Yesterday I Killed My Cat

Yesterday I killed my cat.  [I was going to write this yesterday because "today I killed my cat" sounds more raw and shocking, but I just couldn't bring myself to write it, and I can't make myself tell a falsehood about something so significant.]  Actually, I didn't kill the cat myself, I brought it to its executioner.  Even that is not quite correct.  My sister-in-law brought me and my spouse to the executioner, where I delivered it up for the lethal injection.  He didn't want to go.

Later in the day we were talking about some horrible boys the family once knew who tried to drown a cat, and how something like that was so unthinkably inhuman and cruel.  And yet, everyone told me that I was doing the right and kind thing.  How can that be so?  Yes, my cat had a horrible tumor that was making him increasingly miserable.  He wasn't going to live long anyway, but he trusted me to speak for him, and to make him better.  I did ask him what he wanted -- to live longer, even though he would be miserable and in pain, or to go now.  He said he wanted to feel better and stay with me just like always. [ It was just like with my dad before he died, who made my sister take him to doctor after doctor to get his eyes fixed because he couldn't accept the truth of advanced macular degeneration.  Reading was, by then, about all he had left and he wanted his sight back; the only acceptable solution.] 

So, I made the decision for my cat.  He was very good when I had the vet examine him, and even calm when they gave him the injection and put him in my arms.  But, when he could feel the cold and stiffness taking him, he gave three sharp cries, not in pain but in protest.  Then he went far away, all alone.  He didn't want to go, and I didn't want him to.  I did it anyway.  Life is so insane.