Tick, tock. I could hear the clock, slowly ticking my time
away with May. May was in catastrophic kidney failure. Words that seemed
unfathomable. Catastrophic…failure…it just didn’t seem like a seven year old
cat could go from being fine, to barely recognizing me. The end always seems like
it comes so quickly, but the gift of time was there – my family and I got to
visit with May at the vet on Wednesday and today, Thursday.
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| May in 2005, she really grew into those big ears. |
I went in today around 11 am, because we had taken in Pearl
for a redo on her latest blood work. We got to see May. She still had a dazed
look on her face, but she clearly knew who we were and that we were there for
her. She let us pet her and rub her face and chin. She meowed once, when we
stopped petting her.
Mom and I came back to visit her at 4:30 pm. May was not
doing well. May looked just as out of it as she did this morning, but we could
see on her face that she really didn’t feel good. They redid her blood work,
but the most important value had only dropped 0.3, which was not nearly enough to indicate improvement,
or that the fluid treatments were working.
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| May and her mama Vickie. You can see the wonderful patterns that are the same! |
Mom and I sat with her in the examination room. She was
twitchy and couldn’t get into a comfortable position. Tick, tock. The
inevitable was coming, and we knew. We all knew. But saying it out loud? That
it was her time – this seven year old cat that had been in for her regular
check up in June and was fine, was on the brink of death? It seemed hard to
believe. But I’ve heard that you know when it’s time, and it was time. It’s never an easy decision to make; even if
you get to say goodbye.
Dad got there and we all sat with her. Talking to her, telling
her about all the cats to say hi to for us; that she would see her kitten buddy
Parker, who died months after adoption from FIP, and that we loved her so, so much.
Our vet, who said she hated to be the bad guy, to always have to tell
the sad news, came in to help May.
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| May sleeping with Henry. |
She went over the bridge a little past 5:45 pm, August 2nd,
2012. Memories of May’s life flooded our eyes, just thinking that the Shubin 7
had become six, was just unreal. It was hard to believe that our big little
girl, the cat of 1000 names, was gone. 7 short years, 7 sweet years.
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| May and Pearl. |
Words can’t describe how much I will miss May. She was one
of the first kittens I ever had, a memory that will always be dear to me. Just knowing
that she is finally with Parker, brings a smile to my face. I will miss my May,
my Ana Maria Madonna Christina May, my Schmoogie, Moo, Moobelle, Maybelline,
Mooshkie and all the other names she went by. I will think of her when I eat at
Pinkberry (for her little pinkberry nose), when I see a empty cardboard box,
her treat dance, tabby cats, cats with big ears and so many other things.
The beloved memories live on, and I give my cats extra love
every day, just to remember how important their lives are, to me.
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| Taken July 23, 2012 - just 10 days before she died. She had not given any signs of kidney failure. |
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| May and my mom, who she dearly loved. May would pet my mom's face. |
May Shubin, April 2, 2005 to August 2, 2012.
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| A gorgeous photo of May from 2011, taken by our friend Bernadette. |
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