Love and Death

A week ago today, I lost one of the great loves of my life, my sweet, sweet Harvey. He was my big tomcat who had shared my home and my life for thirteen years.  He was brought to me by a friend when he was a six week old kitten who climbed my curtains and terrorized my one year old female cat, Zoe.  The first year he lived with me, he ate all the cords off of my window blinds along with any type of string he could find.  For this dining preference, he nearly paid with his life after a major surgery to remove it all.  Until he came home from the vet's, he didn't seem to care much for me and I had nearly given up on him since he didn't like to be on my lap or to be picked up.  When I tried to pet him, he dodged my hand.  But, a magical thing happened during his recovery...we found that we loved each other.  That love continued to grow throughout the remainder of his life. 

Harvey had cute and funny habits.  When he went to his bowl for a drink of water, he always splashed it around until there was a small river running across the floor.  Then, he would put his left paw into the bowl and stand in it as he drank.  When he sat in my lap, he'd lean back on my chest and pat me on my face with his paws and he'd sit there for hours looking at my face through heart-shaped eyes.  He adored me and no one but me.  Harvey's love for me was the purest form of love I can imagine; it was unconditional love.  His love didn't hinge on my beauty or lack of beauty, my checking account balance, having a tidy home, or even on returning his love.  He simply loved me.... period.  And, I loved him the same. 

Ugly, ugly cancer got a hold on my Harvey and though he survived 15 months after surgery to remove the tumor and lymph node, it got him down.  I watched him struggle to breathe freely for two days, have his chest drained of fluid buildup, and watched him struggle another two days to breathe.  The procedure didn't help him much and neither did the strong drugs we gave him.  He spent the last night of his life resting quietly on my bed or on my lap and I slept little, wanting to savor every last moment with him.  Early on Tuesday morning, I called my vet and asked him to come quickly.   At 10:15, my vet arrived and I carried my precious Harvey to him.  A short time later, I held him as Dr. Mac gave Harvey the lethal injection that ended his battle with cancer and his suffering.

I have come to realize that death is a release.  A release from suffering, sickness, and misery.  When there is no hope of recovery, death is the beautiful gift to us from God, though we typically look at it through eyes of sorrow and loss.  My love for Harvey was great and helping him to ease out of this world, leaving his suffering behind, was my final act of love for him.  God bless you my dear, sweet friend.  I love and miss you.