Thanks to Gypsy's wonderful cardiologist, Dr. Wright, at Medvet in Cincinnati, we knew it would be a hard journey that would end too soon.
Gypsy would go through a lot of difficult times during her nearly two years with us. Her prognosis was a mere five months, so we were gifted a lot of time to get to know her.
Always constant, always sweet, Gypsy easily tolerated her multiple doses of medicines multiple times per day. She’d resist a little, meow a little, but as soon as it was over, she’d scamper over to her bowl waiting for her food reward… which we always gave her.
Quirks galore, Gypsy was wonderful. She won the hearts of those who loved cats – and even those who didn’t. From her crooked tail and exceptionally long claws plus a clipped ear, her beautiful black and white coat and bright green eyes made her a stand out. She never jumped without a mew, and depending how you were laying, she loved curling up on your back or on your hip.
Although very sick, Gypsy never showed it. She’d hop up with a mew on places she was allowed… and places she wasn’t allowed… like the dinner table. Toward the end, her perches varied from her cat condos to luggage and a fuzzy blanket.
As her medicines increased, we knew her little body couldn’t keep up with the dosage. Her kidneys weakened as a blood clot was found in her heart. Still. She showed no signs of sickness.
Time passed...
Last week, after several busy weeks with work, houseguests coming and going, and a vacation, we were looking forward to spending some quality time with our girl.
We wouldn’t get that chance.
After a day of running errands – pointless ones in hindsight, done just to stave off boredom – we came home, made some drinks and settled in to watch TV. The first choice was Captured on Camera. I broke down crying when a video showed a woman losing her dogs in a flash flood. Sobbed like a baby. Little did I know my baby’s heart was quickly failing in another part of the house. There I was crying for pets I didn’t know and couldn’t help, when I could’ve helped her.
My gut told me to check on Gypsy, so I headed back to where she was. First I went to the bathroom and was joined by another one of our cats, Chloe, who started playing on the floor and successfully distracted me from why I went there in the first place.
I returned to the living room without checking on Gypsy. It was an act that would turn out to be a fatal error for my girl.
An hour or two later I did go back to check on her. I was too late. There she was in the hallway. The life gone from her. She looked as alert as ever. Her eyes were bright, open and focused. Her ears perked.
Too late, I cradled her and cuddled her because that was how she was supposed to go. In my arms. It’s how I planned it. But no. I let life get in the way.
Living with a cat with severe hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (heart disease), I knew her life wouldn’t be long. I knew it would be sad. But I foolishly felt prepared. I foolishly thought I could control the seasoned hands of death.
Yet death came on its own terms. After spending boundless energy and thousands of dollars to keep her alive, in just two hours I failed her. Now I feel a crushing guilt compounded with the profound grief of losing a pet.
The house is emptier without her. So is my heart.
