I so need to talk about my sweet Abbey. Abbey had a heart murmur that had worsened over the past 4 years until she was finally at "end stage" disease, with severely enlarged heart and fluid on her lungs. I knew the time was coming, but a couple of weeks ago, she worsened literally overnight. One day she was her usual self, given the cir%%stances, and the next she stopped eating, could walk only a few steps without sitting or lying down to rest. Another few days and I was having to carry her up and down stairs and out to go potty and back in (which I was happy to do). We increased her medications but no help, still not eating, getting weaker by the day. Then this past Tuesday, the vet wanted to keep her overnight, put her on massive dose of medication per IV, and see if she could get some relief. Sadly, this did not help either, and he gave me my options, which were to let her continue to deteriorate or put her to rest. I asked him to let me bring her home for one more day, to say goodbye, and try to make peace with what I had to do. About 4 a.m. the next morning, I woke up to find her lying on the floor, with very shallow and rapid breathing that sounded more like a rattle than a breath. After picking her up and walking the floor with her for about 20 minutes, her looking at me with large pleding eyes, I decided this had to end. I took her into the emergency hospital, and stroked her and kissed her and told her how much I loved her while the doctor ended her suffering.

I had her for 11 years, from the time she was 6 weeks old. She was my constant companion and best friend. I work out of my home, so we were together literally 24/7. Abbey was always under my feet an/or by my side. I am totally lost without her and have never felt so alone in my whole life.

I miss her lying by the desk while I work, miss her sitting by me on the couch while I watch television (have no idea what is on at the present), miss her beside me in the bed. She would followed me to the bathroom and lay by my feet while I ... well, whatever. She lay beside the tub while I took a shower, and I had to step over her to get out of the tub. I keep reaching out to pet her, and she's not there. My heart is broken and feels like it will never be whole again.

I know in my head that I had to end her suffering, but in my heart I feel like I murdered the love of my life. I felt I had to be with her at the end, but I cannot get the image of her dead, precioius mouth open, sweet eyes open, out of my head. Did she realize my intention was to give her rest and peace, or did she think I was "getting rid" of her? I love her so and miss her so. Will the pain and guilt ever go away?

I need help. Please someone help me. I don't know how to cope with this most horrible thing I've ever done.

Dear Abbeysmom,

I too had to end the pain of my beloved Sidney. It was the worst thing that I have ever had to do, but it was necessary. He was on oxygen, but still purring when he saw me show up. That was heartbreaking. I am trying to get those images out of my mind.

I really didn't have a choice. It seems as if you were in the same boat as me. It is so hard to see our buddies in so much pain. I miss my little lover so much but I don't feel much guilt about the decision to euthanize him. There really was no choice. Our time was up.

Now we have to learn to live without them. It's going to be hard. I still am completely incapacitated. Things will get a little easier I guess.

I'm feeling a lot of the same emotions that you describe about Abbey. We had my chocolate point kitty of 16 years put to sleep on Friday, March 24. You describe Abbey as your constant companion. Mitzi was mine. We had both her and her kitten, Bear, and they were such a source of joy. When Bear's kidneys failed, we waited a long time before contacting the vet. That happened last fall; Mitzi was still here though and just as fiesty as ever.

Like Abbey, she had her routine--her jobs--she sat in the bathroom with me too. She discovered my water cup early on and demanded that we share it, so I always kept it full. Later, Bear, who learned from his mother, also enjoyed drinking from the cup. Now, even though it's been less than 24 hours, I still feel compelled to fill the cup after I've had my drink. It brings tears to my eyes just writing this. She's gone . . . The house is quiet.

Abbey was there with you watching TV and snuggling at night. Mitzi did the same. She, like Abbey, got sick and went downhill fast. Her blood work revealed that her kidneys were failing, just as Bear's had. I still keep thinking that I should have let her have more time. I kept thinking about Bear, though. He just got weaker and weaker, unresponsive. He could barely walk a few feet before he needed to stop and rest. I saw the beginnings of this in Mitzi, a once 'wild' kitty who galloped around the house, played with twist ties, tossing them into the air, catching them and repeating the process. In the last week though, she couldn't get comfortable. She lost her purr. Her beautiful blue eyes became clouded. Just as you describe Abbey's deline, Mitzi was also declining.

Now, I wish I hadn't had her put to sleep. Then a side of me thinks how unfair it would have been to see her experience the pain that goes with kidney failure, just so I could have her here for a few more days. I honestly don't know what to say to you. It sounds to me that you did everything that you could do for Abbey, and that she was fortunate to have you as her mom. I'm feeling as if I cut my kitty's life a bit short . . . you, though, cared for Abbey until she truly was at the end of her days. Hold on to that thought . . . embrace it. I wish that it could be different for us in this life. I've never had cats like Mitzi and Bear and do not think it is possible that I ever will again. I'm sure that you feel the same way about Abbey. What matters is that they did come into our lives and that they changed our lives. They gave us unconditional love and asked for so little in return.

Mitzi is buried next to Bear on the property here in Maine. When I tell myself that she will not emerge from under the covers and stroll out to greet me at my computer and take her place on the monitor, I feel such sadness, such emptiness . . . that at the moment I don't know if I'll ever recover. I guess it simply takes time . . . I'm second guessing myself, just as you are. You are no murderer. You eased Abbey into an eternal peace . . . it sounds as if she was ready.

I will continue to agonize over my decision. My rational side will tell me all of the medical reasons why putting her down was humane and loving, and my emotional side will not forgive myself for not giving her more time, even if it would be for a few days. Either way, she is gone. I have to ask myself,"How much quality time did she have left?" I will never know the answer to that question.

I will just say again, that you are no murderer. You loved Abbey, helped her--really did everything you could have until it was her time. Me? I don't know, and I'm left with that question that cannot be answered. Feel your grief, let the tears flow, and write about Abbey . . . that's what I'm doing because there's nothing else left to do.

Abbey was lucky to have such a loving mom as you.

Thank you for your kind words. It helps (albeit only a little) to know that I am not alone in having loved and lost a wonderful furry friend. I guess all I can do is cry and let my ache for her and just get through one day at a time until perhaps I can remember only the happy times which surely outweigh tenfold (more like a thousand) the bad and especially the "final scene." I have attached (I hope) a picture of my sweet Abbey (she's the poodle; the other redhead is my granddaughter) to share with you all. I hope I can continue to come here for emotional support during this most sorrowful time. God bless you all.