r/seniorkitties • u/lichtundblindheittt • 5h ago
A sad update on Miles, (18.5) I really thought I’d get to come back here and tell you he was doing great
I posted here about a month ago when I was absolutely terrified about putting my 18.5-year-old cat Miles through another surgery on his paw, and everyone was so kind to me. I was so sure that eventually I’d come back with a happy update saying his paw finally healed and he ended up making it through.
Unfortunately that isn’t the update I get to give.
Miles died at home on Friday, October 2. I made the impossible and painful decision to have him put to sleep.
His paw problems started back in May and turned into months of bandages, infections, surgeries, and eventually amputating a couple of toes because there was diseased tissue that simply was not going to heal on its own. Pathology eventually showed fungal/inflammatory disease in the paw too. It was a horrible summer for both of us, but I kept pushing through it because Miles was still Miles through so much of it, and I truly believed that once the paw healed we would finally get to the other side of everything. And the cruelest part is that his paw did finally heal. His bandage came off. His fur had started growing back. He was walking on his funny little bird foot. But somewhere during all of this, the rest of him started slipping away. It was slow at first and then seemed to happen very quickly.
He had CKD for years and had always been completely himself despite it, so I honestly did not understand what was happening at first. His appetite became worse and worse over the last two weeks especially. At first appetite stimulants helped. Then they helped less. Then he stopped eating his dry food altogether, even though he had always been absolutely obsessed with especially dry food. I tried mirtazapine, Elura, anti-nausea medication, Pepcid, fluids, potassium, every kind of food I could think of, warming it up, adding water, hand-feeding, coaxing him to take the first bite. Sometimes I could get calories into him, but I could not get his desire to eat back no matter what I tried and I just couldn’t believe it. I thought for sure this was fixable especially in a cat who was always so food motivated. I also assumed that it could have been any number of things he was experiencing: stress, physical restrictions, disrupted routines, but I really thought he would recover.
He had one pretty good day not long before he died where he seemed more alert and more like himself, and I clung to it so hard. But even that day he still wasn’t really eating on his own. After that he just kept getting quieter and weaker. He stopped grooming much even though I had taken off the soft collar that had prevented that for what felt like an eternity. He stopped following me around the apartment and checking on me the way he always had. He still purred for me and would eat some Temptations, but most of the little routines that made him Miles were disappearing. It was breaking my heart every day trying to understand what was wrong. I cried a lot. I know he was old but I wasn’t ready especially after months and thousands of dollars trying to fix his most apparent problem which was his paw.
His bloodwork was honestly part of what confused me so much. His creatinine wasn’t some astronomically high number. He had actually had higher kidney values before while acting completely normal. But his vet explained that his body had apparently crossed some kind of line where he was no longer compensating the way he had for years. She told me she did not think he was likely to go back to being himself. That was kind of all I needed to hear, I wanted HIM back more than anything. We tried potassium anyway because she said if it were her cat she would want to at least satisfy the question. It didn’t produce the turnaround I desperately wanted.
I could have kept trying more things. I could have hospitalized him, put in a feeding tube, kept stacking medications and fluids and hoped something eventually stuck. That is the part I am still bargaining with constantly. But by the end, he seemed tired and uncomfortable and he barely wanted to eat even the foods he loved. I realized I didn’t want to keep him alive just because it was technically possible if the price was making him spend the rest of his time being a medical project. He just wasn’t himself and he seemed so quiet. He seemed tired.
So I let him go at home.
He had a rough night before, but that morning he was comfortable on my Pendleton blanket, purring while I pet him. The vet gave us plenty of time. When she gave the first injection he went right to sleep and was even snoring. I realized this was the first time in maybe a week I had seen him so comfortable. When the vet gave the second injection I almost told her to stop, and that I changed my mind. I still wanted to fight for him until the end. But instead I just watched her give the second one that would stop his heart. I couldn’t believe it. I held him in my lap afterward for a long time. I touched his paws, cleaned the gunk from his eyes one last time, kissed him over and over, and cut off a little piece of my hair to send with him because I couldn’t stand the idea of him going anywhere without part of me (I stole this idea from someone else on this sub so thank you to that person!).
I told him I was sorry I couldn’t save him. I told him I loved him more than anything. I told him he had to keep watching out for me. I told him I just wanted more time with him and I’ll never ever forget him. I begged him not to leave me.
Miles was with me for 18.5 years, almost half my life. I got him when I was 20 and miserable. He changed my idea of what a perfect cat could be. He was not really a cuddler, but he always wanted to be in the same room as me. He had to be directly in front of me while I played games, usually on his little pad on my coffee table, because apparently watching me from the couch was unacceptable. He checked on me while I worked. He reminded me when the feeder was about to go off and sometimes led me to it so I could participate in the ritual of food appearing. He made sure I was in bed at night and sat by my feet until he was absolutely sure I wasn’t going anywhere before going to his own spot. When I would sit at my vanity, he would protest me (presumably) leaving by meowing at me and then sitting on my bed to watch as I got ready. He would greet me at the door, lick my hands, yell at me, smell my food even if he didn’t want it, get offended if I took a nap, and make this funny little “oh! it’s her!” bounce when I walked past a doorway he was watching, like he was hoping it was me. He would beg for pets and treats and if I was distracted he would try to knock my phone or controller out of my hands. I used to hear him getting water in the middle of the night every hour or so and it was such a tiny, ordinary sound that I never imagined I would miss this much.
One of my favorite stories about him is one that a friend who was cat sitting him for me told me. She said she came in and fed him, did the litter box and all and he did his little greeting (he would escort company, and even me, through the hall after greeting you at the door and did NOT like it when you would try to walk ahead of him) and relaxed and took a nap etc. while she hung out with him for a few hours. He woke up and abruptly walked over to the door and just stood there, as if to say, “Well? You’re not my person and I know that so you can go if we’re all set here and you’re not planning on bringing her.” He never went by the door ever when I was home. I just thought that was so cute. He was really particular and it was such an honor to be his favorite person.
There will never be another Miles. He was so, so special. I loved him with all my heart and I hope, more than anything, that he knew how much I loved him. He was so smart, and funny, and weird.
It has only been a couple of days and I am having a really hard time. The sadness feels constant. I feel like I need to cry all the time and sometimes I can feel it sitting right there inside me, but the tears just won’t come. I can’t stop thinking about him. I keep coming home to an empty apartment and somehow it feels worse every time. I still turn the volume down because he didn’t like things too loud. I still close doors carefully. I still expect to hear his claws on the floor or his creaky little meow from the doorway.
I miss him so much that I don’t really know what to do with myself. I’m trying to put away his things because if I don’t I know I will be caught off guard and expect to see him come around the corner. And that will hit me like a bus.
I know I made the decision because I did not want him to keep declining until there was nothing good left, while I simultaneously became more frantic and exhausting myself even further trying to find some way for him to get his personality and spirit back. I know he was tired. I know I tried very, very hard to get him better. I’m just still trying to convince the part of my brain that keeps asking whether I should have tried harder or waited longer.
I wanted to come back here and share because so many of you were so kind to me when I was terrified about his surgery, and because you understood that an old cat can still be someone’s entire world. He really was mine.
Goodbye, Miles, my little prince. I will miss you terribly for the rest of my life. I will always look for you in everything. I love you.
