Not Her Time

Yesterday was a fairly normal day. 10 o'clock came rolling around, we were lying in bed, watching LOST, when Angel jumped up to snuggle me. She doesn't care much for Ryan, so she generally spends all day hiding under the bed, and doesn't come out until the evening, when she can sit with me. I usually wouldn't mind her coming to be with me, but I wasn't feeling very well, so I started to push her away when she tried to sit on my iPad. When I touched her face, I felt that the entire left side of her face was hard and matted. I just assumed she had a fur clump, so I sat up, annoyed that I'd have to brush it out. As I pulled at it, I about screamed at what I saw. I gently tugged at the hair clump, and her cheek nearly fell off in my hand. Her skin, bone, and blood were all exposed. I sat up, said "OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH!" while Ryan said "What? WHAT? What's wrong?!" I didn't want to believe that I saw what I saw, but when Ryan turned on the light, we were both mortified.

When we confirmed that she was indeed as badly injured as we thought, I started to lose it. The first thing I did was call my mom, knowing that she and Jeff were already asleep for the night and wouldn't answer their phones. I'm not sure what I wanted, other than to vent and cry, and maybe have mom come sit at the house while we took Angel to the vet. Part of me knew that we would have to let Angel go, and I didn't want to go through it alone. But, I just decided to leave Ryan home and take Angel myself. As sad as I was, I do remember one funny thing. Right before I left, Ryan says "why can't the cats get injured during business hours..."

On the drive to the vet, I could tell she was scared, so I sang her "You Are My Sunshine" the entire way. It probably sounded like a jumbled mess, since I was bawling the whole time. Her face was so bad, I was positive they were going to tell me that the best thing was to put her to sleep. She's an old cat, and not the healthiest. I tried to prepare myself mentally for what was about to happen. As we got closer to the vet, I started to tell her how much I loved her, and that she'd always be my baby. Yeah, cheesy, I know. 

The vet visit ended up going the exact opposite direction than what I thought it would. Firstly, when they weighed her, my once-fat cat, who weighed 11 pounds, now only weighed 5. She was so frail and skinny. I started to cry again when they were looking at her face, pulling and tugging on the fur, to get a good look at the carnage. It had to be painful, but my sweet Angel just sat and purred, making it all that much harder for me to think about what we were going to do. They took her to the back to clean up the wound, all the while leaving me to continue to emotionally crumble.

That's when the doctor came in. He started by saying that Angel had an abcess on her cheek, that had ruptured. We hadn't noticed it because she's a long-hair cat, and the fur matted and covered it up. He said that she wasn't in any pain because the tissue was starting to heal and was actually healthy. (something I had a REALLY hard time believing after seeing how bad it was). I was waiting to hear the dreaded segway of how he suggested we put her out of her misery, but he never went there. He reassured me that with an antibiotic shot and a little TLC, she'd be back to normal in a few months. I asked him how something like this happens, and he suggested that maybe one of the other cats got in a fight with her. I know my cats, and they've never had the courage to attack Angel, especially not like this. So, personally, I don't think that's what happened, so it will always be a mystery. Hearing the vet tell me that not only was she very healthy (again, I doubted it), but that she was going to be fine, I didn't want to play dramatic and be like "okay, so she's fine, I think we should put her to sleep." I was suddenly filled with relief and gratitude that she was okay, and supposedly not in any pain. 

Before they brought her back into the room, they warned me that the wound looked a lot worse than it was. It was pretty bad, and made me, someone who was in the medical profession and saw lots of disgusting things, cringe and look away, so I wasn't sure that it could get much worse. Well, I think my jaw literally fell to the floor when I saw her next. After shaving away the bloody fur clump that was attached to the wound, all that was left was a huge, gory, bloody mess. She reminds me now of Harvey Dent from "The Dark Knight," also known as "Two Face," at the end when he has two halves to his face; one normal, and the other a horrifying sight to behold. At times Angel looks normal, but when she turns her head and I can see the gaping hole in her cheek, I cringe just a little.

All-in-all, we had a best-case scenario. She didn't have to be put down. She was going to be fine. And we only had to pay a fraction of what we thought we were going to have to pay. I counted my MANY blessings that night as I drove home, and everyone was safe and in bed in under an hour after the entire ordeal began. Before letting Angel out of the kennel, I warned Ryan that what he was about to see was horrific. I still can't look at her and believe that this injury is "normal" for cats, and that she's "fine." Already, she's acting like she feels so much better. She's snuggly and won't leave me alone. This morning, her face had started to dry up, thank goodness, because all I could think about last night was how gooey and bloody it looked, and how all my poor sheets were going to be covered in blood. 

I'm not sure if I did the right thing. Angel is over 17 years old, has no teeth, is skinny and feels frail, and at times, I wonder if she's in pain from it all. Part of me was torn. I've told the story before of how we got Angel. Her mom, Roo, was giving birth while my mom was away, running errands, so I birthed Angel. Since then, we've been best buds. She was literally the only thing that got me through being alone out in Omaha and placing Easton for adoption. I leaned on her, emotionally, like I would a real person. There were times after the adoption that I didn't want to leave the house, because I couldn't bear to be away from her. She took the place of Easton, my baby, and I can never thank her enough for being my little companion during the hardest years of my life. It sounds sappy, but she was all I had, when it felt like everyone else left me. I'm not taking this experience for granted, and I will definitely be grateful for our nightly snuggles. And when it's her time to go, I'll always remember our bond. 

I will warn you that the pictures I'm going to post are extremely graphic. Probably too graphic to share with you all, but I want people to understand how bad it was, and why I was considering putting her to sleep. I'll post pictures in order of least graphic, to you-may-want-to-reconsider-looking. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Newborn Angel. I was probably 6 or 7.

She's been my life-long friend

I pulled on the matted hair, and that entire bloody mess pulled away 

I thought this was the last opportunity I'd have to get pictures with her before putting her down. I'm embarrassed at how crappy I look, but I'd been crying a lot, so deal with it!

WARNING, THIS ONE'S BAD!!

Barf-worthy! 

It looked much better this morning. I think my sheets let out a sigh of relief...

I couldn't get to sleep until after midnight, because I was so worked up. Then, Ryan woke up at 4, coughing, and I didn't really go back to sleep after that. I was SO tired this morning. My face was all puffy, and my eyes were heavy and sore from crying, so I didn't even get out of bed today. When Lilly took a nap, I took one, too. Angel jumped up and got as close to my face as she could, and snuggled me. I didn't care that my face was resting on her butt or that I may accidentally touch her wound. She was alive and happy, and I was thankful to have her there.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think this was my normal Angel. She's so much happier now. Part of me thinks she knows what happened, and is thankful that we helped her. My poor pillow is going to have to be washed, though.