Ginger

This isn't a typical blog post, but then this isn't a typical subject for me to be writing about.

Ginger, our 14-year old tomcat, was born around Easter 1998. His mother, Shadow, had been a stray that Kate had found some time before, hiding under a lamp post in Houston late one night when she'd been driving back home from Galveston. Shadow had just one litter of kittens, and there was something different about little Ginger that made us keep him.

He's had his adventures over the years.

When he was only a few months old he chased a German Shepherd up the road for daring to encroach on his turf.

One time we saw him slinking into the yard trying to creep up on a bird, then he looked up and saw about fifty birds perched on the fence, all looking at him. He slunk back again, pretty quick.

One evening a few years ago we heard a terrible noise from the garage and when we got in there we found feathers. Ginger was hiding behind a box. A few minutes later I saw one of the biggest owls I've ever seen perched on a power line nearby, and I'm fairly sure I know what happened; that owl had tried to grab Ginger and, thankfully, Ginger had either run for it or fought back, and from the feathers I'm fairly sure there was a fight. (He was no lightweight, by the way - he topped fifteen pounds at one time.)

Over the New Year Ginger stopped eating properly. We had visitors for the holiday and at first I put it down to him simply being out of sorts, not being used to having a house full of people. He'd done similar things in the past, so I didn't worry at first.

When he still hadn't eaten normally for three straight days we knew that it wasn't as simple as that. I took him to the vet and they took some blood. At this point I was thinking that he probably had nothing more than a bug.

It wasn't anything so nice. The vet diagnosed kidney disease, and said it was quite serious. He sent me home with a bag of medications - antibiotics, stuff to encourage his appetite, special food, and said to make an appointment for another blood test.

The second test showed marked improvement but the vet warned me that Ginger's kidneys would never fully recover. He suggested preparing ourselves for the worst. In the meantime, make another blood test appointment.

The third blood tests were done the day before yesterday and the news was bad - he was basically back to square one. I was given the choice of hospitalisation, which would get him feeling better but would give him a few more weeks at most. The other option was the hard one.

It came down to a matter of quality of life. Ginger didn't seem to be in real pain but the poisons in his blood were making him weak, lethargic and no doubt just generally very sick.

Even though it was logically the best choice, emotionally it was still very difficult for us. He's been with us since he was born; apart from a few days here and there when we've done trips away he's been with us every day. It tore our hearts out to have to let him go, but the alternative was for him to suffer more and more.

And so last night we took him to the veterinary hospital a few miles from here and told them that we'd made the decision to spare him any more suffering.

I stroked Ginger while the vet administered the drugs. He was lying across my knees when his heart stopped.

I think I got maybe four hours sleep last night. I feel emotionally drained. I wrote this at least in part to get some of it out of my system, but to be honest I don't think it's helped.

I am never getting another pet. I don't think I can take this kind of pain again.