Zeus: In Memoriam
Twelve and half years ago, I brought home two brothers: Zeus and Hades. From the very first day I brought them home, Zeus found his way to my side and into my heart. He chose me as his human and I chose him as my Buddy.
Yesterday morning at approximately 12:30am, I said goodnight to Zeus for the final time.
I wish I knew what happened. All I know is that whatever it was it was sudden, swift, and relentless. The only solace I can find right now in this is in knowing that there really was nothing to be done, even if I had taken him in sooner. The doctor said that he was very sick, that he had fluid both inside and outside of his lungs as well as in his abdomen and probably also his heart. She said that he would probably not survive this crisis. And even if he did survive this crisis, there would undoubtedly be another. She said that the fact that this happened so suddenly and so swiftly gave her cause to believe that an advanced cancer was involved. She said it would be a long, difficult road for him if I decided to pursue treating him, provided he survived the night.
I was given a few moments to myself to digest it all. I would go to any lengths to save his life, to bring him back to health. I would put myself into debt to care for him. Eric came back into the room and asked me what I wanted to do.
"I want my Zeus back," is what went through my head. And I did. And I meant to.
We went back to the lab, where Zeus was in an oxygen bubble. He was laying down. But as soon as he saw me, he labored up to his feet and started meowing that painful meow he had over the past day. "I want to go home! Take me home!" I could hear him say to me. He moved so weakly and gingerly. His voice was so cracked and harsh and ghostly.
After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I came to the only conclusion one who loves his furry child could come to. I couldn't live with making him go through any more of the excruciating pain I knew he was in. I turned to the doctor and I simply said, "Yes."
We went back into the room and the doctor explained the procedure. She asked me if I wanted to be present. I of course said, "Yes. He needs me." They prepped Zeus for what was about to happen. And Eric and I waited in the room, preparing for what was about to happen.
We - the doctor, Eric, Zeus, and I - were in the room together. I held him as the doctor administered the sedative. Eric held me. I spent a few moments telling him how much I love him, how sorry I am for doing this, that I know he just wants to go home. Then I kiss him and I tell him "Goodnight, Buddy. Daddy loves you," and nod to the doctor who administered the final injection. And just like that, with his body in my arms and his head rested on my hand, he went off to his final slumber.
The doctor, Eric, my mom, Beckye - they all told me how proud they were of me, how selfless it was of me, how I made the right decision for Zeus. I wish I could believe that. Because I feel so guilty. I feel that I could have ... should have ... done something to prevent this. Even though I was told I couldn't have.
This first night without him has been difficult, to say the least. It hurts even worse knowing that his brother doesn't know what's going on. The only times he's left my side since I came home tonight has been when he's walked the condo. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I can't help but believe that he's looking for Zeus. I can't help but believe that he's lonely and misses his brother.
My heart is broken. He was my Buddy. He was my Crackhead. He was my clown and my acrobat. He was my lovable snuggler. He was my hide-and-seek specialist.
Zeus, I know you're in a place where you are free and healthy and happy. I hope that I did right by you, that I was a good Daddy to you, that you had a fulfilling life. Knowing that would make this a bit easier.
Yesterday morning at approximately 12:30am, I said goodnight to Zeus for the final time.
I wish I knew what happened. All I know is that whatever it was it was sudden, swift, and relentless. The only solace I can find right now in this is in knowing that there really was nothing to be done, even if I had taken him in sooner. The doctor said that he was very sick, that he had fluid both inside and outside of his lungs as well as in his abdomen and probably also his heart. She said that he would probably not survive this crisis. And even if he did survive this crisis, there would undoubtedly be another. She said that the fact that this happened so suddenly and so swiftly gave her cause to believe that an advanced cancer was involved. She said it would be a long, difficult road for him if I decided to pursue treating him, provided he survived the night.
I was given a few moments to myself to digest it all. I would go to any lengths to save his life, to bring him back to health. I would put myself into debt to care for him. Eric came back into the room and asked me what I wanted to do.
"I want my Zeus back," is what went through my head. And I did. And I meant to.
We went back to the lab, where Zeus was in an oxygen bubble. He was laying down. But as soon as he saw me, he labored up to his feet and started meowing that painful meow he had over the past day. "I want to go home! Take me home!" I could hear him say to me. He moved so weakly and gingerly. His voice was so cracked and harsh and ghostly.
After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I came to the only conclusion one who loves his furry child could come to. I couldn't live with making him go through any more of the excruciating pain I knew he was in. I turned to the doctor and I simply said, "Yes."
We went back into the room and the doctor explained the procedure. She asked me if I wanted to be present. I of course said, "Yes. He needs me." They prepped Zeus for what was about to happen. And Eric and I waited in the room, preparing for what was about to happen.
We - the doctor, Eric, Zeus, and I - were in the room together. I held him as the doctor administered the sedative. Eric held me. I spent a few moments telling him how much I love him, how sorry I am for doing this, that I know he just wants to go home. Then I kiss him and I tell him "Goodnight, Buddy. Daddy loves you," and nod to the doctor who administered the final injection. And just like that, with his body in my arms and his head rested on my hand, he went off to his final slumber.
The doctor, Eric, my mom, Beckye - they all told me how proud they were of me, how selfless it was of me, how I made the right decision for Zeus. I wish I could believe that. Because I feel so guilty. I feel that I could have ... should have ... done something to prevent this. Even though I was told I couldn't have.
This first night without him has been difficult, to say the least. It hurts even worse knowing that his brother doesn't know what's going on. The only times he's left my side since I came home tonight has been when he's walked the condo. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I can't help but believe that he's looking for Zeus. I can't help but believe that he's lonely and misses his brother.
My heart is broken. He was my Buddy. He was my Crackhead. He was my clown and my acrobat. He was my lovable snuggler. He was my hide-and-seek specialist.
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