Yesterday

I took Burgie in yesterday morning. We walked over to the cat vet on Riverside. When I walked in the receptionist asked, “Burgie?” and I nodded and started sniffling. I sat next to the big grandfather clock. It ticked loudly in my ear and chimed at 8:45, the time of the appointment. Bad seating choice on my part. I could hear the workers laughing in the back rooms. I was sort of surprised that it didn’t bother me.

Shortly the vet tech came and called us back. On the exam table was a towel and on top of the towel was a blue fleece pad with fringe around it’s edges. The vet tech pulled Burgie out of the carrier. In her prime, you would have never stuck your hand in there unprotected. Yesterday, she just out a halfhearted “mrroww.” She sat on the table and slowly nudged her way toward the edge, trying futilely to jump down.

The vet tech went over what we wanted to do with the remains, always an enjoyable topic and left the room, not before handing me a box of tissue.

The cat doctor came in next. He grabbed my hand and tried to say something comforting. He gave Burgie an exam and asked if she had stopped eating. The answer was “yes.” He felt all of the tumors on her jaw and chest and said he was okay with doing this. He was the doctor who debulked the tumor about 11 months ago.

He explained to me how it would work. They would give her a shot first, an anesthetic to relieve pain and make her mellow out. The doctor warned that the shot stings a little and as he administered it, Burgie let out another “mrow.” He then went over the same options as to what to do with the body as the vet tech and left the room again.

It took a few minutes for the shot to kick in. Up until then, Burgie was still trying, very slowly to get down. When the shot started working, it must have been pretty good stuff, she just relaxed and laid on her side.

The doctor came back in with the vet tech, who brought clippers. He adjusted Burgie so she was laying flat on her side, feet towards him. I was on the other side of the exam table, petting her head. He then shaved the inside of her back leg and got the injection ready. he explained that it was a small needle and would take about 20-30 seconds to inject the entire dose and by the time he finished, Burgie would be gone.

For some reason, during this time, I had “This Woman’s Work” by Kate Bush stuck in my head. Specifically, the chorus “I know you have a little life in you yet; I know you have a lot of strength left.” It was annoying, because, though Burgs may have had a “little life left” she didn’t have much strength at all and was suffering which was the whole reason I took her to be put down. Maybe it popped into my head because it’s a sad song and the vet tech kept telling Burgie she was a strong, brave kitty.

The doctor started the injection. The vet tech was telling Burgie how she could go play all the time with all of the toys she wanted and kick sand all over etc. I’m not sure if this was weird, but it didn’t bug me, she meant well.

I looked over at the syringe and it was empty. Burgie’s labored breathing had stopped. I felt very sad, but Burgie looked very peaceful and much better than while she was so sick.
The doctor gave me a hug. I didn’t know vet’s did that. He said I could stay for awhile and they left the room.

I smoothed her fur and told her “I’m sorry” and “we’ll miss you.” Her body actually looked better, I guess along with her spirit, the pain had left it. I kissed her on the forehead (never did this when she was alive, for fear of possible injury to my face) and said good-bye. I could see her little black body disappear from view as I closed the door (yet more cruel symbolism...I should’ve left the door open and broken that stupid clock).

And for the last insult upon injury, I went to settle up the bill.

I walked home with the empty cat carrier. I wanted to just throw it hard on the porch, but I didn’t and just set it down. The kids weren’t up yet, so there was time to cry. Davey stayed home from work all day, which was good, because I was exhausted.

I keep finding crumpled tissues everywhere and it makes me said again. When I sat down to write this, I noticed some on the desk, which were used moments before putting Burgs in the carrier. Throwing them away has become some sort of weird little ritual requiring a deep breath before tossing them in the garbage.

Roan still hasn’t noticed that Burgie is missing and I’m not going to tell her. Burgie stayed away from all things “kid” and “dog” so we haven’t seen as much of her over the last few years as we used to. Still, I can feel her energy missing from the house. I know that’s “new agey” and all, but it’s true.

Writing this has been very cathartic. I thought it would just make me feel worse and it did a few paragraphs ago. But I’m starting to feel better now, like I’ve cleared my head a little and the dark cloud over my head has turned to gray.

I wish I knew where I could get some Burgie! beer, so I could have a Burgie! for Burgie.

Thanks to everyone who left nice comments the other day. All of us who have pets go through this periodically, but it doesn’t really get easier.

Rest in peace, Burgie. You will be missed. (okay, now I’m sad again)