One To Beam Up: Crossing the Rainbow Bridge

One of the hardest challenges faced by the family of a beloved keetain is the day he or she departs for the great Cat Condo in the sky.  The only way to combat the grief is with gratitude.



On Easter Sunday, April 22, 2019, all the cats were waiting for their dinner.  Suddenly Keaton crouched down, wailing and panting.  He then slunk into my closet and lost control of his bladder.  We knew this was serious and swept him off to Veterinary Specialists & Emergency Services.  They put him on oxygen immediately and prepped him for x-rays.  They told us to go home; that it would take time for his radiographs to be analyzed and they would call us with an update.

We went home.  After about an hour and a half I got a phone call.  The technician on the other end said two different veterinarians had been consulted.  She said Keaton's x-rays showed huge masses in his thorax and abdomen.  She said the prognosis was poor.  She said they recommended humane euthanasia.

We drove back to the clinic in a daze.  In one of those very bare, very bright, very zen consultation rooms which are shrouded in grief and sadness, we were shown the pictures.  The thoracic mass was so large it was pressing on his trachea.  His lungs were white when they should have been black.  There was what looked like a tennis ball around his spleen.  We had no choice.  I signed the paper, checking the boxes consenting to euthanasia and indicating that he could be cremated in a group.  His beautiful body would be empty; I wouldn't need his ashes.  They brought him in to say goodbye.  I declined attending the euthanization because all I would see in my mind's eye forever after would be Keaton dying, Keaton dead.  I looked into his drugged eyes and told him I loved him, that I would always love him,   Mark stood speechless, in shock as he reached into the carrier to stroke our cat one more time.  We then watched as the tech took him gently away.

As we carried the empty sherpa bag to the front desk, they settled the bill and handed us a white envelope.

In the days that followed, we received a card from our devastated veterinarian, Dr. Sanders.  Veterinary Specialists made a donation in Keaton's name to a service offering low-cost vet care to those in need.  I contacted Anjellicle Cats Rescue in New York and thanked them for all the love and joy he had brought us in his nine years on this planet.  They responded with a baby picture:

Later that night I opened up the envelope Veterinary Specialists had given me.  In it was a condolence card and a little card with a heart-shaped pin attached to it with a pawprint in the middle.

The verse made me lose it.  It said:

You no longer greet me
As I walk through the door.

You're not there to make me smile,
To make me laugh anymore.
Life seems quiet without you.
You were far more than a pet.
You were a family member, a friend,
. . . a loving soul I'll never forget.

It will take time to heal--
For the silence to go away.
I still listen for you,
And miss you every day.
You were such a great companion,
Constant, loyal and true.
My heart will always wear
The pawprints left by you.

I saw a ghost one day when a lost cat flyer was posted at my vet's office:

I hope this doppelgänger came home.

Mark used to say that Keaton never had a bad day with us; that every day was his birthday.  Except for one.

Goodbye, my beautiful, smart, funny, loyal and always hungry boy.   I'd like to believe the Rainbow Bridge is real, and that I'll see you there.