Daisy Hyacinth
4-10-76 to 6-5-95
July 5, 1995
One month ago today, I lost my precious Daisy. After 19 1/2 years, I had to make the most difficult decision I have ever made. She fought a long hard battle, and even in the end, she wanted to live, but her kidneys just wouldn’t cooperate.
My friend Sheryl drove me to the vet that sad Monday morning. Jagdish was out of town, as I was supposed to be, also. I had cancelled my trip when it was clear that Daisy was not doing well.
For four days, I brought her to the vet for intravenous drips to rehydrate her. At night, I brought her home to lie on my lap on the loveseat and then to sleep by my side in bed, as she had for all those years. By Saturday night, I had to face the bitter reality that she might not make it. By Sunday night, she was having difficulty breathing and her back paws were filling with fluid. I knew I had to make the terrible decision for her, since she could not make it herself. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer, and by Sunday night it was clear that she was, indeed, suffering.
I don’t know where I found the strength to snuff out the life of the sweetest, gentlest creature in the world. For me, it was far more difficult than fighting cancer. No decision I had to make regarding my own care was harder or more painful, because those decisions affected only me. But this, this monstrous decision which had to be made, this affected an innocent creature who looked to me for every need of her life. A creature who loved me and trusted me unconditionally and who couldn’t understand what was happening to her in the end.
Daisy was with me longer than any man in my life. Many friends over the years have said that Tulip was my favorite. Perhaps in the early years that was so, in the years when Daisy had her original father’s lap to sit on, before Charlie and I separated. But once it was just us three girls, Daisy, Tulip, and Mommy, I gave Daisy more attention than Tulip, to make up for her loss, and I loved them equally, but differently. As Daisy got older, she became even more affectionate, if that was possible. As her hearing got bad, she seemed to want even more than ever to have physical contact with those around her. You couldn’t make a lap without Daisy wanting to get on it.
At the table, Daisy would sit in the middle of all the plates, trying to sample anything that smelled to her liking. That included Kentucky fried chicken, turkey, spaghetti, and, of course, tuna fish. I bought her white meat in water for her last two meals; the big girl had some desire for food right up to the end. In her last few months, she had trouble making the jump to the chair seat and then to the table. (She had long since been unable to make the direct jump.) So I would lift her up so she would still be part of the family dinner.
In bed, Daisy would slide in between Jagdish and me under the covers. (She had only recently discovered the joy of sleeping under them. I think it was because she had lost a lot of weight--she was lighter than Tulip in the end. She had no fat left for insulation and her internal temperature had been low for several months.) If Jagdish tried to hold me in bed, she would push herself between us as soon as the slightest gap appeared.
The first few days Daisy was gone, Tulip would sit under the cocktail table in the family room in the middle of all her toys and stare at the loveseat where Daisy had spent most of her last few days. It was as though she was waiting for Daisy to come back. She seems to play with her toys more now than recently. I think she is trying to entertain herself. It’s odd, because she generally wanted little to do with Daisy in their later years; I think she was jealous of the extra attention Daisy was getting. For several years now, Daisy had needed special medication and food. We had a morning ritual of thyroid pills and eyedroppers of antibiotics during her various bouts with infections.
Daisy was always very motherly toward Tulip, washing her face for her each morning. I worry that winter will be difficult for Tulip, independent though she is. On cold days, they would huddle close for warmth. When I would return from trips, I would often find them in the same room, if not on the same piece of furniture.
I had Daisy individually cremated and her ashes are now home with her mommy. They’re in a tasteful urn of sorts. I guess you’d call it alabaster or some such polished stone. I’m having a special piece of pottery made by a woman I know who is quite talented. Something simple and natural, with a Daisy embossed into it. I’ll put the other urn inside it and she will be at rest in something uniquely hers. For there never was a cat like Daisy. And there never will be again.
Not a day goes by that I do not cry from the pain of losing her. I miss her more than I ever could have imagined. Tulip may be cute and adorable, but Daisy was sweet and lovable. Tulip may be intelligent, but Daisy was devoted to me. She was my joy in a life of angst. I have lost my Sweetness. I have lost my Joy.
Mealtime is not the same. Bedtime is unbearable. I stay up late every night, hoping I will be so tired by the time I lie down that I will fall asleep without having time to think of her. There is an aching hollow where she curled up against me each night. I feel so childlike and helpless, so emotionally out of control, and yes, immature. My mind tells me nothing lives forever. I have lost my father and my dear friend Lyn, both from cancer, and I have dealt with those losses reasonable well, I think.
But Daisy, my beloved Daisy, I’m afraid I shall never get over losing you. --Elaine
