My beautiful Zenya. So sweet, so smart, so bright, so funny. 23 months old.
And now she is gone. Wednesday morning, she was fine; her normal playful, funny self. Saturday morning (Feb. 20) she was humanely euthanized, due to a rare, inheritable condition known as “megaesophagus” associated with “disautonomia”.
I hate these words I’ve never heard before! Suddenly, they have taken from me one of the most precious souls in my life. They caused her immense discomfort, and even though the condition MAY have been manageable, the drug that MAY have helped (if we could even find it–it is no longer commercially available) could have taken 2 to 4 months to help. The treatment she would have had to undergo to keep her alive until it was determined whether or not the drug was even helping would have meant her living in a cage, with an e-collar on her. Infection and discomfort, constant dangers.
No, for my beloved Zenya, the kindest thing was to help her across that Rainbow Bridge. I held her to her final breath.
Now, MY pain is constant. No more little games: fetch the wad of paper, chasing the hand under the sheets. No more listening to her talking to herself as she played, alone or with another cat. No more looking to see where she was when going in or out of the door, because she was a champion door-darter. She lived in the bedroom for the most part, because there are residents in my household (including myself) who simply wouldn’t be able to move fast enough if she decided to make a dash for freedom out the front door.
I am a selfish human. I don’t want to hurt like this. I have done it before (Dragon, Wings, Flower, Shadowolf, Bonfire), but it doesn’t get easier, or quicker. As I get older, those old scars on my soul seem to ache in sympathy to the new wound that has been torn in the very fabric of my spirit.
I can sometimes barely breathe from the agony of knowing that I will never see or hear Zenya again. I know it will lessen in time, but the pain is fresh, and I have many hours of heartache before I can inhale again.
I cry some every night at bedtime. I don’t have her to play with, love on, talk to, fuss at…
I miss you, Zenya. May your bright spark be shining brightly somewhere. Here, today, in my world, it is dark.