Monday morning, a ginger cat was shivering against my fence. I knew it was dangerous but I named him 🐱 Peaches two minutes after meeting him.
When he saw me, he clearly wanted to bolt but didn’t have the energy. Within fifteen minutes I had water out. Minutes later, small amounts of food. By afternoon he was lopsidedly wandering my backyard, looking at squirrels. He loved to cuddle. And honestly, it was a bummer with him on my lap giving him full body rubs, because I could feel every single bone. Running my hand down his back was rigid and bumpy, but I pet him for as long as he wanted.
I set up an outdoor bed for him overnight.
Look at those nails!
The next morning he was still there, and so excited to see me. Couldn’t stop trying to cuddle. I got him food, gave him pets. There was this moment where I let myself imagine it: 🐱 Peaches recovering. 🐱 Peaches becoming one of the beloved neighborhood cats. 🐱 Peaches getting fat and lazy and loved.
But his breathing was wrong, and he was so skinny. The claws, and a funny walk. He could only take eight or nine steps before stopping to sit for a second. So I thought I’d see if he was microchipped, and if not I would pay for some bloodwork and maybe see if he was spayed.
I brought him to the vet across the street. On the phone they said they don’t really take that kind of thing and were only taking new long term clients, but I could come in, get him scanned for a microchip, and we could talk about next steps. When I came in, they immediately took him into a back room.
A nurse came to check on him. Said she shouldn’t. 🐱 Peaches was so delighted to meet someone new, climbing out of the box I brought him in and trying to get all over her. But her face got sad when she started feeling around. “I shouldn’t, but I’m going to see if I can do something.” She grabbed a vet to take a quick look.
The vet was gentle but honest: “This cat is very, very ill. I can tell just touching him, from his breathing, his heart rate. If you spent $500 right now, he would still be very ill. If you call animal control, I’m afraid he’ll die on the way from the stress. I think the best thing you can do for this cat right now is euthanize him.”
30 seconds of me petting him and sniffling
No microchip. Heart failure. Probably a broken rib. Other things too.
She said I could stay, that it was optional, that she’d understand if I wanted to leave. The nurses and the vet kept coming back to see him and he really was such a little ball of joy and light, even at the end.
This cat brought me so much joy in those 24 hours. And so much hope. I wanted him to stick around. I wanted him to know, at the end, that he was loved.
So I stayed for the injections.
What I’m sitting with: If he hadn’t been on my steps, if I hadn’t cared enough to bring him in, he’d still be alive. Struggling. Unhappy. But alive. Maybe?
He came to my fence because he was already dying. I know I didn’t cause his death, his heart was failing, his rib was broken. I have to believe that the vet wasn’t ending his life, she was ending his pain.
But knowing something and feeling it are different things. I know that a day of being cared for, and a peaceful end surrounded by warmth, is worth more than more days of suffering alone.
What I’ll remember: How excited he was to see me in the morning. How he couldn’t stop trying to cuddle. Those claws that had never been cut that made it so that he didn’t quite know how to walk.
He got one good day. I got to give him that. Goodbye 🐱 Peaches 💖.