Pretzel Addendum

After the events I described in my eulogy to Pretzel, my wife couldn't concentrate at work and she came home.  It was a warm day for February, so she took me for a walk.  She felt guilty that she wasn't there with Pretzel, but I reassured her that there wasn't anything she could do; I carted Pretzel around town, but I wasn't with him when he died.  I didn't see Pretzel receive medical treatment; it all happened behind closed doors.  We talked about Pretzel, we talked about everything, and the exercise and fresh air helped me breathe normally without sobbing.  We came home, and I wrote the eulogy.

There was a lot I had to leave out and rearrange in that eulogy.  How do you condense 13 years--even 13 years in only the limited life of a cat--into a brief essay?  Although I maintain that the eulogy tells the truth, some facts had to bend in order to make that truth readable.

I must thank all the friends and family who wrote kind words of condolence during my grief.  It was heartwarming to have so many hands offering help and comfort.  Thank you all very much.

As the days passed since we lost Pretzel, my grief lifted by degrees.  The next morning, I thought that surely yesterday was a horrible dream, and that Pretzel must certainly be next to my bed waiting for breakfast; but of course this was a brief delusion.  The next evening, I had "One Less Bell to Answer" stuck in my head as I knocked around my house which seemed strangely emptier.

One day, I noticed a co-worker had a framed photo of an adorable cat on his desk.  I asked him about it, and he informed me his beloved cat passed on a month ago.  I explained my situation, and we related the same sorts of frustrations and agonies we both felt, and that we'd gladly clean up our cats worst messes in order to have them back again.  It was like a 5-minute support group session with only 2 people, but it was tremendously helpful for me.

A few days later, I was able to laugh without bitterness.  A week later, I was able to play video games again.  Life goes on.

For Hansel, recovery is much slower.  He has known Pretzel since the womb, and he is left all alone as my wife and I go to work during the day.  He meows, which Pretzel sort of did FOR him when dinner was due, and Hansel's lonely cries somehow sound more like emotional distress than mere complaint.

For grieving pets, it is recommended that the pet view and investigate the body of the deceased in order to properly understand the nature of their loved ones' departure.  Of course, I had no idea about this, and I foolishly left Pretzel's body in the hands of the Hospital personnel for the closure I hoped a necropsy would bring.

Today I got a call from the University Doctor who treated Pretzel during his final hours.  Pretzel's necropsy was complete, and revealed cancer in his spleen, liver, and intestine; specifically, an aggressive form of lymphoma, likely T cell lymphoma.  I asked if this was the reason Pretzel was losing weight for several years.  Lymphoma can cause weight loss, but untreated lymphoma kills within 6 weeks; the Doctor suspected Pretzel was likely suffering from Inflammatory Bowel Disease, and explained that there is no proven link between cancer and Inflammatory Bowel Disease.

The speed with which this cancer strangled the life out of Pretzel reassured me that if Pretzel suffered in his final hours, he surely must not have suffered for long.

I told Pretzel I loved him many times when I cradled his purring form in my arms, but of course cats have only the dimmest comprehension of the sounds humans make.  I asked my wife if Pretzel knew I loved him, and she informed me that she was sure he knew it.

Any one of us could go at any time, but as humans our capacity for language gives us a tremendous advantage.  Tell your loved ones how much you love them.  Tell your friends you appreciate them.  Thank people for doing things for you.  Try to be polite.  It costs you nothing to do any of this.