I couldn’t shake the vision of Yogi’s last moments. That night, I couldn’t sleep, thinking how I betrayed my companion of 20 years by holding him while someone hurt and terrified him. As for me, the shock of Yogi’s last moments kept me silent except to say thank you as I picked up Yogi’s lifeless body to take home to bury. Within a minute, my boy was on his way to getting his wings to soar. What the hell just happened? I was in shock the peaceful end I had hoped my friend would experience had instead turned hideously painful and traumatic.Ī few minutes later, the vet and tech came back in, to give the final injection in a vein in Yogi’s hind leg. I held his fragile, soft, furry body – the same body that had just acted like super cat – and wept. I sat with a now-comatose cat, limp, with eyes dilated and glassy. They then excused themselves and left the room! The vet and the tech stepped away from Yogi, as I flew to the other side of the table, catching him mid-air so he wouldn’t crash into the wall. ![]() The vet said, “You can let him go.” What?! I heard the words but my protective instinct kicked in I was not going to let my frail friend crash to the floor! I was able to prevent him from falling off the table, but then he launched himself forward and upward out of my arms, flailing toward the wall. When the vet injected the drug into the muscle of Yogi’s hind leg, my cat screamed the loudest meow I’ve ever heard and, with a power he hadn’t displayed in years, thrust himself backward almost off the end of the table. I expected that he might feel a little prick and then slowly go to sleep – but that’s not what happened. Many animals in this condition don’t even notice an injection. Yogi was very weak, had recently stopped eating, and had failing kidneys. But what I experienced that day haunts me. As a vet tech, I assisted in the euthanasia of hundreds of pets I’ve also supported friends, family, and clients during the euthanasia of their pets, and was present when all of my own animals passed. I’m not new to this procedure, but it never gets easier. He then said that after he gave the sedation injection, he’d leave and come back in five minutes to euthanize Yogi. He came back with an assistant and a tiny syringe, saying, “This will sting a little but within less than five minutes he’ll be completely sedated, though his eyes will remain open. He indicated that this was fine, and left the room. When the veterinarian entered the examination room, I told him I’d like Yogi to be sedated before the euthanasia drug was administered. I made an appointment to have Yogi euthanized at this clinic. I found a clinic that advertised itself as a fear-free hospital within an hour’s drive, and had visited the clinic several times without being either impressed or dismayed. I moved about a year ago, and had looked for a veterinarian with Fear Free or Low Stress Handling credentials. I didn’t want my buddy to get to the point of immense suffering. It grew quickly and began causing Yogi much discomfort – so much so that he wouldn’t eat. My cat Yogi was 20 years old, but the very picture of health until a malignant tumor took up residence in his mouth.
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