PLAQUE: Wicket, the cat
Dec. 26th, 2002 04:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rickvsMy mom's down to one cat, now. The tortoiseshell that I acquired when I was a teenager had been going downhill, lately -- wasn't eating, gone blind, skin and bones. Mom waited till the holidays to schedule her last vet appointment so that we could say goodbye.
Wicket was named for the Ewok she most closely resembled from _Return of the Jedi_ ...and was often called "Wicket-doll" for her tendency to meow on cue whenever she was picked up. (It was a sign of how sick she was towards the end the she tolerated being picked up and cuddled). She loved to be petted, but on her own terms -- she'd climb into your lap, spend five minutes circling and making biscuits, but would bolt if you tried to hurry her into sitting down.
The vet we went to will probably be getting a thank-you card from me. According to my mom, this doctor *does not* like to euthanize animals, but when she has to, she does it right. Like this:
She explained what she was going to do, and what would happen, at each step. She confirmed that we wanted to be present, and that we'd be taking the body with us, and that we didn't need the blanket she offered to wrap her up in. She gave Wicket a tranquilizer first, then left us alone with her while it took effect. Eventually, after we convinced Wicket to lie down, the doctor came back with the barbiturate. (I've not personally seen a vet who gave two shots before, let alone one who doesn't charge for euthanasia). She told us that after such-and-such point, Wicket would already be gone and beyond pain, but that we could expect some additional spasms while her heart stopped. She told us that she doesn't like to shave for the IV until after the trank had taken effect, because messing with an animal's paws stresses it out, and there was no reason to add to the animal's stress nor the owners'. She warned us that as a worst-case scanario, she might have to hunt for a vein in another paw -- but this turned out not to be the case.
After everything happened as she described, she told us that she was glad we were handling the body, as she found it to be therapeutic. Then she gave each of us a hug, told us we could stay in the room as long as we wanted, and leave whenever we were ready -- there would be no charge, nor any additional paperwork. My mom told me we'd be getting a sympathy card from this doctor in a week or so, and I told her that she reminded me of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladysprite, another ethical lady vet I know. My mom agreed with me that vets who wear their hearts on their sleeves have a more difficult time of things -- but I was glad for it in this case, because it made things easier on me.
We buried Wicket under the sill of my mom's office window, next to Tommy, the black-and-white cat she lost last year. We let the dogs sniff her, and say goodbye -- as with Tommy, they seemed to recognize Wicket but seemed more than a little boggled that we were gonna leave her here. I joked that perhaps this would keep them in line; perhaps she could use burial as a threat to hold over their doggy heads when they misbehaved. Dunno if they'd make the connection, though :/
Although this was a down note, I actually am having quite a pleasant Christmas. Details in another post.
Wicket was named for the Ewok she most closely resembled from _Return of the Jedi_ ...and was often called "Wicket-doll" for her tendency to meow on cue whenever she was picked up. (It was a sign of how sick she was towards the end the she tolerated being picked up and cuddled). She loved to be petted, but on her own terms -- she'd climb into your lap, spend five minutes circling and making biscuits, but would bolt if you tried to hurry her into sitting down.
The vet we went to will probably be getting a thank-you card from me. According to my mom, this doctor *does not* like to euthanize animals, but when she has to, she does it right. Like this:
She explained what she was going to do, and what would happen, at each step. She confirmed that we wanted to be present, and that we'd be taking the body with us, and that we didn't need the blanket she offered to wrap her up in. She gave Wicket a tranquilizer first, then left us alone with her while it took effect. Eventually, after we convinced Wicket to lie down, the doctor came back with the barbiturate. (I've not personally seen a vet who gave two shots before, let alone one who doesn't charge for euthanasia). She told us that after such-and-such point, Wicket would already be gone and beyond pain, but that we could expect some additional spasms while her heart stopped. She told us that she doesn't like to shave for the IV until after the trank had taken effect, because messing with an animal's paws stresses it out, and there was no reason to add to the animal's stress nor the owners'. She warned us that as a worst-case scanario, she might have to hunt for a vein in another paw -- but this turned out not to be the case.
After everything happened as she described, she told us that she was glad we were handling the body, as she found it to be therapeutic. Then she gave each of us a hug, told us we could stay in the room as long as we wanted, and leave whenever we were ready -- there would be no charge, nor any additional paperwork. My mom told me we'd be getting a sympathy card from this doctor in a week or so, and I told her that she reminded me of
ladysprite, another ethical lady vet I know. My mom agreed with me that vets who wear their hearts on their sleeves have a more difficult time of things -- but I was glad for it in this case, because it made things easier on me.We buried Wicket under the sill of my mom's office window, next to Tommy, the black-and-white cat she lost last year. We let the dogs sniff her, and say goodbye -- as with Tommy, they seemed to recognize Wicket but seemed more than a little boggled that we were gonna leave her here. I joked that perhaps this would keep them in line; perhaps she could use burial as a threat to hold over their doggy heads when they misbehaved. Dunno if they'd make the connection, though :/
Although this was a down note, I actually am having quite a pleasant Christmas. Details in another post.
