The Legend of Zorro

June 1999.  I was a senior in veterinary school on my radiology rotation.  This means that I spent my days learning about the physics, math, and art behind obtaining and interpreting xray images.  We received an order from the Community Practice department requesting radiographs on a 6 month old kitten.  The kitten had been owned by a college student who was away for the long Memorial Day weekend.  When he returned from vacation, he found the kitten trapped by his leg in the windowsill of his big, old farmhouse.

He brought the kitten, Zorro, in to be examined.  But with limited finances, Zorro sat in the hospital ward with antibiotics and pain medications for several days before any treatments were authorized.  His right rear leg was severely injured, and swollen from his thigh to his paw.  His paw had swelled to about 6 times its normal size and reeked of infection and tissue death.  

When we went to fetch Zorro for his radiographs, he was happy to be petted, and held, and he purred constantly.  Most patients in his condition would be acting sick, and rightfully so.  But not Zorro.  I knew immediately he was special and I couldn't help falling in love.

A day or two later I heard that Zorro's owner had declined surgery because of limited finances.  Amputation was the only option for him.  His owner had relinquished him to the teaching hospital, which meant that it was up to the doctor treating him to decide his fate.  Many times this means euthanasia.  But in Zorro's case, he had a treatable injury and what he needed was someone to take responsibility for him.  To love him.

I already had one cat, Lucky, whom my dad got for me when I was 9 years old.  Lucky was 12 at the time, and I was a starving college student.  I told my parents I was going to rehabilitate him and find him a home.  I signed on as Zorro's guardian and arranged for the surgery resident to amputate his leg.  My parents happened to be coming into town the evening of his surgery and my mom was with me when he was coming out of anesthesia recovery.  Minus one leg, Zorro was still the sweetest, happiest little angel.

Years later, my dad still teases me that I walked into the middle of an empty cornfield and asked if anyone wanted a cat... that was my attempt at finding him a home.  And it's probably true.  I do remember asking one friend, but I knew that no one would ever love him as much as I did.  And I could give him a good home.  A good life.  

Getting a bath from Blue.

For 14 years, Zorro was the picture of health.  His lack of leg never slowed him down.  In fact, his remaining back leg became really strong and we referred to it as his ham-hock.  One year I hosted a dinner for Thanksgiving for my co-workers.  On of the doctors remarked, "your cat is limping."  I smiled and told her that it was because he only had 3 legs.  He really could run and jump and play just like any other cat.  

Last year I began to notice that Zorro was losing weight.  His muscles were beginning to atrophy and he was showing some signs of weakness.  He started asking to be picked up when we were all snuggling on the couch at night.  He stopped walking up the steps to the bedroom, he would stay downstairs.  

With all 4 of my boys being 'senior' pets, I decided to take them all in for some bloodwork.  I was shocked to discover that Zorro was diabetic.  He wasn't even overweight.  He had never been on steroids.  Those are the two most common reasons cats become diabetic.  I knew that this was not the typical Type 2 diabetes we see in pets.  He was just old.  And his pancreas was shutting down.  We started insulin and though he was never regulated as much as I would have liked, he did respond and his weight stabilized.

Snuggling with Brady

If you follow my blog, you know about our scare from November.  (You can read about it here.)  After that incident, he recovered and even improved somewhat after I changed his insulin.  But I promised myself that if he ever declined again, that I would let him go.  I know how to prolong his life.  But that doesn't mean his life has quality.  

Two days ago, my baby stopped eating.  Though he still wanted to be near us, he was no longer the chatty, demanding kitten that we knew.  He slept very heavily and unless we were actively bothering him, he was difficult to rouse.  He normally was not allowed in the bedroom at night because he would lay by my head and demand that I pet him all. night. long.  This was not very conducive to sleeping.  Last night I was worried that he might pass, and I set him up with a blanket on the floor by my bed so I could keep an eye on him.  He slept very soundly until about 4 am when he finally woke up and asked to be let out.  This wasn't him.  

I counsel people on euthanasia every day.  And I know that no matter how "right" it is, it is never an easy decision to make.  But years ago I worked with an oncologist, and she believed (which I also came to believe) that it is our last gift to our pets.  To end their suffering.  To let them go.  It's easier to keep them alive, and drag things on because we can't possibly make that decision.  I know.  I get it.  But when we can put their needs above our own then it is a gift.    

Our boys' favorite past time.  

Today I gave Zorro the gift of freedom.  Freedom from his disease.  Freedom from weakness.  And pain.  And hunger.  I will always love him.  And as I held onto him so tightly when the injection was given I knew that he could feel my love.  I believe in a loving God, and I believe that in the afterlife I will be reunited with the ones that I loved here on earth.  And it would not be complete without my boys.  They will be there before me, waiting.     

Thank you to my wonderful husband for your support, patience, and love.  I know you loved Z kitty as much as I did.  Our home will not be the same, each time we say goodbye to one of our babies.  Thank you to RA for being with us and administering the injection, a task that I could not do.  Thank you to MAS for transporting him to the crematorium.  I don't think I could come to work tomorrow if I knew he was in the holding cooler waiting to be picked up.  Thank you to CAS and CJB for being there to support us and to love on Z during his last day.  

To my Z kitty, 

I always teased that you promised me you would live forever.  I only said this because you were the best cat on the planet.  I knew when you came into my life that you were special, and there will never be another like you.  You traveled across the country with me 5 times.  You flew in an airplane- calm, cool and collected like it was no big deal.  You lived a week in an RV.  You rode several times shotgun in a moving van.  No matter where we went, you were happy as long as we were together.  You didn't like being alone, and when Lucky died you cried every day until I brought you a kitten.  And you graciously accepted, and genuinely loved, every cat that I brought you since then.  We joked that the pillow you laid on at night was your throne.  But you truly were royalty.  I cherish every memory I have, and will miss you with all my heart.  When I close my eyes at night I will hear the soft rumble of your purr and imagine you making biscuits on my arm to get my attention.  I love you, my angel.  Rest in peace.