They say that there are two constants in this universe, and only one of them gets worse each time Congress meets.
After a good run of nineteen years, as much as we didn’t want to have to do it, it was time to say good-bye to Samson.
I wrote about Samson exactly three months ago, and… well, at the time, things seemed pretty good. Sam was, despite having lost so much weight, still keepin’ on keepin’ on and being himself. He couldn’t get up on the furniture without an assist anymore, but he’d follow you into any room that you chose to go into, and just wanted to be around people.
About a month ago, the ambling around the house stopped, and he was mostly keeping to the kitchen (sleeping by the heat-exhaust from the fridge), only venturing out to get food and water in the laundry room. But still, he’d get up if you came into the room and saunter over to nudge you for snuggles and pettings, or to try to get you to give him a treat. We moved a litterbox into the kitchen to make his life easier, one of the pet beds (not that he used it)…
And then this past week – one of the many reasons I didn’t post last week – he took a turn for the worse. It became clear that it was time, and we arranged for an at-home vet to come by to ease his way yesterday afternoon.
It’s hard enough, trying to part with a long-term pet. Harder still when you’re trying to explain to children without sugar-coating it to the point that they’re not going to ‘get’ it. And… harder still when your child has a developmental disability, and doesn’t have the vocabulary or awareness to put everything together.
R understands, I think, that Sam was in a lot of pain and that the vet was helping him to feel better. That he’s not quite understanding that we’re not going to get a “new” Sammy any time soon is due to his age.
The Monster, though, doesn’t get it at all, and we can see that when we were trying to explain to him, even in the simplest terms. While my wife took some time to find books that at least explained a good portion of it for R… I don’t think they make anything that’s really on the Monster’s level. He can repeat anything we say to him about death, about loss, but I don’t know what’s really sinking in. And it’s going to be harder still, when he does at some point realize that Sam’s not around anymore, whether he asks us through the talker or just gets insistent about seeing a cat that’s not to be found. (It’s often difficult when he gets sad, to be honest, because he’s not able to communicate to us why he’s sad, talker or no.) I’m not sure yet how to handle that part, but we’ll have to figure it out when it comes.
Granted, we still have a second cat. If we’re lucky, maybe Cassie’ll mellow out a bit, without her partner-in-crime around, and take Sam’s place as the therapy cat, needing the attention that they can lavish on her. I can hope. (I don’t hold out much hope, for those of you who know calicos, but…)
Good-bye, Samson. Thank you for coming along for the ride, buddy. We love you.