Pixie (2007-2021)
On her last day, Pixie sat in the sun.
Normally, she'd wake me up by scratching at the base of the bed or jumping on my chest...
But on that last day, Pixie sat on the window-sill and looked into the garden. I pushed the window open as far as it would go, and Pixie hopped down onto the grass. She toddled onto the little concrete path and sat down.
She didn't move very far over the course of the day. She'd lie down for a while, then sit up and wash her face, and then lie back down.
Our other cats kept their distance, leaving her in peace, in the sun.
We'd first met Pixie when she was cowering under the coat of a shop assistant. She was the last of her litter – the only one not picked out for a home.
I didn’t want a kitten. We’d only recently said goodbye to our elderly, adopted cat and I’d gotten so attached to my furry little shadow I didn’t want to think about ‘replacing’ her. Not so soon.
I certainly didn’t want to buy a kitten from a bloody pet shop. But looking around the place I also didn’t want to leave this tiny, frightened creature in such grubby surroundings.
It was almost 5.30 in the evening and the Pet Shop was about to close for the day… Would one of the staff take her home? Or would she be left overnight in a cage?
Earlier that day, all of her brothers and sisters had been picked up and taken away... did she realise she'd never see them again? Did she realise she was alone?
Yes, I’m a big softy.
We paid up, bought a pet carrier and brought her home.
At first, we couldn’t think of a name for her - but once we saw her ears we agreed that she had to be called Pixie.
She’d been frightened and shaking in the shop but as soon as we brought her home and opened the pet carrier, she became a non-stop ball of energy and claws. She wore herself out bouncing around our living room furniture…
For the first few nights I slept on the settee and she slept on my legs. And that’s pretty much how things continued. Pixie didn’t seem to realise she was a pet. Maybe she thought she was looking after me: making sure I didn't get lonely or cold.
As our family grew, Pixie remained a grumpy constant. She tolerated sharing her house with a baby and two more cats but she expected special treatment and she expected exclusive access to my legs and belly. Why sleep on an expensive pet-bed or a new blanket when there’s a perfectly warm belly to sleep on?
It’s easy to forget the time before a person or a pet enters your life. They become so wrapped up in everything you do and every decision you make.
Just a few short months ago, Pixie had some sort of fit. She was in the kitchen and her back legs suddenly stopped working. She didn’t show any sign of distress, she just found a way to drag herself to her food bowl using her front paws.
I was completely freaked out by this. It only seemed to last a few minutes, but it came out of nowhere. Afterwards, Pixie behaved as though nothing had happened.
I watched her closely – and about a fortnight later she had a similar episode. This time she seemed to lose control of all four legs, and this time she looked as scared as I was.
Taking Pixie to the vets wasn’t easy. Apart from fighting to get her into the pet carrier, the local vet was also having to implement special measures due to Covid. I couldn’t stay with Pixie as the Vet examined her.
“She’s very feisty, isn’t she?” was the first thing the Vet said when she came to speak to me. She explained that in order to thoroughly examine Pixie they’d need to sedate her first… And that would cost a lot of money. Hundreds of pounds. Somehow, they had been able to examine the inside of her mouth – because they knew that Pixie needed a lot of dental work.
“Like a lot of older cats, her teeth are in bad condition…”
What did her teeth have to do with her legs
going floppy?And why was she calling Pixie an 'older' cat?
“Is it her bad teeth that’s making her have fits?” I asked. “I brought her in because she’s been having these horrible fits and her legs stop working. It’s only for a few minutes and she seems to recover… ”
The Vet shrugged her shoulders.
“She could have an infection… An infection in her teeth could get into her bloodstream and cause all sorts of problems… We could take bloods but we’d have to sedate her..."
In the end,
the Vet said she could give Pixie some antibiotics and painkillers to bring
home – it was a compromise because we couldn't afford the sedation AND the blood tests.
A couple of weeks later, Pixie had another one of her episodes. She collapsed in the kitchen and seemed to panic, rolling around on the floor.
A friend told us to contact a charity who might be able to help.
They were brilliant. The Vets at the PDSA agreed to see us the same day. They wrapped Pixie in a towel so they could examine her – they didn’t need to sedate her. They said it might be dangerous to do so. They saw the lump under Pixie’s eye – I told them it had been growing slowly but steadily – but they said she might not be strong enough to survive any surgery to investigate the lump or remove it.
Mostly, the Vet was tactful and calm and said we should take Pixie home, keep her comfortable, give her painkillers and let her sleep as much as possible.
That was Thursday.
Pixie stayed with us until the following Monday.
By late evening, the garden was getting chilly and I tried to bring Pixie back into the house.
She wasn’t happy. She
wanted to be outdoors. She started biting at the claws on her back leg – she looked
uncomfortable – one of the claws seemed to be stuck. She’d made herself bleed. I
didn’t know if the blood was coming from her back leg or from her mouth, but I
grabbed a towel and tried to wrap her up in it. Pixie flopped in my arms. She went limp, almost folding herself
in half. I thought she might be dying right there and then on the kitchen floor. But I could still feel the gentle rise and fall of her back.
My wife was soon back on the phone to the PDSA – asking them what we should do, where could we go for help?
Pixie lay in the towel. I told her she’d had a lovely day in the garden. She’d been soaking up the sun all day.
When my wife put the pet carrier down on the kitchen floor, Pixie climbed straight in. We didn’t have to cajole, trick, or fight with her. Maybe she knew it was time to go. Maybe she just wanted to be left alone.
Late on that Monday evening my Father-in-law drove us to a small dark building in the middle of an industrial estate. This was the out-of-hours premises of the PDSA. I sat in the back of the car, talking to Pixie as she lay in the pet carrier.
“It's OK. Just lie down and get some rest. It’s been a long Summer day and it’s time to get some sleep. We’ve had such a lovely day. Get some rest now. It’s OK. It's OK.”
I was trying to tell myself that I had to let her go, that she wasn't going to get any better and that this was for the best.
Covid restrictions were STILL in place, so I couldn’t go into the building. A masked Nurse appeared in a doorway and I had to hand Pixie over.
I waited outside, shivering on a warm night. The Nurse returned, holding the empty pet carrier. She’d spoken to my wife on the phone, and I was told, very matter-of-factly, that they’d be putting Pixie to sleep. And did we want the ashes?
It was all so quick. It was all too quick. I asked if I could see Pixie again, just to say goodbye, just to see her one last time… but the Nurse said she’d already been sedated.
Putting Pixie to sleep was just a case of giving her too much sedation.
So there I was, 11pm on a July night, standing on an industrial estate near Gateshead, holding an empty pet carrier.
I didn’t cry ‘til I got home.
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