What my dying cat taught me

“Two weeks max - and that’s being generous,” said the vet when I asked how long we had left with Luna after being told her kidneys had stopped responding to treatment.

Luna had been at the vets for 9 days. 9 days of emergency fluids. 9 days of willing her to live with every cell of my body, and 9 days of waking up at 3am after restless sleep thinking about her all alone at the vets, in a tiny cage scared and confused and wondering where we were.

9 days of feeling like I had been punched in the stomach after hearing her diagnosis:

Acute Kidney Injury. Prognosis guarded.

For a few days after we took her home, she seemed completely normal! She was eating and drinking and coming to us for cuddles. We thought- Luna is going to be ok. Luna is a Miracle Cat.

Well of course! we reasoned - Luna is not a typical cat, so of course she’s not going to be an average statistic, and of course will defy this vets prediction of averages!

Unfortunately, it’s looking like Luna is statistically average, and the prediction is unfortunately accurate. She has rapidly gone downhill over the last 48 hours and is probably only alive because of her new meds - which make her wobble and sleepy- but at least she’s not distressed. She has been on our bed next to either my husband or me 24 hours now, since returning from an emergency trip to the 24 hour vet yesterday evening to get painkillers and anti sickness meds.

I am so sad, I’m the saddest I’ve been for a long time. My husband and daughter too. But we’re determined to make her feel as comfortable and safe and loved as I can in the last few days she has left with us.

I’m trying to be mature about it and reflect on what I can learn from this. Even though I want to scream on the floor and kick my legs in the air “FUCK YOU UNIVERSE!! GIVE MY FUCKING CAT BACK!”

“IT’S NOT FAIR!”

But I have needed to search inwards and find the strength to rise above this overwhelming, suffocating urge to lean into this, because that energy isn’t good around her right now. And I need to function and work.

So I have decided to try reflect on what I’ve learnt about my time with her.

I have to be honest. When we first acquired her 12 years ago, she was so traumatised and terrified and - I mean this with all my love and tears - a pain in the fucking arse. She peed on the bed, she peed on the stairs. She hid under the bed for two years and didn’t let us touch her. If we tried, she swiped at us. She drew blood several times. She jumped out the loft window several times and we had to rescue her, enduring scratches for our effort.

I’m ashamed to say that we did discuss sending her to the kennels, but that was desperation - as fate and her luck have it, I feel pathologically guilty about abandoning anyone or anything. I even feel bad at abandoning teddy bears. I still have my Poppel from when I was 7! I once put a chair outside to give away and felt so guilty when it started to rain that I brought it inside and promised it I’d never ever do that again.

So I couldn’t abandon her. And if there was ever a point where it was almost close to me doing that, (after she peed on our bed again!) I happened upon a post on my Facebook newsfeed saying how black cats never get adopted because they don’t photograph well. She’s dark grey not black but I think she would suffer the same fate as her black furred comrades. I decided we will keep her here no matter what.

At that stage she had been peeing everywhere and jumping out of the windows and attacking us. I realised that nobody would want her in that state. The poor girl had been through so much trauma that I won’t go into now, I just couldn’t have her go through any more. So we gave her the space she needed and and learned to accept and love her for who she was at that time. Over the years she slowly allowed us to touch her. In time she even started to approach us. Oddly enough she never peed on the bed after I had made that decision.

Jacob, my husband, was the best with her and was incredibly patient. As time went by, she eventually allowed him to pick her up and stroke her and cuddle her. She flinched, but didn’t swipe and always came back for me.

Soon I was allowed to do that too. Soon too she looked visibly relaxed as we stroked her and started to enjoy us fussing over her.

This then evolved to the point where she would come for a morning cuddle while we were lying in bed. It became such a routine that if for whatever reason she missed a morning cuddle she would cry all day.

I think she had trauma bonded to us.

By the end of her time with us, she was soppy, and the most affectionate, neediest cat I’ve ever met.

● Anxiety makes a monster of us all.

● Behind so much difficult behaviour is a traumatised inner kitten in survival mode.

● Love and true acceptance can heal traumatised inner kittens.

● Love can help in find strength grief but it doesn’t stop the tears