Our youngest cat, Willow, was hit by a car today. One of our neighbours knocked on our door to inform us that the accident had happened and our seriously injured cat had crawled under a nearby car. So I had to go and drag her out from under it and, accompanied by the Missus, rush to the vet to see what they could do.
Willow looked awful and was panting and could barely move and, even after she was stabilised, put on painkilling medication and x-rayed, it didn't look good. She had a broken leg, a broken pelvis, kidney damage and internal bleeding... so we took the decision to have her put down.
It was a horrible decision to make: but, bizarrely, seeing her no longer suffering rather than in the absolute agony I initially found her in offered some consolation. I'm also grateful she was spotted by our neighbours as the thought of her slowly dying in agony under a car would have been too brutal.
This is the second time I've been through the process of having a seriously ill cat put down and it remains a truly horrible experience. Myself and the Missus walked home from the vet and both vowed we were never having another cat when our other one, Buffy, eventually dies.
But having pets remains a sort of life lesson. You can only get love if you give it but in giving love you also expose yourself to be hurt, betrayed or bereft. If you don't give love, however, then you may as well be dead yourself.
So, bearing that in mind, we'll probably change our position about getting a new one when we're over the pain of losing this one.
RIP, Willow. You were greatly loved and you'll be sorely missed.
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