This is the most difficult thing I have ever had to write, but I feel like if I don’t, I might have a breakdown. Not to say that I’m functioning too well right now; I’m in the stage of grief where the shock has worn off and reality has sunk its sharp claws directly into my heart: my best friend, my faithful companion, my baby boy, my kitty Beans, is dead.
Beans’ health, while showing signs of slight decline since January, took a steep nosedive as soon as I got home from my work trip to Hawaii in late May. After being hospitalized and treated for a UTI and pancreatitis, we thought he might recover with medication. However, there was the matter of him having swollen lymph nodes through his entire illness. Best case scenario: the swelling was due to throwing up frequently. Worst case (and more likely) scenario: Beans had cancer. The only way to confirm the cancer was through surgery, and there was no way I was putting him through further pain and suffering than necessary. Besides, at just eight pounds, the surgery alone could’ve killed him. After a month of him not responding to his medication, continuing to lose weight and not eat, I made the painfully difficult decision that humanely euthanizing my poor baby was better than allowing him to starve to death. I decided that if nature didn’t have its way by July 3rd, I’d take Beans in.
How do you prepare for the day you know your pet is going to die, at your hands no less? Well, first you run with a friend. Then, you allow your dying pet to do whatever the hell he wants all day; in Beans’ case, I let him outside and allowed him to feel the grass. His health was so bad at this point he couldn’t even jump, let alone run, so a leash wasn’t necessary. I just followed closely behind him as he slowly made his way around the yard, down the driveway, and inspecting the neighbor’s bushes. I constantly picked him up and smothered him with kisses. I gave him chest rubs. I held him close to my chest in the car ride to the vet’s office and his limp body didn’t fight back.
“You did everything right by Beans”, the vet told me before the moment. You know the moment I’m talking about. I won’t go into details because that time in that room with Beans as he passed is sacred to me. I will admit I whaled like a wounded animal. I was a wounded animal.
I didn’t request his ashes because I didn’t want to think of Beans as being trapped in a box forever. Was that the right thing to do? I have been questioning every moment and every decision I made since Beans got sick. What could I have done differently? Was I attentive enough? Was it all my fault because we got a new kitten? Should I have taken him in sooner? Should I have let him hang on longer, maybe a miracle could’ve saved him? These are questions I’ll wrestle with forever I’m sure. Along with these demons, I did come home with Beans’ paw print pressed in clay that we baked when we got home. I still marvel at how tiny that paw print looks compared to the large personality Beans had.
Everyone loved Beans. Every doctor and vet tech that ever treated him told me how handsome and friendly he was. Every friend who stopped by our home was greeted by Beans; he was not the type of cat to hide upstairs. He wanted to be involved in everything. I’ll never forget waiting in line to pick up Beans from the Pets Hotel where he was being boarded when we went on a cruise in February. I overheard one of the employees telling a couple who was picking up their dog, “You know, I just started here, and I never thought I liked cats. But there is this one cat we have with us named Beans, and he is just the coolest cat ever.” He was.
Ten years ago, I wanted a pet. I was living in a tiny apartment and though I preferred dogs, a cat would have to do. Word got around my office that I was reluctantly thinking of bringing a cat into my home. My office manager at the time just so happened to be taking care of a stray in her neighborhood. “He’s a good kitty and could use a good home” she told me. He was delivered to me on December 15th, 2007 with a red bow on his carrier. The night before I had bought every item in the cat isle at Target. We were suspicious of each other that first night. Beans mostly hid in the cat tent I had purchased (I went a bit overboard at Target), while I wondered if he would like me, and vice versa. The next morning I woke up to Beans next to me in bed. He pawed at my face and gave me his first meow. In that moment, I became a crazy in love obsessed kitty momma.
Beans was by my side through every move to every new home; the poor guy lived in five different residences in his nearly ten years with me. He stuck by me through my divorce and instantly accepted his new daddy Shawn. “Accept” is a weak word, Beans was straight up in love with Shawn. As cute as it was, I had to remind him frequently, “you’re sitting on his lap? Who feeds you and cleans your litter box after all?!” Beans had Black Kitty Healing Powers, I swear to God. Not only could he cure any emotional crisis by jumping on my lap, but he once healed me when I had the flu. Seriously, stay with me here- I was up all night hacking up a lung. Beans eventually jumped onto my chest and began what I can only describe as “turbo-purring”. Ever time I coughed, he purred stronger. The vibrations from his body helped calm me enough that within a few minutes, I finally drifted asleep. Tylenol Cold and Flu had nothing on Black Kitty Healing Powers.
I write this two days after Beans’ passing. I write this because it’s a more constructive way to deal with my grief than pacing around the house sobbing, touching every spot Beans ever lay down on thinking I can feel his warmth. I write this because I need to get it all out, not just as a catharsis, but because I want the world to know what a special cat Beans was. I want it recorded into history (or just WordPress) that Beans was the greatest cat who ever lived and he took a piece of my heart with him to Kitty Heaven.
Mommy loves you Beans. Thanks for being mine.