Overwhelming guilt and heartbreak after my cat was put to sleep...

Hi Sandra and @Eli 27, I really feel for you in your grief. I had to have my little one put to sleep in February due to kidney failure. He’d been on treatment for 18 months and had improved so much, but then in January, his condition took a sudden turn for the worse. He was on a 24-hour drip at the vet's for a week with rehydration injections, but he didn't get any better—quite the opposite, in fact. Despite being given medicine to help his appetite and being offered all sorts of different dry and wet foods, he just wouldn't eat anymore. I had to "force-feed" him. He was also constantly hypothermic, and then one morning he couldn't get up. We had to make that awful decision; even though we know it’s to save them from unnecessary suffering and that it’s the ultimate act of love, there’s always that little voice inside making you feel guilty. It is starting to fade a bit now—some days it isn't there, but then on days where the emptiness and how much I miss him feel overwhelming, it resurfaces. In time, I think we’ll be able to think of all the lovely memories we shared with our boys without crying our eyes out, just a little tear of emotion. As for @Sann, I also understand that guilt you feel about him leaving you like that. I think when you love someone, no matter how they pass away, that guilt is always there. You wonder what you could have done differently or what you might have got wrong, but you have to tell yourself that we did everything we possibly could—and often much more—to help them. They were loved and cherished and were such a huge part of the family. The hole they leave and the longing are definitely there, but they will eventually give way to beautiful, fond memories.

I wish you both a lot of strength, and my heart goes out to you.

It’s so incredibly hard when the time comes to say goodbye; we always seem to find ways to be hard on ourselves. Out of love, I tell myself that I must remember all the care and affection we shared outside of this heart-breaking moment, because it’s simply impossible for us to live up to the expectations we set for ourselves.

Hi there.

You were lucky in your misfortune, and your beloved cat lived to be 19—what a wonderful life! I think you made the right decision; you have to be so strong to do that. I didn't have the courage. My cat passed away on 13th March 2022. He’d been ill for three years with hyperthyroidism, high blood pressure, and heart problems. The first year, his treatment worked brilliantly, but over time he had his ups and downs. We had to increase his medication to the maximum, but he wasn’t responding well anymore. He was losing weight and started meowing at night; I didn’t know why then and I still don’t know to this day. Anyway, six months ago, he started struggling to breathe, so we rushed him to the vet. He stayed there for 24 hours on oxygen, and they increased his heart meds again. Two months after that, it happened again—another 24 hours at the vet’s. Then, one Sunday in March, my Safir was really poorly. He was struggling to breathe, and this time it was through his mouth. I found an out-of-hours vet and took him in. I know Safir hated the car and that it would stress him out, but I had to get him there as quickly as possible. The vet told me over the phone that breathing through the mouth with his heart issues was a very bad sign. He didn't make a sound; he was in his little carrier on my lap. He meowed a bit and I tried to reassure him, then all of a sudden he started coughing and getting agitated. I opened his carrier and stroked him, but he kept coughing. I can still see his little face trying to gasp for air. He jumped onto the back seat of the car, lost his balance, and fell between the seats. I called out to him and he got back onto the seat, stretching his whole body out. I thought, 'Thank goodness, he's calmed down.' We pulled into the clinic car park and I couldn't see Safir on the seat anymore. He was back between the seats, and he had died. I can still see it when I opened the car door: Safir in my husband's arms, his head to the side, his eyes open, and his little tongue poking out. I cry from morning till night; there’s a knot in my stomach that’s eating away at me. It’s awful. It's all I think about. My darling boy is gone forever, and a part of me has gone with him. I can't get it out of my head—the pain is terrible and the emptiness is so cruel.