November 4th, 2012

Yesterday, November 4th, marked a full decade since my beloved Tiger crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

Ten years. A fucking decade.

Wild to think so much time has gone by, since in many ways it feels like it just happened a day ago, and in some ways, it feels like it happened 100 years ago.

Either way, I still blame myself.

Don’t we always do that when we lose someone we love?

I do.

I replay that last day in my head quite often, and how I might have handled it differently.

Ah, hindsight.

Here is the story, originally blogger blogged in late October of 2015, of Tiger’s last 24 hours.

I miss you every day, sweetums. I know our time together was short, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I think you would love Sophie, Tucker, Mona, and Vance. I see so much of you in each of them, and I swear I still feel you jumping on the bed at night right before I fall asleep.

Say hi to Tyler and Jackson for me.

Saturday, November 3, 2012.

Super Storm Sandy. There have been so many damn stories about the storm I don’t feel the need to add my own take. Needless to say, we survived and only lost power for a day and a half. Tyler and Tiger, to their credit, barely noticed nor cared that a hurricane wrecked Long Island and that my apartment was a charging station and laundry station for all my friends since I got my power back before most people. Tyler greeted the vast increase in visitors who came and went with his usual flair, Tiger doing his part as Tyler’s ever-faithful assistant, hanging with people and being a gracious co-host.

It came, it went, we survived. Let’s eat.

This particular early November Saturday was our first weekend to ourselves in several weeks, so I was looking forward to just relaxing with the cats and not being the local power outlet.

Just as I settled in for a Saturday afternoon to myself……. I noticed something about Tiger.

Something about him wasn’t right. Suddenly he was having trouble breathing.

Out of nowhere.

Not panting, per se, but his breathing was labored. Rapid. His chest was heaving in and out very fast.

Tiger was in “slipper mode” on the ottoman in the living room, staring off into space. Not wanting to move. Not eating, not reacting.

Just sitting. Staring.

Man was I worried. Where the fuck did this come from?

Cats, as any pet owner knows, are masters of hiding illness until it is really nearly too late. Tiger was no exception. If he was having problems, he did not show it.

I was worried, I was panicked.

I called my parents, but they were no help.

“I’m sure he’s fine Danny.” My father attempted to reassure me. They weren’t here, they weren’t in my head. I trust my instincts, they have rarely failed me, and they told me something was very seriously wrong with my gentle orange giant.

“Well, I’m bringing him to the vet anyway.” I hung up the phone. I wasn’t in the mood for their well-meaning but annoying assurances.

I called my new vet, an older gentleman who had a practice and a wood paneled office that time forgot in my town, close to home.

No answer. An answering service let me know he would not have power for some time and he was closed until further notice.

Fuck. This was not something I could let wait. I remembered another vet not too far from home, an animal hospital that seemed to have a good reputation. I called them next. Fortunately, they were open, with power, and could see me first thing the next morning.

Sunday, November 4, 2012.

First thing that Sunday morning, I put Tiger, who was breathing with even more difficulty, into the same old carrier I had since the first day I brought Tyler home and got ready to head to the animal hospital. I hoped it was something that would require an injection and medication and we would be home in time for lunch.

“Don’t worry old man,” I told a concerned Tyler, who was watching us from the kitchen table. “Tiger probably has a cold or something minor. We will be back by mid-day.”

Tyler jumped in the window as we left, seeing us off, already missing his buddy of nearly 4 years.

I was the only person with a sick pet that morning so they took us right in, where I quickly explained Tiger’s history and the condition that seemed to appear suddenly.

The vet, a middle-aged man whose name escapes me, examined Tiger, feeling his chest and listening for what seemed like hours.

“This is a very sick cat.” The vet said. Just like that.

“What do you mean?” I was speechless.

“I’m going to take a sample, but what I am hearing is blood on the heart. That’s why he is breathing so fast and labored.” Calmly giving me the bad news, like a mechanic explaining that your car needs $2,500 worth of work.

This wasn’t a car, this was Tiger.

This was my sweetums.

He took out a needle that would have made me faint if it was for me and, with the aid of a vet tech, withdrew some fluid from his chest.

Indeed, it was red and murky.

“Tiger has blood on the heart. His heart is literally drowning, this is not good.” The vet immediately knew.

“What are our options?” I asked, too shocked to think of anything else to say.

“To be honest, he’s an 11-year-old cat. There aren’t too many options. Sure, you can have all these tests done and spend a fortune on heart tests, but what they will tell you is he is a very sick cat and all it will do is cause him needless pain and suffering. He has blood on the heart and that is very serious. This is not something he is going to recover from.”

“What are you saying? He’s not going to make it?” Tears were starting to flow.

“I think the most humane thing to do is to end his suffering and say goodbye. This is a very serious condition,” the vet said, as I’m sure he’s had the unfortunate task of having to say many times before.

“Did I cause this?” I’m always quick to blame myself. Had I missed something?

“No, this is genetic, unfortunately older male cats are sometimes prone to this, there really is nothing you did that would have caused this.” I heard his words, but I did not believe them. I still don’t.

I asked the vet to give me a few minutes to decide and he left the room. Tiger was in the corner of the room now, curled up, breathing hard, and looking generally disheveled and annoyed.

I picked up my sweetums for what would be the last time. He curled up in my arms and let out a soft purr.

I was shocked. I was devastated. I was numb. My Tiger, Tyler’s best friend in all the world, the orange half of the dynamic feline duo, was going to die? Now? He’s only ELEVEN? I thought he would have many years left! Why the fuck does this shit have to happen to MY TIGER?????

We held each other for a good 15 minutes. Tiger’s breathing was as labored as ever, even more so, his chest heaving ever more rapidly.

I looked in his eyes, the eyes of a kind, sweet, gentle cat. A cat that that gave me joy and Tyler companionship for four years. The most self-less cat I had ever known.

“I don’t want you to suffer sweetums. I would never want that. I love you. I wish I had found you years ago. You’ve been a great cat, and a great friend. You’re my sweetums and I love you, but I do not want you to be in pain. Do you trust me?”

Tiger purred, I burst into tears.

I let the vet know we were ready.

With that, I helped Tiger cross the Rainbow Bridge with dignity and without pain.

I had never experienced that before. Ever. In my life. It remains to this day the single most painful day of my life. The most painful experience I have ever had to go through. EVER. Even now, three years later, the pain is still raw. I miss him. Every cat is unique, every cat touches your heart in its own way. Tyler in his, Sophie in hers, Jackson in his. Tiger was the epitome of kindness, of gentleness. When one calls a cat “sweet” they talk about a cat-like Tiger. He would have taken a bullet for me, or walked through fire for Tyler. He was that kind of cat.

Thirty minutes later I was back in the apartment with an empty carrier.

I sat down at the kitchen table, put my head in my arms and cried again. Tyler, sensing something was wrong, jumped on the table, placed a front paw on my hand and stared right into my eyes. No one understood me like Tyler. No one ever has, and no one ever will.

“He’s gone old man, Tiger is gone. He was sick and never told us.”

Tyler let out a long sigh, put his head into my hand, and closed his eyes.

There we sat, mourning our lost friend.

RIP Tiger 2001–2012.

Until we meet again.