Something not often discussed is the quality of life for the human caregivers. Before I say any more, let me be very clear that I am in no way suggesting that we should euthanize our pets when they become inconvenient. I am simply acknowledging that caring for a terminally ill animal takes a toll on people and relationships.
It's something we're not supposed to say. We love our pets, yeah? They bring us years of happiness, so we're happy to care for them in turn.
Yet...
I don't think it's helpful to ignore the impact on those doing the caring.
For example, I sat on the kitchen floor and spoon fed my cat on Tuesday. Twice. When he is on his mirtazapine, his hunger cues are all borked. The act of taking him to his bowl can mean he eats a couple of bites rather than wolfing down half a can of food. So I feed him where he is.
The drug also tends to make him even more vocal. My spouse works from home. It can be very difficult for him to concentrate when our cat is roaming the house, meowing constantly for hours.
Mike's medical needs also mean we can't leave him home on his own for long periods of time. Asking a friend to administer twice daily pills and subQ fluids on top of 4-6 feedings seems...excessive. So whenever we travel, we have to board him. However, the last two times we boarded him, he lost weight. And he has no more weight to lose. We're effectively homebound for the duration.
It's not just that we can't take vacations - with ~$200/month going to cat meds, we can't afford those anyway. We also can't take the kid to visit two of his sets of grandparents. And even visiting the closest grandparents means Mike is short on food for the day.
When we took in this cat, we took him in for life. Not until he got old. Not until he got sick. Not until he became inconvenient. So we do all of this and more because we care for him. And most days it's just life; we don't really think about it anymore. But on the bad days - the days when he meows for hours but refuses to eat, when he loses his balance in the litter box and drags poop and litter throughout half the house - we aren't happy. On some days, we're downright angry.
And that's okay.
It doesn't mean we're giving up. We're not on the phone to the vet, making an appointment for euthanasia. We're just temporarily fed up. Our meters are on empty. Some comfort food, maybe family movie time, and a good night's sleep goes a long way towards restoring us (not that Mike has allowed me more than a handful of nights of decent sleep in the last few years, but moving on...).
Over the last 26 months, I have learned to take life with Mike on a day-to-day basis. On the bad days, I have to remind myself that it's just one day. Tomorrow is a new day. And we do discuss quality of life, because honestly we're about at the limit of what we can do for this cat. But as long as he's still being Mike, we'll continue to do it all.
But we also recognize that his care needs take a toll on all of us: physically, financially, emotionally. Discussing that doesn't mean we don't care about our pet. In fact, considering that we see that and still keep on keeping on, to me it means the opposite.
 |
| Mike doing his best inspirational cat poster impersonation |
