Prime of Midlife

I Refuse To Have The Crisis
Her Name Was Cefur

Her Name Was Cefur

This was the third time I had taken my cat to the vet in as many months.  I think she had guessed where she was going as her paws swiped at me as I was driving.  There were some rather irritated meowing noises as well.  We hadn’t had such a vocal display the last twice we were here, obviously she had twigged that getting bundled into the box and then the car was not going to be something she enjoyed.

This time however I was not going to be bringing her back.

We had tried – an operation, strong antibiotics but she wasn’t getting any better.

At 53 years of age, I had never had to deal with such a thing before, it was always my father who had dealt with such things.  This time however, it was up to me to ensure that our cat didn’t suffer.  My daughter had stayed in her room this morning, hoping that I would by some miracle be bringing the cat back.  Refusing to watch us go out the door.

I have to say the vets were very good, they obviously had worked appointments so that I didn’t meet anyone else whilst I was there.  The took the cat to sedate her and put in the drip and then brought her back to me so I could say goodbye.

I couldn’t wait until the end, I am not tough enough for that.  I kissed her and rubbed her head then left.

I know that this was best for her and in some strange way, I am happy that I was able to make it easy for her.

I am now home tidying up her things,  still checking my feet as I walk about the house, just in case the cat is there so I don’t accidently trip over her.

My daughter was told on my return, we hugged and cried as you would expect.  She now has to go to work.  I do hope people are nice to her, although that may be a bit much to ask, as she works in retail.

My cat was called Cefur, she was a tortoiseshell who was a very loving and caring cat.  We will miss her.

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