iamanoneyemouse

[iamanoneyemouse]

Marlon

I’m a little late to the party on posting this, but I wanted to write my experience before it totally fades away now that I’m over what I believe was mild shock and trauma!

On Friday February 19th 2021 our son came into the world (specifically the sofa bed) after a 20 hour labour that my wife made look almost enjoyable. I am blown away by the beauty of nature, the strength of the female body, and the unbelievable combined power of body and mind demonstrated so brilliantly by my wife. 

Our son was due February 16th 2021. When that day came and went we joked that he was going to make us wait until the end of the following week. On Wednesday 17th my wife showed me what I can only describe as a “bit of jelly” so I decided that I needed to start getting earlier nights to be well rested for whenever he decided to arrive (I’d been staying up late recently after getting back into Minecraft with one of my friends), so that night I stayed true to my word and went to sleep early. The morning of Thursday 18th February I woke up naturally, wondering if I’d once again failed to set an alarm. I checked my phone to see what the time was and was immediately alarmed at the notification I saw from my wife via WhatsApp “I don’t think you’re going to be working for the next few weeks now“. Oh shite.

I immediately felt like I was sweating as I rushed downstairs to find my wife in the kitchen, leaning over the kitchen island in the midst of a surge (contraction if you’re not a hypnobirthing nob like us). I asked her when they began and she showed me when she started tracking them “4.57am! Why didn’t you wake me?” I exclaimed. One thing was clear at that moment; she was in control and relaxed and I had been caught off guard. I was so confident in how late he was going to be that I’d left a couple of finishing touches at work until that morning. Suddenly I felt life flashing before my eyes, sadly for all the mundane shit I’d been putting off that under the surface I was in a real panic. However, my wife was in such control, and the surges were around 5-7 minutes apart, that we knew we had plenty of time. We’d also been practicing different massage techniques for in preparation for labour, so one of the first jobs was to apply pressure and play around with which techniques worked best. I quickly set about notifying work colleagues what was going on whilst finishing off the handover document I’d pulled together and kept live each day. I did this in between stopping to support my wife during each surge; it turns out that in spite of the the 3 or 4 techniques we’d practiced, the key one was simply applying pressure to her lower back, or occasionally holding the bump at the front to release the weight. Once I’d shut down from work the surges were still every 5-7 minutes, so we decided to carry on with our day by enjoying some lunch, watching Friends and getting my wife a couple of naps in. We also used the opportunity to try out the TENS device, which involves sticking 4 pads (2 to the upper back, 2 to the lower back) and pulsing electricity that can be intensified during surges to alleviate pain by applying counter pressure to that area (it seems like it was pain distraction). This seemed to work alright, but as the surges progressed I was also holding her stomach at points to alleviate the weight from her front. As the day progressed, the surges were still inconsistent (it’d go from 5 minutes to 9 minutes to 4 minutes to 8 minutes etc.) so we planned an early night so my wife could rest, assuming that this would continue well into Friday afternoon/evening. At around 9.15pm my wife went to the bathroom to brush her teeth etc. and then shouted out that her waters had released. With the waters broken, perhaps it wouldn’t be an early night after all. 

After resisting the phone number all day quite calmly, we made the call to the Midwife, who wanted to know how consistent the surges were. At this point they were still not consistent, or happening 3 times within 10 minutes, so they asked us to call back in an hour. There was a little bit of blood in my wife’s maternity pad, but nothing concerning to the Midwife, so we carried on monitoring surges. I asked my wife if we should begin filling up the birth pool, to which she paused to think, before replying “no, not yet”.

From this point onward the surges became more consistent at around 6 minutes continuously for the next hour. Then they gradually started to average toward 5 minutes, with some more frequently at 3 or even 2 minute intervals, but it still wasn’t consistent. We rang back at 10.30pm and told the Midwife team they were averaging around 5 minutes, but with some at shorter intervals. It wasn’t consistent enough but they offered to get someone out if we wanted. We didn’t want to waste anyone’s time so we declined and carried on monitoring. 

The inconsistency in surges continued until 11.15pm, which is when everything really kicked up a gear; we decided it might be a good idea to start filling the birthing pool, and we also placed the TENS device back on my wife, which we had taken off during the evening because the mixture of my wife’s breathing and me applying pressure to her lower back appeared to be working quite nicely. Looking back at the monitoring, we actually registered 5 surges within 10 minutes, which In hindsight was a fairly clear sign, but my wife’s superbly controlled handling of the surges, and the inconsistency of time in between, gave us a false sense of what was going on. Between 11.30pm and midnight my wife was having surges in waves of 2 surges every 2 minutes, with a third every 5 minutes (2, 2, 5, 2, 2, 5). It was at midnight that she went to the toilet and then called me in to show her underwear pad to me. I was horrified to see a lot of blood, but I didn’t want to show her how much this had panicked me. In an effort to remain calm I suggested we call the midwife, so at midnight the call was made and they said someone would contact us very shortly to arrange a visit. My wife and I were in the bathroom as she was wiping more and more blood out from herself, as we were clearly both locked in internal battles to keep calm “maybe the placenta has come away” my wife stated, steadily, trying to make sense of the alarming amount of blood we were staring at. A sinking feeling entered my stomach... what if our little boy was in trouble? What had been a relaxed and controlled journey upto this point suddenly felt very lonely, and we were unequipped to deal with what was round the corner if our little boy needed emergency help. In spite of this inner battle I tried not to let my wife see I was struggling, so we bagged up the pad ready to show the midwife and continued monitoring and helping to deal with the surges as they came. The atmosphere had changed though, and it felt like the control was slipping through our fingers, whilst now also waiting on an imminent call back from a Midwife who would be assigned to help us.

Almost ten minutes had passed without a call; earlier in the evening they’d asked what the best contact number was, so I had given them my number in case my wife was otherwise engaged (and she has a tendency to leave her phone somewhere for long periods of time - in today’s society of being glued to phones that’s not necessarily a bad thing). Nothing was on my phone and the surges were becoming more intense and frequent. I suggested checking my wife’s phone, which she told me was on charge in the bedroom. As I walked in it was ringing, so I answered quickly and a lady called Alexia introduced herself. I was panicked, it had been 10 minutes and it felt like we were getting to more established labour. She was extremely calm and assured me she only lived down the road in the next village, so would be with us in around 15 minutes. I tried to explain to her that there was quite a lot of blood in my wife’s last pad, but she was more interested in getting directions (again, seems sensible in hindsight rather than ignoring my panicked statements of what we’d seen in the pad). After trying to frantically explain which takeaway restaurants we were in between, and which side of the road we lived on, she calmly said she’d see us soon, and we were on our own again.

By 12.15am the time in between surges was getting down as low as 1 minute, followed by a 4 or 5 minute gap. The inconsistency was confusing, but my wife was finding them more intense. The wait for the Midwife was agonising as we both tried to remain calm and positive, but I could still feel that bubble we’d held together all day beginning to bulge ready for bursting. I then spotted headlights pulling onto our driveway, the Midwife was here, which filled me with both hope and relief. As I walked to the door my wife mentioned that she could feel pressure in her bum; not thinking too much of it and being fixated on getting the midwife in and showing her the bloodied pads we’d bagged up, I went to the door to let in the Midwife. She was collecting her belongings and bringing them to the door in a very relaxed manner. i stood with the door open trying to look inviting whilst hiding my impatience and worry. That’s when I heard an almighty scream and alarm ripped through me.

I’ve never heard my wife make a noise quite like it, it was filled with horror and pain. Alexia, the Midwife, was asking me questions as we both hurried into the room where my wife was. I was trying to calmly get across my concern about the blood in the pad “it sounds like the baby is coming” she remarked, as she calmly went about putting her gloves on and light heartedly remarking that she usually would like a bit more time to get equipment. Her calm presence was as frustrating as it was oddly relaxing. Another almighty scream from my wife had us both reaching to comfort her as she was clearly distressed and exclaiming that she wanted to get in the birth pool “it’s half full” I said to the Midwife as I hurriedly removed the TENS device and pads that my wife was trying to rip off herself. Suddenly everything felt frantic and out of control; my wife was acting on instinct and it was clear that the baby was now coming. 

My wife was trying to talk but not making much sense; she was panicked in her tone and mentioned about pressure in her bum again. She wanted to get in the pool and was clearly distressed, so I yanked down her underwear and leggings and she put one of her legs up as if she was kneeling on one knee leant over the sofa bed. As I did this I looked up and to my horror and amazement, facing me was our son’s head, his eyes completely closed and looking peaceful. He looked purple and lifeless; it was joyous to see him, and heartbreaking in the moment because I thought he was stillborn (looking back with a clear mind it makes sense that he was purple because he doesn’t receive as much oxygen through the umbilical chord as he would through his own lungs). So there was our son, with goodness knows what other fluid gushing out from around him, almost in slow motion. My eyes welled up; I didn’t know what to feel, but instinctually I continued trying to remove the leggings from her ankle “no, no, leave that, this is a really good position” remarked Alexia calmly “OK, one more push and he’ll be here, ready? Big push” and with an almighty scream from my wife, our son was released into the world, along with fuck knows what else with him, directly onto the towels we’d put around the sofa bed. Alexia then picked him up and began to blow on him, gently rocking him “come on now little boy” she said as he rocked there in between her hands, still lifeless. After a few seconds he then took a big gasp and began to cry - he was here, he was alive and he was perfect.

It was an incredible moment - with three pushes my wife had brought our little boy into the world without us even having filled the birth pool (just about half full at this point). The midwife placed down some pads for my wife to sit on, and I was prompted by her to collect some cushions so my wife could sit up to enjoy immediate skin to skin, whilst we waited for the placenta-releasing injection to kick in and the umbilical cord finished pulsing. After a few minutes the placenta was pulled out by the umbilical cord, and like a grand opening of a supermarket, I cut the cord to signal our son’s start as an independently functioning human being. The midwife had a lot of paperwork to do, which gave us time to focus on our little boy and start to process what had taken place “do you have a name?” Alexia asked. We both looked at each other; we hadn’t agreed a name as we were waiting to see what our son looked like. We were also potentially in different places with which name we should give him “errm... not yet” remarked my wife, so for now he assumed her surname whilst we decided.  

He was fascinating to look at - a piece of sperm and egg had forged to make this little chap, and he was more beautiful to me than I was ready for. I’d secretly believed that my wife would have an easy labour because of how focused and disciplined she’d been in her preparation, I just never voiced it too much so I didn’t put any pressure on her. She absolutely exceeded any expectation of what I thought the birth would be like, to the point she made it look (dare I say) quite relaxing and an enjoyable experience. After a few minutes of holding our creation, my wife looked at me and said “I think he looks like a Marlon”, which was one of the names we had shortlisted. I smiled as the moment seemed absolutely perfect. We then agreed on his full name, and that was it, he was a fully registered boy and newest member of our family. 

Our midwife, Alexia, stayed with us for a few hours and was extremely helpful, even changing his first nappy full of meconium and weighing the boy in at 5 pounds 10 ounces. My wife sat upright with him for quite some time, even getting Marlon his first breastfeed as I paced around, possibly still traumatised from what I’d witnessed come out of my wife. We had some photos, Alexia cleaned up and then left us to it, noting that someone would be round the next day to check in. That night felt euphoric; my wife and I stayed up watching our son, listening to his noises and discussing our experiences of the event. I was blown away by how well my wife had coped and taken it all in her stride, but as I mentioned earlier, deep down I knew she would be this way because of the way she fully applies herself to everything she does, and does it brilliantly. What a birth day it was for us, and what an easy birth it was for our son.

The next day we received a call. The midwife had checked his weight against the threshold requiring follow up checks by the paediatrician, and Marlon fell within that threshold. We were asked to bring him in that afternoon as a precaution, so without any more than 30 minutes of sleep, we hurriedly packed some bits together, including the pram, and went to the hospital. It turned out that my wife and son would have to be monitored for 24 hours, so what we thought would be an afternoon trip ended up becoming an overnight event. Unfortunately due to COVID I was not allowed in the ward, so I could not visit, which was difficult for my wife and I, so I did the best I could by dropping off some favourite takeaway food and snacks that I knew she would love. Soon enough, our son had completed all his tests and the results were fine, so at around 11pm on 20th February we all arrived back home as a new family. My wife hadn’t slept for over 33 hours by this point, so I stayed up with our son for about 3 hours whilst she napped to recoup some energy. He must have been tired because he has not slept that long since, but I wanted to do whatever I could to ensure she had enough energy to carry on a little longer. 

We’re now entering our fourth day of Marlon’s life, and I can’t be any prouder as a parent or husband. My son and I are lucky to have such a powerful woman in our life, and I want to remind her of that as often as I can. There are so many hopes I have for my son, but one of the most important ones I want to continually remind myself of is the hope that he grows up with an open, free mind. This will allow him to remain genuinely content, empathetic and curious of the truth (whilst being flexible with having his mind changed by truth), which will most likely lead a very fulfilling life. I aim to leave the world a little better than I found it, whilst helping others on the way, I hope I can inspire Marlon to do the same, but I think because of who he has as a mother, and I a wife, he will exceed that.

Marlon, I can’t wait to help you take in the world, make sense of it, reason with it and grow within it. I look forward to the conversations, the laughs, the cries, the lessons and the connections. You have made my life complete; the rest of time with you is now a bonus.

[iamanoneyemouse]

The hangover

I awoke this morning at 7am. My bedroom door was open as usual, and I found myself carrying out the same ritualistic head-raise from the pillow to check if Olly was on the landing; of course, today he was not there. It was a sobering, sinking reality check that he was indeed no longer with us. I’ve never witnessed an animal or person die in my presence, so to have Olly pass away peacefully in my arms, and to realise that he would never get up from that position, really hit me hard. I broke down at the time, and I tortured myself with that thought most of yesterday - I spent yesterday in shock, that is certain to me now. It was the injustice of his beautiful soul being taken too early, now unable to continue shining as brightly as he always had, which had really upset me. I am so overwhelmingly happy to have been a part of his life, and to have contributed to a happy and comfortable life for him, but I spent a lot of yesterday cursing the fragility and unbiased objectivity of life, and how unfortunate events can happen to anyone or anything. There is no karma in this world - there is only fortune and misfortune; fortune usually favours opportunists that take opportunities, and the rest is just bad luck and timing. Olly was one of those who was very fortunate to have good homes (that could fund his expensive vet bills and rising insurance policy! haha), but unfortunate to have a genetic disorder waiting to manifest itself for the last 6 years, that just wouldn’t have been picked up until it was too late to spot. A truly tragic event, made even worse by how wonderful and undeserving of that fate he really was.

Since returning from the vets, and again this morning, I find myself searching for Olly as I walk around the house in places he’d usually be waiting for us, or chilling out. Typically, when I’d exit the bathroom as part of my daily routine he’d be waiting outside on the landing for me, chirping happily and waiting to be fed or let out (in spite of the fact he had the timed food dispenser!). Last night as I was writing the previous journal I’d started to pull together all the photos and videos I have of Olly into one place. Rachel and I are going to choose our favourite ones and then decide on the best photo to put up in our new house. We want it to be one that captures his shining persona and fun loving essence. 

The afterlife doesn’t exist how most religions and spirituality clans would like us to believe; it’s much simpler than that, it’s a case of consciousness within a cellular shell, followed by unconsciousness and a slow decomposition of your cellular shell once the organs have stopped working. You won’t be there when you die, because you’ll no longer be there consciously. It’s the same concept as when you fall asleep and are unconscious; you don’t realise you’re asleep until you’ve woken up and are conscious again... it’s just that with death you don’t wake up again. Therefore, the afterlife for any living being is the memories and stories that will live on whilst those who experienced time with that particular living being are also conscious - they can empathise with, and share, any memories they can still recall. Olly will live on within our memories, which are brilliantly brought to life by so many of our photos and videos. Finding the one that encapsulates his personality will be difficult because no photo will do him justice, but there will probably be too many great ones to choose from - we’ll find one though, because luckily he was very entertaining and this resulted in many photos and videos being shared! I look forward to moving back home with our friends and family and closing the chapter on this very sad part of our lives. Living in the north has had real ups and downs for us, but I’m thankful because it’s enabled a greater standard of living for Rachel and me. I just wish we hadn’t missed out on so much of our family and friend’s lives as a consequence. 

Jake, who is typically a cat intolerant of others (except Rachel and occasionally me) was brilliant with Olly in his final few weeks. He left him alone, sensing he was weak; perhaps underneath all that unnecessary aggression there is a caring old cat, hey Jake. He’s going soft in his old age.

The house feels empty today; it is too quiet. Even though Olly had been subdued for the last few weeks, his presence was still felt where ever he was. It’s going to take a long time before I stop searching for his him each day. I don’t want to ignore this grief I feel, because that in itself feels like another injustice to Olly. He was a phenomenal character, who was truly one of a kind; perhaps because of the way he was brought up solely by humans. We won’t find another like him, but we will one day open our doors to another rescue cat. Our hearts may feel like there’s a hole in them today, but there will always be space for others, and there will always be a very special space for Olly. My heart is aching... all because of this damn lovely cat; worst of all he’s not even here for me to tell him what a little git he is for it. 

Rachel and I had a nice chat about him this morning. It felt easier to talk about him in a positive way without feeling like I was going to break down. It’s the positives that I want to focus on now as it gets easier with time. There was so many great and happy memories - I want us to cherish them and celebrate what an amazing personality he was. It’ll take time to not feel this sadness, and it’s driven by my own selfish reasons and guilt really, but in time we’ll look back with nothing but fondness, telling tales of him to our friends, family, and our son in years to come. Until then, the grieving process continues. Olly, you lovely boy, you’re a git who left too soon.

[iamanoneyemouse]

Olly

I’m not sure how many years I’ve had this account for, but this will be my first post, so I thought I’d make it count. I want to make this a very special post about our cat, Olly. 

At 11am today we took Olly to the vet’s practice in Leeds for the very last time. I’d like this post to service as a humbling reminder about the importance of resilience, love and kindness; all of which Olly had in abundance. 

So, let’s start with a little about Olly. He was hand-reared by Rachel’s Dad and his wife; he was the kitten of an unexpected pregnancy and they took him in as he was the runt of the litter. He is a half tabby, half Maine Coon cat, with a beautiful mixture of dark stripes spread across golden brown fur. He has white fur socks, a white mouth/nose combination with soft green eyes that only ever looked at you with dopey kindness. 

I first met him when I first visited Rachel’s Dad’s place in the Hertfordshire area. He was surrounded by two crazy Chihuahuas and a rather grumpy smaller cat called Jake. What first struck me about him was how docile and patient he was; he was completely hounded by these two crazy little dogs, and whilst he clearly was harassed to a point, he would often put up with it until they were bored or ran off - mostly he would try and stay on the kitchen counter surfaces and out of their reach! He was so affectionate and loved the attention. Over the coming months Olly and I formed a real “bro” friendship and he’d lap up the fuss I’d make over him whenever I’d visit. Rachel’s Dad had said a few times that when I bought my own place he could come and live with me. 

So when Rachel and I bought our own place in January 2018 he came to live with us - it was brilliant. He was a fantastic character; dopey, clumsy but full to brim of love with a playful nature (note - his idea of playful always involved claws!). There was never any malice in anything he did, and he was such a vocal cat! I’ve had cats all my life, but never had a cat chirp at me as if to say “hello” when you walk through the door. He loved to brush up against you and be near you, but he wasn’t a cuddly cat; he hated being picked like a baby, so he always enjoyed being near you on his terms only. He’d either lay next to, or on you, if it was to his benefit! Haha. He had a fetish for dirty clothing - we have too many videos of him rolling around in clothes from the wash basket, and even a picture of Olly entangled in my boxer shorts! He took his time to establish his territory, as he clumsily went about upsetting the multitude of cats in the neighbourhood that had clearly spent a long time establishing their boundaries, with our garden being a pathway to most of them. Eventually, he settled on a territory, which would then be shared (again) with the arrival of Jake as Rachel’s Dad moved to start a business further north. He loved food. A lot. To the point where he would wake us up at unruly hours meowing in readiness for his breakfast. To fix this issue we bought a timed food dispenser so he’d get regular food at set times. He never quite got the hint that we were no longer the food providers, and continued to wake us up quite often, only to run downstairs when he heard the food drop at 7.30am like clockwork... !!

His health did seem to plague his life, as he always seemed to have something wrong with him. It’s a good thing we had insurance, although sometimes it felt the amount they’d insure of Olly reduced by the week! When we first moved in he had a urinary tract infection, probably driven by the stress of moving; then he needed an operation on his eyelids as they were ingrown and causing him grief. He was sensitive to certain foods, so we put him on an exclusion diet to stop it causing aggravation (he would scratch his face until it bled sometimes!). Little did we know that, amongst all the surface-level chaos that were involved in what seemed like monthly visits to the vet (with the bills on top), that there was another deep rooted issue lurking that would prove to be terminal. 

It all came to light as we were selling our house. Olly was subdued for a couple of days, which wasn’t completely unusual behaviour given the turbulent year he’d had having an eye operation and infections. He would usually be his buoyant usual self after a day or two, but once he stopped drinking this time it became clear was a very different case. Rachel took him to the vets, where they discovered his breathing was rapid, he was severely dehydrated and there was fluid in his lungs. He nearly died that night, but the vets managed to save him and he was transferred to the larger veterinary hospital for overnight care. He was kept in for two days in total whilst they stabilised him. It was then they were able to examine him properly and discover that he had a heart murmur caused by a genetic heart disease, which was common with his breed. He would need to be on 5 pills daily for the rest of his life. It was worrying news.

The vet was unsure of his life expectancy at that point “you could have him for a few months, or a few years”. This wasn’t what we wanted to hear; he was 6 years old and up until this point had been full of life. He was our very own dopey dose of positive energy each day. At this point we were relieved that he was alive and there was a chance all could return to normal if the pills worked. That was a big if... we’d had experience already of how much he hated having eyedrops after his operation the year before. There was added complication of being told the side effects of the pills that would stop his heart from clotting would also suppress his appetite and dehydrate him. It was going to be an uphill struggle. 

I went to pick him up whilst Rachel was at work. As I let him out of his basket it quickly became apparent that he was not quite himself. He stumbled into the kitchen to his water bowl, which is where he stayed for the rest of the day. I watched as he tentatively lapped up some water occasionally and then rest. He was exhausted and very flat; no purring, none of his usual energy - it was like a part of him had already died.

He didn’t eat anything that day, which was worrying given how much he had loved food up until this point (he was a notoriously greedy shite who would eat until he threw up). Giving him pills at first was very traumatic for him, because the YouTube video we’d settled on following showed the guy (a vet) putting the pill at the back of his cat’s throat after simply opening the jaw. Unfortunately Olly did not play ball quite in the same way, refusing to open his mouth. With him being so weak and hardly putting up a fight, it was horrendous to know we were putting him under such stress; and there were a couple of occasions where it took so long to get him to take the pill that they’d started disintegrating and left his mouth with a horrible taste and foam coming out of his poor mouth. We had to come up with another battle plan: hide the pills in food and treats he’d like so he wouldn’t realise he was being drugged. We tried hiding the pills in his favourite Felix jelly pouches, but he quickly started to sniff them out and then rejecting Felix altogether. Quite quickly he was losing interest in other foods that had previously worked too. We were starting to run out of food he would eat, and also any ideas to get him to take them (it felt like he was losing trust in all of the food we were giving him, and rightly so!).

Some mouldable treats arrived, which worked for a few days, but he soon wised up to those as well. Rachel then ordered a special syringe that would squirt both water and the pill into his throat - we still had to get his throat open, but it became the most effective, albeit still stressful, approach. We soon noticed he was eating less and less food, to the point where he wasn’t eating any solids at all; If we could get him to eat one pouch per day of any type of food then we had done well, compared to the 4 he’d easily gobble up beforehand. He’d always been a big, chunky boy, but for the first time we could feel the bone along his back. As he ate less each day, over the next couple of weeks it became very clear he was wasting away in front of our eyes, and there was seemingly less and less we could do about it. We made an appointment with the vet for Friday 2nd October and they sent his blood off for a comprehensive test to see if there was anything else underlying. They were clearly concerned as he’d lost 25% of his bodyweight and wasn’t eating any solid food - their tone said it all: that it wasn’t looking good for Olly. We were told they’d contact us Monday or Tuesday with the results and that we should discuss a plan for him then.

It was the Monday that we received the call. His kidneys were failing under the pressure being put on them by the drugs to keep his heart working, and the  weakened state of his body. His organs were now working against each other, and he had all but stopped eating. On the Tuesday they had prescribed potassium liquid to take and another liquid to improve his appetite, both to be taken once per day - the poor boy was now up to 7 potentially traumatic pills/liquids. The vet was very honest with us that it wasn’t looking good, and we should consider our options at this point if it doesn’t work. At that point we thought we’d see how it went for the week and give it until Wednesday 14th October and if there was no improvement then we’d bring him back and give him the peace he deserved, but Olly’s reaction to the first dose was really not good. He clearly hated the taste of the appetite inducing liquid, and it seemed to have the opposite effect. Rachel and I didn’t want him to suffer unnecessarily if it looked like it wasn’t working. By Thursday’s doses things had only gotten worse, he now was barely drinking, and we could only get him to eat Sheba liquid treats; even that was once or twice per day. His calorie and liquid intake was extremely low, so by the end of Thursday we had both agreed that we didn’t want him to suffer anymore; it simply wasn’t fair on him. It was heartbreaking to see that even the simplest of exercise would now tire him out easily - even getting up and enjoying a stroke would result in him sitting down after a couple of minutes looking subdued again.

Olly hadn’t been the same since he came home from the veterinary hospital. We’d seen flashes of his beautiful personality and happy nature, but it was becoming too few and far between that he was himself. We agreed to call the vets on Friday and stop his medication. It was important to try and make Olly’s final day or two as comfortable as possible, and the trauma of receiving pills now seemed an unnecessary pain for him. Rachel didn’t give him the medication on Friday morning, and called the vets to arrange for Olly to be put to a peaceful sleep at 11am on Saturday. And now Olly’s terminal countdown to a peaceful sleep had now begun. 

The entirety of Friday 9th October was spent with both of us at home with Olly, giving him as much care and love as he would put up with. We brought out the catnip, which he went wild for until he got tired and sat back down. We brought out his favourite cat brush, which he lapped up until he once again needed to sit back down. He enjoyed some Sheba treats and even disappeared outside until midnight (resulting in me walking the streets calling for him, only for him to return on his own accord, meowing like he used to outside the front door). It was the first time we’d seen him consistently more happy and comfortable for a number of weeks.

It was far too quickly that Saturday 10th October arrived (today). I woke up before 7am feeling sick. I went out to the landing and sat with Olly, who was in his usual spot by the top of the stairs, which had been his residence for the past couple of weeks. I looked into the bedroom to see Rachel and Jake asleep peacefully. I let Olly have a whiff of some catnip, which he enjoyed but it was short-lived compared to Friday. After a while of chilling with him, I got up to head downstairs and he followed. I gave him 2.5 Sheba liquid treats, which he lapped up. He seemed energetic, so I let him outside... and he leapt over to Margaret’s garden next door! That was nothing unusual for a healthy Olly, so it was lovely to see him bounce over the fence like a gazelle once more. As time went on we started to worry that he may be about to repeat last night and not come back until later on! As I began to panic and consider wandering the streets again, Rachel pointed out that he had in fact returned and was chilling at the back of the garden in amongst the plant pots. I was relieved at first, but it was now past 10am and I knew that when he walked in from the garden, that would be the last time he’d ever step foot through what was his territory. This was starting to become a reality for me selfishly, and he was blissfully unaware of the fate that lie ahead. 

Rachel was at the top of the stairs where Olly had settled back into his usual spot. She was giving him a good old brush, which he was loving. I came upstairs to join them and took a photo of the moment; he looked relaxed and happy, it was lovely to see. I sat on the top few steps and started brushing him; his purr was radiant and loud - louder than we’d heard it for a number of weeks - and in that moment it all hit me... this beautiful, kind little boy was about to be cruelly taken through euthanasia for something completely out of his control. I broke down in tears and couldn’t carry on brushing, placing the brush down near Rachel and tearfully declaring “I can’t do it” before crumbling into a blubbering heap on the stairs. Olly, being the happy little git he was, stood up at this point, and nuzzled his head into my head as I lay there crying. It set me off even more; trembling with a bittersweet mixture of joy and hysteric sadness, I was moved to even more tears by how affectionate he was still able to be, which also then set poor Rachel off. I’m a realist, but in that moment I felt like he was saying “hey it’s OK, I’m OK with this”. It was such a beautiful moment, it broke my heart - I should have been comforting him, but instead he was comforting me and Rachel. 

Before we knew it, it was quarter to eleven and we had to go. We tearfully placed him into the catnip-sprayed basket, and left for the vets. When we got there, they took him in and we waited outside whilst they attached the drip to him. They then invited us in, where we sat down, they brought him out and placed him on my lap with a towel to wrap him up. He was clearly anxious about being back at the vets but we comforted him best we could as the vet started the anaesthetic. Fighting tears and trying not to shake with sadness, we comforted him until his head suddenly dropped and he stopped moving. Within a minute, he was completely gone. I couldn’t contain my emotion. Our beautiful boy had passed peacefully in my arms whilst Rachel and I comforted him. He was now at peace. He’d never have to make an effort to breathe, eat, drink, fight or feel any pain again. Our Olly had been set free. His ashes will be scattered at the communal area of the crematorium. We have tufts of his fur from where we brushed him, which we’ll put in the picture of him that’ll end up in our new kitchen. He will never be forgotten.

Olly, I didn’t just lose a pet today, I lost a pal. I lost a member of my family; we were part of a pride. You were such a pure and wonderful character, I’m not sure how anyone ends up with a personality like yours. I will miss your conversational chirp as I walk through the door after a day of work. I will miss your violent “claws out” approach to being playful. I will miss you making us laugh with your unique way of living. I will miss your clumsiness. I will miss your greed. I will miss sunbathing with you. You brought joy to so many of our friends and family. You will always be loved, and very much missed. Rest in the peace that you deserve Olly. You will never be forgotten. All my love.