Too Soon, Sweet Boy
I dropped off our seven-month-old kitten, Tommy, at the vet clinic for neutering. He was a feral who came to live with us in February after a neighbor trapped him, saying his wife didn’t want cats in her garden. Tommy fit in seamlessly with our other cats and our dogs. He was a rambunctious five-toed kitten who made animal friends easily, even suckling on our other five-toed cat, Boo-Boo.
I have spayed/ neutered over 200 animals, so when the vet called, I was expecting a pick up time, until she said, “I am so sorry. Tommy didn’t make it.”
Didn’t make what? I thought. “Come again?” I asked.
“He did fine through surgery, but when we were taking him out of the anesthesia, his little heart stopped,” she said. “We tried epinephrine, but he was gone.”
The vet felt awful, and I didn’t want to make matters worse for her. “I’ll be in soon to pick him up.” I hung up the phone and cried. Such a sweet boy. It didn’t seem right.
They had wrapped Tommy in a blanket and placed his body in a baby blue cloth bag. I held it together until I got home and wondered if it was really my kitten. Maybe someone had made a mistake.
The bag was zipped shut and sealed with a tag that read TOMMY. I don’t know what came over me, but I had to see him. I had to pet him and kiss him before saying goodbye. More importantly, I held out hope that it was not my little boy. But when I opened the bag and then a soft blanket, I saw those darling paws.
“No! No! No,” I screamed. “I can’t do this. Wake up, Tommy! Wake up!”
Minutes passed, and had my neighbor walked by, I am certain she would have called an ambulance. I was inconsolable.
Tommy died a week ago, and I am still pondering my reaction to his death. Yes, he was young, and losing him was sudden, but it is so much more than that.
There is no pain in loving our beloved pets. They are the vessels in which we pour our love, kindness, and empathy. They see us for who we are, and yet they still want to sit on our laps and nuzzle against us while we sleep. And we are not expected to rely on them in the ways we do humans. Our pets don’t break promises or hurt our feelings. They don’t lie, steal, or harm us physically, and they don’t require us to meet their demands. Instead, they are true friends who greet us with love and gratitude.
Tommy was a reminder and a metaphor for all the lovely animals I have lost over the years, each marking a segment of time in my life. Tommy wasn’t here long enough for me to look back and reflect on where I was when he came to live with me. Instead, his brief time on earth amplified the present, the now, and how important it is to cherish every day. And I’m not very good at that. I am always looking back or making plans.
The dam broke the day he passed, the one holding back all the hurts I’ve encountered in my life, because I was too consumed with my job or daily tasks to grieve properly.
Begging Tommy to wake up was irrational, even a little crazy, yet I think it was good advice.
