Most people would say that  I had to say goodbye to my 17 year old cat, Kaya. But, I think that she’s still with me, just not like she  has been for the last 15 years.

Kaya was literally my first spay cat – in vet school. As students, we learn basic and advanced surgical techniques by performing spays and neuters for a local animal shelter. The cats and dogs are available for adoption after the surgery, just in case you fall in love with your patient, as I did. I think animal rescue people know more about the basic driving forces of human nature than they let on. Of course I fell in love with this cute, little brown tabby cat with extra toes – how could I not?

I knew in my heart, for some reason, that the first cat I would ever own (on my own) would be polydactyl – have extra toes. I think I had a dream that told me this. I believed the dream. Kaya had so many toes, Dr. Keith used to call her, “Thumbs.” I knew the very first time I saw her (before the surgery) that this was my cat – so I had to do a great job. The surgery was a success – obvious proof that my professors had taught me well despite all my resistance and procrastinations -and Kaya moved into my room within the week.

Kaya has been with me since then, through all my moves and life changes (including the addition of a girlfriend turned fiancé turned wife, then kids). Kaya steadfastly nestled into the crook of my arm every night for these last 15 years.

I had cats growing up, but Kaya was different. She was my first cat – the very first animal I owned as an adult. I think that’s an unspoken right of passage in human experience. The day that you can stand up and be responsible for something or someone other than yourself is a big deal. At least it was to me.

Unfortunately, Kaya told me it was her time to move on. Not in so many words, but plainly enough for me to understand. About 3 months ago I noticed her starting to lose weight. Her bloodwork confirmed a fear of mine – her kidneys were failing. I think this is the point that was most difficult for me and what I think is difficult for all my clients. This was the time that I had to decide how much treatment she needed and weigh that against how much treatment she would want me to do. A true quality of life decision.

Kaya was the type of cat that while in her prime would not let a soul medicate her or manipulate her in anyway not to her liking. Not at least, if you wanted to keep that hand or arm or whatever was close when you messed with her. I once actually told her that if she ever got sick, she was going to have to figure out a way to take her own medications. I knew I couldn’t do it. I like my hands.

So, this was when I made the decision to give her supportive care for as long as she had left –  make her as comfortable as I could, and allow her to have a great quality of life until it was time for her to move on. It wasn’t a money decision at all. I would have maxed the credit card and taken a third mortgage on the house if something would have helped her. In this case, nothing would and anything I could do would make her miserable.

Now, something you don’t know about me, but I have a deep-seated faith in the interconnectedness of all things. Whether it’s on a spiritual level – as most of the world religions claim – or something having to do with the “Zero Point Field” that quantum physics explains concerning the basis of all matter and antimatter in the universe. I don’t know. I can make no guess as to what it is, but I know it. I feel it. She’s still here, just a memory or thought away.

So, every time I think of her, or turn around and think I see her, I remind myself that it could be her telling me that she’s still near. That she’s still with me. And that warms my heart and puts a smile on my face.

Next time I think of her, I’ll tell her you said,”Hi.”

Dr. AJ