My cat died.

Monday of last week I took my cat Lita to the veterinarian to be put to sleep. She weighed three pounds. She was nearly seventeen-years-old. Her eyes were half-open and she appeared to have lost her sight. Lita walked up the back steps and slept that morning on the bed of one of my housemates. She slept in parallel fashion with her companion kitten, Arlo, a black punk cat with green globes for eyes and almost 8 years-old.

By mid-afternoon Lita walked over to her water bowl and smelled it. She could not drink.

My housemates and I discussed whether she should be put to sleep or whether she would have more dignity dying at home--however long that would take and however much she might be suffering meanwhile. My decision had already been made: take her from her suffering. We reached the emergency hours for the veterinary specialists at 6:00 pm. I had decided to start reading The Upanishads. I couldn't see around me, although I was petting her while we waited.

When the vet saw her, he asked if she'd been eating at all. For the past week or more, she had started to end eating. He explained that she was utterly dehydrated. He compared her experience to one of his own when he was mountain climbing or something. He said he had had the same level of dehydration as Lita and that he had been in great physical pain. He also mentioned that he wished that people who have incurable diseases and are suffering immensely should be allowed to end their suffering. Euthanasia can save lives.