A Peaceful Existence

By: Christina Edmonds


One week ago today Exree was diagnosed with kidney failure. Three days ago he died. It hardly seems possible that he is gone. We still walk around the house thinking we hear his meow. I keep expecting to see him come out from his sleeping spot, walk around the corner and rub his side to the wall, or greet me in the morning with a big meow. Only, he’s not here anymore. He’s gone. And, the emptiness that feels my heart is so big, so unfair, and so overwhelming.

Exree was only 11 years old when he died. He was a gift to my then boyfriend and now husband, Gary. When I first laid eyes on Exree, he was in a cage with his brother. While his brother jumped around playing wildly, Exree stood there looking at me calmly with his big eyes, exuding a certain knowing peacefulness for such a small kitten. It was as if an old soul resided in his body, and he knew he was meant for us before we had any idea ourselves. Without asking Gary, I brought him to his house, and he has been a part of our family even before our family got started.

Exree is a funny name for a cat, I know. He was named after Exree Hipp, who was a big college basketball player at the University of Maryland at the time. Exree was Cherokee, for “little chief”. He was one of the most beautiful cats I’ve ever seen, and I’m not just saying that because he was ours. He had gorgeous green eyes, long gray and white fur that had these incredible patterns on it. He was never wild and playful, even as a kitten. He walked with a certain ease and quiet serenity, never skittish and always social. When company came over, he’d saunter into the room and rub against their legs, never hiding. He’d let anyone hold him, pet him, chase him, whatever you wanted. He never even flinched when we took him to the vet for his shots. You could do anything and everything to Exree. He was a cool cat with a laid-back demeanor.

He was also a fun cat, who often seemed confused about his identity as a cat. One of the things our friends begged to see Exree do was to play fetch with him. He didn’t play fetch with cat balls, little mice, or other cat toys. Exree loved trash. And, if you balled up a piece of paper into a small ball, threw it across the room, he’d run over to it and then languidly walk back to you and drop it in your lap. Many mornings we awoke to a cat breathing in our faces to wake us up and a bed full of pieces of trash.

The most special part of Exree's personality was his sensitivity. Remember how I said he seemed to have an old soul? Well, Exree reminded me of this every time we went through a crisis, fought, or were acting like obnoxious early 20-somethings with our friends. For me, the most poignant time came when we had suffered a miscarriage. I battled with depression and grief for quite a while afterwards. The morning after going through a D&C, I woke up wishing everything we’d been through the day before had been a dream. When the cold reality of it hit me, I got myself up and went into our kitchen. It overlooked our backyard. It was late spring and there was a nice breeze. Yet, the promise of new life opened wider the void I felt in the pit of my stomach. I broke down into tears, holding onto my kitchen sink. Suddenly, I felt something reach up on the back of my legs to pull at my nightgown. I turned around to find Exree staring at me with those big, knowing eyes. It was as if he was telling me he was here for me. I picked him up and I cradled him like a baby. If you know any cat, you know that lying on their backs, cradled, is not something they will tolerate for long. But, for a long moment, Exree let me sway him back and forth just like a real baby until I was ready to let him go. I cried over him and squeezed him. He never squirmed and looked right into my eyes, letting me know it was what I needed.

Exree put up with a lot from us, including our ever-growing family. First came the dog, Winston. He was a little cairn terrier, who ended up being about the same size as Exree. It was hard to tell with Exree how he felt about Winston because he never hissed, never got angry with him, never did much of anything. Somehow, he let Winston know he was there first and he ran the show around this house. Winston soon fell into line. And, before you know it, they were the best of buddies. They slept together on the couch, one in one corner at the top and the other in the other corner at the top. (We actually think Winston believes he’s a cat, seeing as though he also used to climb in our sinks when he was younger to drink water.) One of Exree’s favorite activities was to hide behind a chair or the couch when Winston was coming into the room, round his back, and dart out with the sideways pounce attack. I can still laugh thinking of how funny it looked. Winston would jump and take off running, only to have Exree chase him down the hallway.

Of course, with a newly married family come other additions to the house. Children. And, with each new addition, the animals who were our babies before got just a bit lower on the totem pole. Exree put up with the kids quite well. He’d rub on them just the same as anyone else and especially loved the fact that they tended to hand out more treats than those other, bigger people in the house. And, when they got too noisy or pesky, he’d slip away to his room and favorite hiding places. And, as the years have gone on, he stayed more and more away from all of the chaos in a household full of noise, stomping feet, and constant movement.

When we moved into our new house three years ago, we gave him his own room in our basement, where we kept an old couch and chair for him to sleep on. We had to give him a space of his own mostly in order to keep him from urinating on our new furniture and rugs. The one issue that kept Exree from being the most absolute perfect cat was his random and unexpected habit of peeing on our furniture. You never knew when he would do it. He’d go for a month with no incidents, and then, Wham! You’d sit down on a wet sofa chair that had the pungent, but familiar, fragrance of ammonia. In our angry moments, we’d talk of giving him away. After we calmed down, we knew we couldn’t live without him. We also worried that other people might not care to put up with this bad habit of his. It was too painful to think of the possible scenarios that might fit his future life as an orphan. The outlook was grim. So, we gave him his own room that he slept in at nights with Winston. It was that same couch we had at our old house, and we took it with us no matter how ugly it had gotten just so that they could sleep on it. We let out Exree in the evenings and mornings when we could keep an eye on him. Yet, even when we let him out, he’d often retreat back to his hangout where, I’m assuming, he loved the peace and quiet of familiarity.

During the past month, we noticed that Exree had lost a considerable amount of weight. He was eating, but it was taking him much longer to eat the bowl of food I normally gave him. What used to take him 2 days to eat was suddenly taking him a week to finish. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. We’d been through this at least twice before over the years. We’d done bloodwork, and it would come back to say that he was borderline for thyroid problems or borderline for liver function or diabetes. Both times, what seemed to help was a simple change in food. After all of the bloodwork and vet visits, we’d change his food and he’d start eating again. I had friends who told me that their cats had done the same thing and that many cats get extremely picky or bored with their food as they get older. So, of course, the third time around I tried different foods. We tried wet foods, dry foods. Fancy stuff and junk. He started eating a little bit of the food and would eat treats, too. I began to get hopeful that he was just being picky. However, a little less than 2 weeks ago he stopped eating completely.

I made an appointment with the vet. While waiting on the appointment, Exree seemed to go downhill fast. For a cat who had been a typical 17 or 18 pounds at his max, he had shriveled to what turned out to be 6.8 pounds. He was nothing but bones, and it was heartbreaking to watch him. At this point, he still walked around, still “talked” to us, and still seemed himself. However, looking back and knowing what I know now, I can’t believe I didn’t see several other things as signs. He had stopped shedding. That wonderful and hideous couch of ours would typically be covered in fur and have to be cleaned every week by yours truly. The last week of Exree’s life, it occurred to me that I hadn’t done it in 2 weeks. And, when I groomed Exree, very little fur came out. He also had much more pee in his litter box. He used to have 1 to 2 very large clumps each day. Now, I’d find 5 or so small clumps and I was constantly refilling his water. And, finally, the night before he went to his appointment, Gary said he’d brought Exree into the bedroom with him but he wouldn’t settle down anywhere and just kept wandering around the room aimlessly.

A week ago, Exree had his appointment with the vet. The doctor knew right away that something was wrong and was actually hopeful that it would be diabetes or thyroid because at least those were treatable. However, when he tried to draw Exree’s blood, the very fact that he couldn’t get it out through the normal way in the leg, told him that it was more than likely something more serious, such as his kidneys. He sent me home with Exree, and I immediately went on the internet. When I reached a site describing the symptoms of chronic renal failure, I knew without the blood test results that Exree was in the midst of chronic renal failure. All the signs were there, but I wasn’t familiar with the disease to have paid attention closely enough. During that day, while we waited for the results, Exree seemed to be getting worse. He went into a corner in his room where we store things and sat in a crouched position almost all day. I would have to call his name several times before he’d respond. I left his door open all day and night. He never came out. And, if I took him out of the spot, he’d crawl right back over there and assume the position. I’ve come to find out that this is called the “meatloaf” position because of the shape of the cat’s body in the position. And, it, along with the restlessness and many other symptoms that I’ve named, were indications of Exree crashing.

The next morning, the doctor called to say that Exree did have kidney failure. His numbers were not horrendous but they weren’t good either. He explained that kidney failure is terminal. I could have fluids administered through an IV for a couple of days in the hospital and see if that kick-started the kidneys and brought his appetite back around. He also told me to begin considering euthanasia. If the fluids didn’t work, his numbers not improve, and his appetite did not return, we needed to start thinking whether we wanted him to go on like this.

Gary and I knew that we wanted to try the iv fluids first. Even if this was terminal, we could give the fluids a chance and see if it could keep him with us for a few more months. While Gary tried to stay optimistic, I knew based on what I’d read on the internet that we were in the final stages. I took Exree to the animal hospital wondering if he’d make it back to us. Seeing him so pitiful in those last couple of days made me doubtful. I was a mess. I had cried so much that day and then bawled uncontrollably before starting the car to drive home. I couldn’t believe this was happening to our baby and so fast, too soon, and so, so unexpectedly.

I called the doctor twice a day with updates. By Friday, his levels were better but he was becoming anemic. By Saturday, his levels had improved about 40%, but they still weren’t where he wanted them. And the anemia was getting worse. He still wouldn’t eat. He thought if we brought him home perhaps the more secure environment here would help him improve and, at the least, get him to eat. So, on Saturday, Gary and I went to get him. We talked to the doctor in person. He mentioned the euthanasia again, saying that if he still wasn’t doing well over the weekend, we needed to seriously talk about it again. Gary and I both left in silence, carrying Exree in his crate. When we got into the car, we talked about what the doctor had said and found that we’d both managed to read between the lines. The doctor didn’t think Exree would improve over the weekend. And, after spending two days before arguing back and forth about putting him to sleep, how long would we let this go, we both agreed that by Monday we’d bring him in if he still wasn’t eating.

The rest of Saturday and all day Sunday were two of the longest days I remember. I walked around in a fog, kind of unsure what to do. I felt an urge to clean, move, do something. I didn’t know what to do, and I couldn’t settle down. Perhaps it was my own inability to control what was happening to Exree that I needed to exert some sort of control over the rest of my life. I was filled with guilt over the fact that I didn’t take Exree’s symptoms more seriously. I had noticed them but then passed them off as something that would work itself out. He’d snapped out of this before and would do so again. He was our brave little chief. I was also filled with a profound sadness because not only did I know this disease was terminal, but I also felt in my heart, even if I couldn’t say it to Gary, that he had come home to die.

On Saturday night, Gary and I took turns holding Exree. The doctor had said to expect him to be weak and not to expect him to eat anything until probably Sunday. So, we wrapped him in a blanket like a baby and took turns holding him in our laps, stroking his head, as we watched a movie. He never moved, but he would lean his head into our hands and look up at us with those deep eyes. I wanted so desperately to believe his weakness was a result of being in the hospital that I hoped Sunday would bring us a new day.

Indeed, on Sunday morning I was hopeful again. He sat up on Sunday morning and greeted me with a meow. I fixed him some wet food the vet had given us and sat waiting for him to dig in. He lay down instead. So, I brought it over to him. He turned his head away. So, I went to cut up some chicken for him that we had as leftovers, willing to try anything. Again, he turned his head away. So, I left him alone, thinking maybe he’ll eat once I’m not standing over him. I gave him an hour. Nothing. He had gone back to his sleeping spot in the basement, turned his back on me, and would not respond at all. He was telling us that he wanted to go.

For the rest of the day, we stayed close to him. By late afternoon, he lay in the bed we made for him and barely moved or responded, occasionally letting out a meow that was closer to a howl than anything else. After putting the kids to bed, we put Exree at the end of our own bed. It was the perfect scene, so reminiscent of the early years the three of us had together. The house was quiet and peaceful, and Exree just laid there on his side, arms outstretched, looking at us. We both said out loud what we’d been thinking all day. He wasn’t going to make it through the night. We knew it was our last moments with him, and for what had been the longest day, I so much didn’t want the night to end. I knew he was saying good-bye to us, but I wasn’t ready for him to go. We talked to him, we stroked his head and his body. By the time we got ready for bed, Exree had slipped into a coma. His breaths were so faint you had to look for them to make sure he was still alive. His eyes were open but non-responsive. I told him I loved him and that it was okay to go. I just wanted peace for him. Gary took his turn with him, and when we turned off the lights we sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, both unable to sleep. We were losing our baby. The first member of our family. It still hurts to think about. At 3:06am, I awoke to hear Exree’s final breaths leaving his body. You could hear the last of the air in his body escaping like a whistle, and followed by what sounded like someone whispering. He was already gone.

I didn’t expect to grieve the way I have for Exree. I don’t know why. I just didn’t. It hit me unexpectedly and right now it feels like it will never end. Every day I cry for him at different points throughout the day. I miss him. There is this deep, deep void in our lives that makes my family feel so incomplete right now. A part of our unit is gone, and he won’t be back. And, I can’t do anything about it. I knew we’d have to cross this bridge eventually, but I didn’t expect it this soon and this fast. Gary said last night that if you’d have told us a little over a week ago that Exree would be gone in a week’s time, we’d have thought that was crazy. But, that’s exactly what happened.

Exree was the epitome of peaceful gentleness, and if he had to die so soon for us then it was fitting that he went the way he did. I feel thankful that we were given two days to spend with him at home, the weekend, especially, when we had no work, errands, or anywhere to go. Thinking back on the night he died, there was this overwhelming peaceful quiet in our room. Again, it was Exree calling the shots. He didn’t leave it up to us to make the decision. He made it for us. He didn’t try to fight the illness. He was ready to go, and he was letting us know that it was okay to let go of him. The signs had been there, but it wasn’t until that last night as we watched him slip away that we came to grips with it and were able to accept it. He went out of our lives as peaceful as he came into it, staring at us with those knowing eyes until they darkened on this world forever.