It was by no means out of the blue. He was 16, losing weight, blind. He cried through the night in pain. The vet said it was the kindest choice for him, and that even if he had lived another year, he would have been miserable. But it was the first time that I ever had to have a pet "put down" as an adult. It sounds like a difficult choice but it's so much more than that. You almost feel like a monster even though you know it's the right thing to do.
We picked out some pretty cloth to bury Fuego in and the vet gently wrapped him in it. My husband dug a grave for him in the yard and cried; Fuego was "his" cat more than anyone's. He was supposed to be mine, but you know cats! Another cat chose me and Fuego, a lazy cuddler, chose my husband, which is kind of perfect, since he loves Garfield and that's pretty much Fuego for you.
I have no idea how you're supposed to get through this grieving process. It's such a weird thing to do, to put a cat "down." How have you dealt with the loss of a pet?
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