So. I don't know if many people will read that, or care about what they're about to read. My cat is dead. It's a choice. And it's not. He had a thromboembolia. And it wasn't pretty. I saw all. I wasn't ready. I guess nobody really expect their pet to pass away. Not that quickly. I came home, and he was meowing like a mad cat to get me to feed him. I did, basically. Then he puked. No big deal, he does sometimes. But what happened after... He started to meow like he was hurting. Then panicked. He was moving from place to place. And I realised he couldn't use his back members. He was paralysed from the middle of his back to the end of his tail. I helped him get on the bed and started losing control. I knew it was helpless as soon a I saw that. Losing control of half his body and recovering ? I didn't expected that. I knew. So I called a vet. Building hope as I waited, he had stopped moving from place to place and was on the couch. I touched his back paws, to see if he was sensitive. No reaction. I waited for 45 minutes. The vet arrived and she spotted the cat. I saw her face fall. She braced herself to check him up and I braced myself very poorly for what was about to come. So he was suffering. I stayed with him 'til I knew he was gone. How quickly that happened. How quickly did his life disappeared. Like the flicker of a candle. So fragile. Before that, the vet told me that science was helpless to cure that. They could only do some stuff but she lost herself in explanation as I realised that my cat had to die. And a part of me as well. I mourn for everything he was and meant. But it was the right decision. I keep repeating myself it was. I knew it. And so did he. It's something I cannot tell and recall without tears threatening to flow. He knew I had to let him go and he showed me. I was petting him, selfishly telling myself it was the last moment I could ever do that, seeing him, hearing him purr and all of the things that made him him. He just put his paw on my hand., and pushed me away. I immediately got it, but tried again to pet him. And so he did it again. I stubbornly touched him once more. And he pushed me away again. As if to say: "let me go, please, let me get away from this"... So I asked the vet to do it. To end his torment. So she did. She put him to sleep and for me he was gone. Then she gave him the lethal injection. She was just touching a body. A small limpy body. The body of my cat. His name was Névé. He had the color of dirty snow on his back and had the purest white everywhere else. I could lost myself in his magnificent blue eyes, and spend hours listening to him loudly purr. He was sweet. He was a gentle soul. He wasn't even 4 yet. I firmly believe in energy. We're all energy. It surrounds us, it's inside us, inside every being, plants, rocks and animals alike. Some of us are more sensitive to it than others. And I believe his energy has gone somewhere else. That this is not his end. It is in a way, of course, and I have yet to fully accept that, and heal. But the cat he was, the gentleness he had, I believe it has gone to join all of the energy around. He was part of my world. Now he's everywhere. No matter where I go, he can be to. Pti chaton.
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