, the damage was too great. Euthanasia was the only real option. From the moment he fell to his last breath was only about two hours… it was incredibly shocking.
But we still had Hamilton, and I would be DAMNED if I was going to experience another loss. Hamilton got a comprehensive examination, was treated for several conditions, had half of his teeth extracted, and was brought as close to completely healthy as I could manage.
He responded to the treatment; he became livelier and more expressive. He was also fully out from behind Marlon’s shadow and, while he clearly missed his brother, he finally got to shine on his own.
Two years later, Ellen and I broke up. All of my future plans had been blown to pieces. My heart was shredded. I was alone and the apartment seemed cavernous. I sat at night shrouded in the darkness, listless and inert. It was at that moment that Hamilton must have decided that he was going to stay by my side and never leave. He placed himself next to me and didn’t get up – for hours. Only when I eventually got up did he follow suit.
From that moment on, Hamilton could usually be found wherever I was, often following me from room to room. He’d curl up against my leg when sitting, jump up in my lap when I was feeling melancholy and just hover around me nearly all of the time, swishing his crooked tail with contentment. Everyone commented on how loyal he seemed. When I looked at him next to me, he would give me this look, as if to say, “Don’t worry… I’m here”.
When I started a relationship with Jinkee, I became a constant commuter, travelling 80 – 100 miles there and back every other weekend in order to be with her. Naturally, Hamilton came with me. He hated the carrier I put him in and sulked the whole trip, but he enjoyed the new environment at the destination, and made himself right at home with every visit. Eventually, with future plans again forming in my mind, I really began to think of the three of us as my little family.
Then at the end of 2014, problems started happening. He showed imbalance in his blood chemistry that indicated possible kidney problems. He had lost all the weight that he had gained after his tooth extractions, and he was not as vibrant as he was months earlier. Medicine and diet changes were made. An ultrasound was completed to investigate the kidneys, and he pulled muscles struggling from the procedure. So more medicine. He appeared to rebound, but his overall health seemed to be spotty, and generally declining.
By the end of January 2015, he stopped coming to my side. He remained stationary a significant amount of the time, and his appetite dropped to zero. I would often come to him to cheer him up, but he would eventually want to pull away to be by himself in the basement.
He was rushed again to the vet. They found a large amount of fluid buildup in his lungs. He was slowly drowning. They drained his lungs and collected details in order to make a positive diagnosis. They suspected either heart disease or cancer. It was a Friday, and it was the weekend we were to travel to Alma to spend with Jinkee. Based on his condition, I made the decision to cancel the trip and instead would take care of Hamilton at home. (That’s all I’ll say about her for now.)
Over the weekend, I had his lungs drained again… they were filling up quickly. I administered food and water to him every three hours in order to keep his strength up. I gave him more medicine for the suspected heart disease. Since he preferred to lie in the basement, I grabbed my pillow and covers and set myself up next to him, though I rarely slept. He was so miserable, and his condition did not improve much. I talked positively to him, but I grieved at his pain.
Monday came, and we went back to the vet. I was hoping it was heart disease, as cancer would have been a darker journey. That’s when the bombshell was dropped. Feline Infectious Peritonitis: a rare virus that can lie dormant for many years. It is incurable, and it is fatal. I was left with two choices: We could put him through a lot of medical procedures, drain his lungs every day, and continue the vigil for a few more months until his body gave up, or I could say goodbye now.
Deep in my heart, I knew immediately what I had to do, but the rest of me could not accept this. I sat in the room in a state of shock for perhaps an hour, stroking and comforting poor Hamilton sitting quietly on the table. I was waiting for something… ANYTHING… to present me with a way out. There had to be a way. What if there was a chance it just SEEMED like that virus? Could the diagnosis be wrong? I know and trust the doctor, and I am certain she would have given me hope if there was any doubt. I ran through every treatment scenario in my head, but each one had extended pain and misery for him. Would the lab call to say the results were wrong? Would Hamilton suddenly get up and act like everything was fine? HE IS ONLY 13… HE’S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO GO.
I burned through all of my doubt, my outrage, and my desperation, left with nothing but a dull sense of futility. I had to make the decision. I had to make the only decision I could make for him. The staff somberly began their preparations. I called my mother and she came to be with us… I could not do this alone.
I softly told Hamilton what a wonderful boy he was, that I loved him and wanted him to be happy again. Through his discomfort, he looked up to meet my gaze and gently swished his tail. A few moments later, he was finally at peace.
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I think of all of the pets in our lives, and what they mean to us. All of the shared experiences, all of the joy and comfort with their companionship, and all of the eventual pain and sorrow at their loss. Each one is a unique individual, and there are undeniably those who stand out… those who make the leap from a friend to a genuine family member. I can say that I now have had three in my life who have made that effort, who have given all of themselves to teach me what unconditional love means. I never expected an animal, no… a being that I originally perceived as cold and aloof would be so warm and considerate, and would make such a difference.
I have been asked what I will do now. Honestly, I do not know. Because of the infectious nature of the virus, I will need to stay pet free for a while. However, I realize that my nine year abstention, while it allowed me to avoid the pain that I currently feel, also denied me the life-changing joy that a little buddy can bring. So we will see. Today I am going to the veterinarian once again to pick up Hamilton’s ashes and bring him home.