My heart is broken into millions of tiny pieces. I have been beset by a tragedy I was not prepared for right now. I had known it was a possibility, but I was in denial, and I begged for it not to happen now, while I was so weakened. My beloved Rabbit, my very favorite of all of Mr S-P's surprise rescues, had a cardiac event this afternoon, and we had to let her go. It was very sudden, and it hurts so badly. She occupied such a large part of my life, I don't know how I'm going to go on without her. I wasn't kidding when I told people she owned me.
Back when we were stationed with the Army (in a tiny Air Force squadron) at the National Training Center, Mr S-P went down several times to the Barstow animal shelter to volunteer. One time he was there on "euthanasia day," and he held something like 8-9 dogs (mostly pit bulls) who were put down because of their breed, or because the shelter didn't have space and resources to hold them long enough to find out whether they were adoptable. He held them simply so they didn't die alone and scared. At the end of that stretch, they brought in a white kitten about 9 months old, who had been in some kind of accident. She had a broken wrist, an abrasion on her nose, and some chipped teeth. Otherwise, she was fine. The vet said if she were confined to a cage for six weeks, her leg would heal and she would be good to go. The shelter people said they couldn't tie up a cage for that long, so she would be put down too. Mr S-P said time out. I will foster her for that time, so she doesn't die for a stupid reason. They claimed they stopped fostering animals, because they didn't ever come back. He was firm, and brought her home. She and I made eye contact for a split second, and she knew I was her forever human. She was right.
I had trouble keeping her in the cage. It seemed so punitive, and I didn't want her psyche to suffer for the incarceration. So I would take her out sometimes, and carry her around the house, so she would get a little variety and open air. She got loose from me one time, and ran upstairs. I chased her up there, and she turned and ran back down, hopping on her one good front leg and her hind legs going together. She had a black tail, so her white butt looked like a rabbit hopping down the stairs. The pound had named her India, possibly because of the black dot on her forehead. It didn't take a month for her to be nicknamed Rabbit.
She knew immediately that I belonged to her. She had priority for my lap and for my side of the bed. She loved taking care of others. She raised several kittens, especially Ralphie, the one I got in New Mexico to give to my older daughter when she was able to move out of the dorms into her own apartment. When I was sick, which happened often, she would lie across me and purr, knowing that it was a soothing, healing action. She was, quite simply, the perfect companion.
Early in the spring, I took her to the vet, because her ears were bothering her, and she had very bad breath. We got drops for the ears, but the vet said she detected a galloping heart arrhythmia, and she was extremely reluctant to put her under anaesthesia because of it. So a dental cleaning was out. A few months later, Rabbit wasn't eating, was losing tons of weight, and her mouth started to swell. I took her back, and they said she had an infection in her mouth that they couldn't address with dental surgery because of her heart. The best they could do was give her an injection of pain killers and antibiotics that would last a couple of weeks. It took three days to take down the swelling, but she eventually improved. They told me that the infection may come back, and they could "pulse" the antibiotics, readministering them until they stopped having an effect. While I was sick with my first chemo cycle, she had to go back in for another injection.
A few weeks ago, I noticed she was struggling to breathe. At first I wondered whether she was just purring to soothe herself, and that's why it looked like every breath drawn was with effort. This week, she was breathing even harder, and I kept saying, no, I cannot handle this right now. I made an extra effort to cuddle her on my lap and tell her how much I loved her, and had been doing that for a while but now I was starting to stress about telling her all the time. I went to my chemo treatment this morning, and was home by about 2. I hadn't finished sitting down, and she was immediately on my lap. I joked about it, but I let her stay. She jumped down fairly quickly, but I don't remember whether it was because I had to get up. At around 3, I looked down and she was on the floor between the piano and her daddy's chair, panting and drooling. I immediately knew this was not good, but I tried to tell myself she was just overheating. We took her into my room and turned on the air conditioner, to try to bring her temp down. She hated being picked up, and she howled until I followed into the room. I was the only one she let get near her, and I lay across the bed and held her hand, looking right into her face. I was able to see the underside of her tongue and gums start to turn blue. Mr S-P got on the phone with the vet immediately and he and our daughter rushed her there on the double. A few minutes later, my daughter came back to take me to the vet. It didn't look good.
They had her on oxygen when I arrived, so I had to wait to see her. The vet came in and told me the news I never wanted to hear, that even with emergency care and a cardiac specialist, we could only buy her a little time, at best weeks, most likely days. We made the horrible decision to let her go peacefully now, in our arms. It's only the second time I've had to make that call, and even now, 17 years after the first, I still regret the first time, even though it was the right decision. It all went so fast. She was a little calm when she first came into the room from the oxygen chamber, but she got restless very quickly. I was able to tell her I loved her while she was still lucid, and I continued to talk to her as the anaesthesia took effect. I will never stop talking to her, even though she can no longer hear me.
I have already noticed how much rabbit-themed paraphernalia I have around my house. The recovery period is going to be long and painful. I went digging for the last photo I took of her while she was alive, and it was all the way back in June, in the middle of my first chemo cycle, when I was trying to do some searches on the MLS for our friend who I took to view houses that weekend. She was on my lap, pushing my computer down, getting in the way. I might have been annoyed that day, but I'd give anything for more time with her like that. The other photos are of her in the box they sent her home in. She looks like she is sleeping peacefully. We let the cats have a viewing, so they understood why she would be missing from now on. I'm really impressed that her biggest rival, Athena, is the one who stood guard by her body the longest. She stayed under the piano bench and on the D&D tub for more than an hour, sitting shiva. I appreciated her showing respect.
Damn, 2019 has been a hard year. I don't dare wonder what's next.
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