When the vet came in to tell me what was wrong with Chris on Saturday, I called my wife so she could hear it, too. She was in Tampa preparing for a cruise with her managers. The vet said they had removed some of the fluid from around Chris’s lungs and had him on oxygen. She said there are two main causes for that condition: cancer and heart disease. She mentioned a number of tests that could be done to determine which is the cause.

“So, you would do the tests, and we will take Chris home and wait for the results?”

“Oh, no. Chris needs critical care. he would have to stay here and be admitted.”

“So, what would his prognoses be then?”

“If it’s cancer, there’s not much we can do. If it’s heart disease, medication might extend his life three to six months.”

That is about how the conversation went, although I may not have the words exactly right. My wife thought he suffered enough. She thought going through all of this treatment for little or no benefit would be something Chris would despise. I had to agree with her considering on top of his current problem, he also had kidney disease, a perpetual ear infection, and arthritis. So, we made the decision to let him go.

After a little while, they took me to another room. This room had a bench seat big enough for two people next to a window. I sat on the end near the door. A women took my credit card information, and I paid the over one-thousand-dollar bill.

She left and came back with Chris wrapped in a towel. She put him on my lap, and I petted him for a little while. I saw part of his fur was shaved and he had a tube sticking out of him from somewhere. He then got up and walked to the other side of the bench and looked out the window.

At that moment, I thought he looked normal. He didn’t look like a cat in need of critical care. My first thought was to tell them I changed my mind and get the hell out of there with him. I then considered the possibility that the vet might know more than me. What if I brought him home and he had another episode where he had trouble breathing? What if he were to die while not being able to get enough oxygen and lying in his own urine like that morning?

I made the hard choice. I picked up Chris, put him back on my lap, and pushed the call button.

Monday night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept going over that moment in my head. I convinced myself I made the wrong choice. I thought the vet probably over exaggerated his condition like a weather forecaster before a hurricane. I thought I should have brought him home and let God decide his fate. I’m not qualified.

Are these feelings normal? The last time I was involved with euthanasia was with Abbey about twelve years ago. Then my wife was with me which made it easier but still, I felt grief, but I didn’t feel like we were doing the wrong thing. What do you think?

I want to end this post on a positive note so here is one of my most recent photos of Chris.