Butchie had an unpleasant trip to the vet on Friday and has spent the last couple of days recuperating. The experience put me a bit on edge as vet stuff in general still reminds me of Bongo’s last days. I’ll be able to relax once Butchie seems to be back to her old self. She has strange shaved and bruised patches all over and, for a while, the subcutaneous hydration caused one of her front paws to swell to twice its normal size. It looked like she was wearing a catcher’s mitt — comical in retrospect. After two days of rest she is still walking a little strangely, but seems to be making steady progress. She underwent a battery of procedures and tests — teeth cleaning, blood tests, x-rays, etc. — that required the use of general and local anesthesia in addition to pain medication afterward. All were administered in the name of setting a baseline for her entry into her senior years. The x-ray revealed a bit of arthritis in her spine near her tail, so we now know to keep an eye out for any behavior that might suggest she is in pain. We have arthritis medicine that we are holding in reserve until it seems necessary — her other health concern is liver-related, so we don’t want to overdo the administration of any medicine that might tax her liver. The vet diagnosed her simply as “old cat”, so that was a relief after her sister’s bizarre problems. I can’t help feeling a little over-protective of Butch, now.

Little over a week ago, Bongo first showed signs of lethargy. She spent the whole day in bed and Caton and I were extremely concerned. In the following days, however, she seemed to rally and show steady signs of improvement. Since she seemed to be recovering, and since she was an extremely skittish kitty, we felt that the stress of a vet visit would outweigh its benefits. We assumed she had a kitty cold.

But then her condition took an unexpected turn for the worse. Thursday morning Bongo seemed barely able to stand. My mother and I took her to the vet where I tried to explain the changes in her behavior over the past week. The vet thought she detected a heart murmur, but discounted it after listening further. Her vital signs were good, but x-rays revealed a suspicious mass of tissue in her chest cavity. The x-rays and a blood sample were sent out for analysis and a report was expected the next day. Bongo spent the afternoon and evening resting under Caton’s bed. The dry food I placed under his bed was left untouched. Concerned that dry food might be difficult for her to consume, Caton and I bought some soft food which I placed by the bed. Bongo emerged, merely licked at the food a couple of times, and then retreated. Her behavior was worrisome and I wanted a closer look.

After I extracted her from under the bed, it became immediately and painfully clear that something about Bongo was very wrong. Not only was she still profoundly weak and unable to stand, but she showed disturbing signs of possible neurological damage. Caton and I rushed her to Dove Lewis, the emergency animal hospital, where the doctor told us that any possible prognosis was bleak at best. Her possible heart murmur was now clearly evident. We felt that any decision made before knowing the results of the x-rays and blood tests would be premature.

As much as it pained us to do so, we left Bongo at Dove Lewis overnight. I couldn’t sleep and was terrified that Bongo would die in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar people and animals. To our relief, the following morning Bongo was pretty much as she was the night before, not good but seemingly not any worse. We took her from Dove Lewis to our regular vet and awaited the results of the x-ray and blood tests. Our regular vet was more optimistic than the emergency vet at Dove Lewis so we thought for a moment that there might be some hope for Bongo, yet.

But, the x-ray and blood report turned out not to be as useful or hopeful as we wished. Many signs pointed to a heart condition. Her temperature was low and her blood platelet count was low. Her palsy suggested that she had a stroke. The mass in her chest could be a benign cyst or a lymphoma. The exact cause of her condition was still a mystery, but all possible answers resulted in bleak prognoses. Bongo was broken, flattened, contorted and confused by invisible forces that we couldn’t explicitly identify or control. After many tears, Caton and I decided that time spent upon further fruitless tests would only prolong the suffering of our dear Bongo. We made the heart-wrenching decision to end her life. A decision I hope we never never have to make again, but a decision that is always a possibility for a conscientious pet owner.

Bongo left this existence peacefully, surrounded by love, soothed by comforting strokes, her weary head resting on Caton’s hand. Our little family feels the loss of Bongo keenly and our grief is profound. We miss her very very much. She was a dear friend, constant companion and confidante as well as a loving and irreplaceable personality. She was elegance personified. She was a protector of her domain. She was a sensualist and expert snuggler. She was an international traveler — a Canadian expatriate kitten by way of Cairo. She was a playful and affectionate sister for Butch (who now must adapt to life without the litter-mate who has always existed for her). She meant more to us than can be expressed with words.

Little more than a week ago, she was a seemingly vital and perfectly healthy member of our family. We are shocked and stunned by the swiftness of her deterioration. I realize that—in these times of profound tragedy—our loss may seem insignificant. This message is not a plea for sympathy, but simply an announcement for the benefit of those close to us. Our dear, sweet Bongo is gone and our hearts are heavy.