Banzai Suite, Part 1:
Time

5 August 2001—Just as we thought we had the cancer beaten, or at least under control, it bit back two weeks ago with terrible new teeth. It chomped down on the nerves leading down to Banzai’s hind legs. With the chemotherapy, he had become stable and happy again, leaving the sick bed of my closet for the social action around the house. He was in great spirits; he even tried to make a break for it when the front door was left open. (He had definitely resented becoming confined to the house.)

Then, all of a sudden, he was limping. Then he was falling down. Over the course of two days, he lost almost complete use of his hind legs. His bladder soon followed. Though he sometimes succeeded at hurling himself into the litter box, most often he relieved himself where he lay. My room became a complete cat hospital – complete with food dish, litter box, hanging IV bag, and doggy house-training pads laid out everywhere.

And yet his spirit hadn’t diminished. He was still interested in the activity around the house, especially if someone was cooking something. He hauled himself around using only his front legs. It looked horrible, but one had to admire his tenacity. He would crawl about ten feet, rest for a few minutes, and then begin again, until he had gotten himself into the kitchen, staring up plaintively at the chef of the moment. It was as if he didn’t realize how sick he was, or didn’t care. The hind legs were a nuisance, nothing more; someone was frying eggs, dammit!

That’s what made the decision so difficult: he was still aware; he was still alive. I had always said that when the time came I would make the difficult decision. I could have put him to sleep two years ago rather than have him get surgery for his thyroid problem. But it wasn’t time yet. He was diagnosed with kidney disease a year later, but as we managed to stabilize him, he still had a pretty normal, happy life. He only had about three teeth left, but it didn’t slow him down any when it came to eating, though he did get awfully thin in the last few years.

I hated being in the position of deciding whether he would live or die. It’s a horrible responsibility to have, especially when faced with a creature whose mind and spirit were willing, even as the body had broken down. But his quality of life had diminished, and it wasn’t going to get any better. We waited a week for the latest chemo treatment to take effect, but it never did. I knew it better in my mind than in my heart, but it was finally time.