Resigning as a Grown Up

This morning I had to take my favorite pet, my cat Lex, to the vet to be put down.  His health had been failing for a little while but we figured he was almost 13 and bound to be slowing down.  Then on Sunday we could tell something just wasn't right.  He just laid around our first floor, meandering from room to room but never going upstairs where he normally sleeps, or downstairs where he normally eats.

Sunday night I knew the time was near, yet I didn't want to make that decision.  I kept hoping he would make it for me.  Yesterday when I got up he was sitting in the kitchen and it looked like he was drinking some water.  We had brought some food to him on Sunday night and it appeared that maybe he had taken a couple bites.  I was holding out hope that perhaps he just had a cold or something and would get better.

When I got home from work last night one side of his face was twitching a little and his eyes had started to sink back into his face.  Yet still, I tried to hold out hope.  I went to the store and bought some canned cat food.  He licked it but would not take a bite.  I put some in his mouth and he tried to chew but it kept falling out and he couldn't eat it.  It was at that point that I knew it was over.

I'm not sure that I remember the last time I cried this much.  I cried and cried last night until I finally fell asleep and this morning, as soon as I saw him lying on the kitchen floor barely able to move or make a sound it started all over again.  I spent most of this morning in a state of completely choked up or crying.

Finally at 7:30 when the vet's office opened I called and made the appointment.  My wonderful friend Jess agreed to meet me there since Jim had to go to work and couldn't get off.  I knew what had to be done but I wasn't sure I could actually do it.  Make the decision to ask the vet to take him from breathing to not.

I cried the whole way there and when we got in I could barely utter a sound.  Luckily Jess was there because the people in that office wouldn't have been able to understand anything otherwise.   The vet looked at him and asked if he had been losing weight for awhile.  I told him probably a couple months but we just figured it was his age.  He said he was dehydrated and probably anemic and at this point he felt we were doing the right thing.  Somehow, knowing I was doing the right thing, hearing him say I was doing the right thing, still didn't make it any easier.

By 8:15 it was over and he was back in my van in a box.  We will bury him in our yard tonight and then take on the task of trying to explain it all to Zack.

My eyes are burning, and I'm sure pretty puffy.  I am at work but not really working.

I hate this part of being a grown up.  Can I resign?