About two years ago, he started vomiting at ramdom times during the day. It might be after food, but it could equally be hours after eating. A trip to the vets and a couple of blood tests later revealed that everything was apparnemtly 'normal' and they just put it down to his having developed a problem with some foods. We then embarked on trying every type of 'sensitive stomach' food, fresh poached chicken, raw foods - anything and everything was tried. We just wanted him to be able to keep his food down. His weight dropped from a rather portly 6.5kg to 4.5kg, but it held there and, much more importantly, he remained the happiest of chaps, purring loudly at the merest touch and showing no signs of reduced energy. And so things went on this way, he still had a big appetite, he still vomited and his weight remained constant. It wasn't ideal, but he was definitely happy and still the Chester of old (apart from being a slimmer version).
All chairs and sofas in the living room were 'his' places and we were soft enough to work round him if he had already occupied a spot we wanted to sit on. One of his best tricks was his ability to jump into a seat one of us had briefly vacated to get something from another room and, in the 20 seconds we were absent, he would curl up and feign being fast asleep as if he had been there for hours. Again, we often let him get away with that! In summer, he would join me in sitting out on the bench in the front garden, either on the bench itself beside me or to lay in a warm spot and soak up the sun, the pupils of his bright yellow eyes mere slits in the sunlight and a most contented look on his face. His absolute favourites though were cardboard boxes: any box, once cleared of its contents, became a place for Chester to inhabit, sometimes just to sit proudly as the master of his new castle or sometimes, to curl up and go to sleep. The expensive cat beds were never graced by Chester's furry bum.
Then, over the course of the last fortnight, he seemed to start to lose energy. He'd still jump up onto his favourite stool in the kitchen, but he'd stay there for extended periods. He was still eating and still purred when we stroked and cuddled him, but his weight had definitely dropped. We didn't discuss it, but we thought that things might be moving towards the moment that Elaine and I dreaded. Last weekend, we went away for a couple of nights to the Lake District and the cat sitter sent photos to us of feeding time each morning and evening. Chester was still first the bowl and looked bright-eyed. We came back on the Sunday afternoon and that evening, while he seemed OK, he wasn't interested in food. The next morning, he was listless on his stool and, after investigating the food we had put down for him and his fellow mogs, he ate nothing and lay in the middle of the kitchen floow. We had put tinned tuna down for him, the thing he always begged for whenever we opened a tin for our own meal. Licking the tin was alway Chester's treat and yet now, he had no interest. When he similarly refused to drink any milk, another thing he begged each morning as we made tea, we knew things were bad. We stroked hime there on the kitchen floor and he purred. That turned out to be the last time he would do so.
Around 12 years ago, we took in an older cat, Hobbes, a big ball of fur with only three legs. We had no idea how old he was - the vet guessed he was between 9 and 12 years old. His owner had taken him to be put to sleep because he was supposedly vomited everywhere. The nurse in that vet practice saved him with a view to finding him a new home. We couldn't resist taking him in and he had 4-and-a-half happy years with us during which time he vomited in the house on only one occasion. The end for Hobbes was similar to Chester's - weight loss and a loss of energy - but happened a lot quicker. The last day we were with Hobbes, he laid down in the litter tray and had no energy. His eyes, once bright, were now unfocussed. We took him to the vets and were told that he could still pull through and were given some tablets for him to take. We then took him to the cattery because we were flying to Canada. On our first night there, we had a phone call at about two o'clock in the morning from the cattery to say that they had had to take Hobbes to the vet because he was so poorly and he had had to be put to sleep. I tell this story because I - we - still feel a sense of guilt over what happened with Hobbes: we both knew it was his time, but we allowed the optimism of one vet to avoid doing the right thing and be there with Hobbes when he was put to sleep.
Owning a pet is, of course, about the happiness, joy and love that they bring to our lives, but we also take on the responsibility of looking after them throughout all those good times, but also through the bad. We failed Hobbes at the end of his life because we weren't there to hold his paw, to stroke him and to provide the sounds of those people that he knew from home. We had Chester for nigh on 13-and-a-half years and all the happy memories he gave us throughout that time required us to do the right thing for him at the end. He deserved to go in a dignified way, with those that he loved and who loved him in return. It is a really hard thing to do, even when it is 100% what has to be done. We have been the ginger boy's whole life and he has been a massive part of ours. Losing him is heartbreaking and I am typing this through tears, but I am glad we got it right this time and were there to comfort him as he passed. Run free, Chester boy. You are already greatly missed.
