06/18/2024
Boo is still alive. We cancelled his euthanization. What has transpired in the last 36 hours is absolutely baffling - I cannot explain it. All I can do is describe what we have witnessed.
We spent Thursday evening falling apart. Boo's condition had deteriorated so badly in a 24 hour period that we had no choice but to make the call. By Thursday afternoon, he was knocking on death's door. His eyes had gone dull, his fur was falling out, he barely had the strength to eat - he was lying with his head in his food bowl just leaning over for a few small bites of food. He was still having 6-10 daily episodes of diarrhea, which had been the case for more than 3 weeks. He had started peeing outside of his litter box. For 16 years he had spent nearly every waking moment in our company, but for the last week he spent all of his time hiding in a bedroom upstairs. He could not get comfortable in any position - he had always spent time laying on his sofa upstairs, or on the sofa in our living room, or in our bed. But for more than two weeks he had been laying on the floor, shifting constantly in an effort to escape the pain of the cancer that was gnawing at him. And for the last two months, he has been entirely deaf.
When we let him out Thursday evening for a last walk in the back yard he was tripping and faltering and his breathing was labored. He grunted in pain with every breath that he took. It was heartbreaking to see him in that condition. We had done everything possible to try to save him. We had run every test, had all imaging done, we were constantly tweaking and adjusting medications, but nothing was working. We knew that we had to let go. We called our vet and made an appointment to have him euthanized in our home at 2 pm on Friday.
At 11:30 on Thursday evening, I locked Wellie in his pen. I do so every night at the same time. I sat down on the sofa with Merlin, and Boo was sleeping on the floor next to me. I didn't want to go to bed because I knew what Friday would bring and I didn't want the day to end. I fell asleep sitting up on the couch around midnight.
I woke up at 4 in the morning. I thought I was dreaming, because what I saw defied explanation - Wellie was in the living room, lying on the floor pressed up against Boo, who was sleeping beside him. I was so startled that I sat up and said, "Wellie, what the hell are you doing here?" I know one thing to be true. I built his pen and it is inescapable. He cannot jump out of it, he cannot climb it, it is far too heavy for him to lift up any portion of it and slip out. The only possibility was that I had somehow forgotten to lock the door with the two very strong spring clips that we use.
I walked down the hall to my office and found his pen exactly as I had left it. The spring clips were locked in place in the locations that I only use when he is in his pen - when he is free to roam the door is left wide open so he can use his litter box. There was no sign of escape - nothing was disturbed. His food and water bowls had been filled when I placed him in his pen and both were half empty.
I walked back to the living room and Wellie was still lying next to Boo. My wife had heard me knocking around and came down to see what was going on. She saw Wellie and asked me why he was out. I told her I had no viable explanation and asked her to look at his pen. She did, and we both looked at each other with total disbelief. We both knew that there was no way for him to escape. And yet, here he was, keeping vigil faithfully over his best friend, who was fading away in front of us.
We scratched our heads and wracked our brains and had no logical explanation for what was happening. We were exhausted by grief, so I put Wellie in his pen, I picked up Boo, and we brought him upstairs for one last night in bed. We laid with him between us, with both of us holding him as we cried ourselves to sleep.
On Friday morning, we awoke in a state of total dread. We drank coffee and discussed the impending appointment and how we would handle it. We were devastated, but determined to do the right thing. While we were talking, something strange happened. Boo came marching downstairs, went straight to his litter box and dropped the first solid p**p that we had seen in more than three weeks. He walked in to the kitchen and looked back at us - he was standing by the counter, waiting for and eagerly anticipating his breakfast. When we gave it to him, he ate like a horse. And he could hear again.
When he was done, he came in to the living room and decided that he wanted to hang out on the couch with us. He laid down next to Treena and fell in to a peaceful sleep. He was comfortable and content. We were dumbfounded.
We observed him very closely for the next few hours and it was apparent that we needed to cancel that awful appointment. He was a new cat. He was love biting us, chewing on Treena's bracelets playfully (an old, silly habit) eating well and purring up a storm. Boo was back, and he rallied triumphantly just hours prior to his scheduled departure. Call it what you will, but as far as we are concerned, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Today, Boo is in fine shape. He gave us the gift of another solid poo this morning (it's crazy what we pet parents celebrate at times) and ate well. He had a much better walk in the back yard last evening and he is happy. He is sleeping comfortably and his energy is returning. We are being realistic - we don't expect him to last forever. But we have more time, something that most of us pray for and never get. We are beyond thankful.
So is Wellie. He is glued to Boo, kissing him, nuzzling him, dancing around him in circles. My appreciation for this animal has now surpassed my ability to explain it. His love for Boo is so strong, so fully expressed, so powerful. While the events of the past 36 hours defy explanation, we don't need one. We have been around the block with pet losses many times, and for the first time in our lives we have seen a pet come back from the brink of death. We are blessed.
Credit: Neil Brogan
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