It seems to be the question of the week. We had to put our little (I use that term loosely) Newton down (aka have him "humanely euthanized") on August 13th. He was almost 10 years old, and I have been the relatively proud owner since 6 weeks following his birth. If you can believe, this mammoth of a cat once fit easily into the palm of my hand. I'm not sure if it was genetics, or the incredibly high dosage of protein that I fed him that led to his abnormal growth. In his prime, he was close to 20 pounds - heavier than a lot of small dogs.
Now, I'm not a cat person. Never have been. But I love animals of all varieties. (I just prefer that most of them stay away from me and never step foot in my home.) No matter what your pet is, it always finds a way to become a family member. Yes, even cats. (Please do not mistake this for any sort of statement that cats are people, too, cuz, clearly, they are not.) After almost a decade of caring for just about anything, inevitably you would become attached.
Newton was basically the result of Fidget (the other cat) being lonely. I could only take so much of the constant leg crawling and perching on my shoulder. She would cry and cry when I left for work, and wouldn't leave me alone for 10 seconds when I got home. She needed a companion. I found Newton. (The name actually is Sir Isaac Newton. Many mistakenly believe it was Fig Newton, which I suppose would be more appropriate considering his size.) Fidget HATED him. She was only a month older, but she insisted on being the queen of her castle and was determined to ensure that Newton understood this. She beat the crap out of him. I figured that would last until they both grew and he was big enough to fight back. And so it happened... plus about 7 pounds.
Then they fell in love. And quickly, I had to get them both fixed. I thought surely at 4 months, Newton wouldn't have a clue what Fidget meant when she stuck her butt in the air and sang a little song of enticement. And he didn't... at first. But one day, I walked in on them, and Newton seemed to have gotten the hang of his role in the relationship. I pulled him off just in the nick of time (if you know what I mean) and immediately quarantined him until the next day when I introduced him to Sir Knife which removed both Sirs Testicles. (Now that I think of it, I wonder how big he would have grown had he not been neutered at such a young age? I'm no biologist so I don't know how these things work.)
And yet they remained in love and committed to one another. Fidget would clean him for 45 minutes until his body was practically sopping wet. (My vet said Newton had the cleanest ears he had ever seen!)
Then one day and 3 moves later, after years of Fidget provoking play attacks, which eventually turned into full-out brawls, she had had enough. She wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with Newton. She rejected him. She hissed at him any time he came within a foot of her personal space. I think this was most likely the beginning of her constant vomiting and his need to find another companion (which he found in a piece of faux fur, which we lovingly named "His Lovely").
Oh, the things he did to that poor piece of fabric! We were pretty much grossed out by his public displays of affection, so I tossed His Lovely in the trash. That may have been the biggest mistake. He then turned his attention to anything soft... which included sweaters, blankets, underwear, t-shirts... We could tell what he had been up to when we got home and these things were strewn across the floor, somewhat tangled and twisted, and most often with puncture marks from his teeth. (See picture and video... This is his late Lovely.) Very disturbing.
Newton was a lover (clearly). He was the biggest lapcat ever, and always found a way to sneak onto your lap. If we pushed him off, he'd sit at our feet staring at us... for a really long time. (It was pretty creepy.) He'd eventually jump up on the arm of the couch... then slowly make his way over to us... And lean across our lap, then eventually step onto our lap. That was the dead giveaway. If we hadn't noticed it until then, we could tell what his plan was when his little, poky stick legs dug into our flesh when he walked on us. The only way we could even remotely stand having him on top of us was to push him down so he'd lay, all 20 pounds of him, across your lap, or your chest, or wherever he happened to be laying.
Newton was my slumber pal. He'd cuddle up on my pillow, or next to my head and snuggle in real tight. It sucked in the summer, but in the winter it was like a little fur pillow that purred. He belly was so soft. He'd be with me from the moment I went to bed, until the moment I got out of bed. If I moved in the middle of the night, he would often start purring which just sort of lulled me back into my slumber.
Scott and Newton had issues. There was this alpha-male battle that continued for our entire marriage thus far. Newton never had a problem with Scott until we got married and he was invited into bed with us. Newton clearly felt that this was an assault on what was clearly his property. It even got so bad that Newton would try to bite him if Scott even came near him (and did on a couple of occasions). Needless to say, Scott would put him in his place. But Newton wouldn't relent. Even after getting smacked around a few times, he still would make his point, sometimes out of the blue while he was napping next to Scott. (They had an on-again-off-again, love-hate thing. I don't think either one of them ever really learned.) When Scott would come tuck me in at night, Newton would just wait for him to get near enough so he could lunge at his hand or whatever body part happened to be closest. Eventually, I had to either hold him down, or Scott would sort of hit him with a pillow until he jumped off the bed long enough to kiss me goodnight. It was a nightly ritual.
Then we brought Jeffrey home. This was another assault. Newton was now even further down the totem pole, much to his dismay. We had always been a little concerned about how Newton and the baby would fare. But I think Newton could sense my protection because I always came around if I felt that Newton wasn't going to behave. Once Jeffrey was old enough to know better, I didn't really get in between them. Jeffrey got chomped on a couple of times, but thankfully Newton held back. (He had these fangs that hung below his chin. If he wanted to, he could do some serious damage. He's drawn blood a few times from Scott, and a couple of times from me.) He only gave Jeffrey a warning... which, of course, he, too, never learned. (Like father, like son.) Jeffrey loved him. He called him "Newt" and always wanted to cuddle with him, although 99% of the time Newton could hardly stand having Jeffrey pet him, much less lay on him.
That was the first time Newton was ever banished from the bedroom. I was nursing Jeffrey at night and didn't want his massive body suffocating my baby in the middle of the night, so we started locking Newton out. He cried a lot the first few nights, but he eventually made his way to the couch (along with some token t-shirt or whatever so he'd have something to love on).
No, Newton was no ordinary cat, that's for sure. He was hugely territorial, and no other animal or human would ever stand a chance against him. He stood his ground, no matter how big his opponent. But when it came to places he wasn't familiar with, that was a whole new ballgame. We'd let him out from time to time. If anything made a noise or moved, he'd be right back at the door wanting to be let in. For as ballsy as he was inside, he sure was a big wuss when he was outside.
And he had the most whimpy sounding meow. You'd almost expect a lion-roar out of this cat, but instead what you heard was this tiny Mike Tyson sounding mew. It was ridiculous. (It was kind of like having a huge SUV with a Geo Metro sounding horn. It was bad.)
Newton didn't snack like ordinary cats, either. No salmon or tuna for him! But, boy, if he heard you opening a bag of chips, he'd come a'runnin'! His favorite was jalapeno chips. The spicier, the better.
Something happened three months ago. His demeanor began to change.... He started to chill out a little more and got a little more cuddly. Then the sneezing started... and got worse and worse. I thought he just had a cold of some sort, but it never got better. The last couple of weeks were awful. His breathing was difficult and forced - sounded VERY stuffed up. His left eye and nostril were draining - kind of a bloody liquid. His nostril started crusting shut, so I'd have to wipe it away a couple of times each day. He looked like he was losing weight and his coat wasn't nearly as soft as it once was. I finally decided that enough was enough and he needed a visit to the doctor's office.
I honestly thought that he had either a sinus infection or some sort of eye cyst that could easily be treated with antibiotics. Jeffrey and I took him in. (I explained to Jeffrey that Newt was sick and needed to see the doctor... Newton howled the whole way. Jeffrey said, "Newton cries... Newton cries..." which eventually turned to, "All done!" meaning he had enough of that racquet.) He weighed in at 14 pounds (almost 6 pounds less than usual). Newton wouldn't let the vet near his mouth... It was explained to me that there was something obviously bothering him and she wanted to sedate him to do a thorough exam. She said at that point that it may be nothing, but her hunch was that there was a severe blockage of some sort that was most likely cancer (tumors). If that was the case, she would recommend euthanasia. Wow. That was the first I ever really thought about it. Sure, Scott and I had been joking for years that we might have to humanely euthanize him (due to his temper and violence against other male species). But we never really thought this could be a reality.
Sure enough, she returned a few minutes later to confirm her suspicions. She asked if I wanted to see it. Jeffrey and I joined her in the back. She brought Newton out on a towel, and opened his mouth, pulling out his tongue. There was a huge mass of tumors growing one on top of another, all down his tongue. No wonder he was losing weight. He most likely wasn't eating! And no wonder he had such a hard time breathing. The bridge of his nose was softened and swollen. The vet was guessing that he had tumors in his nasal cavity, as well. This was no way to live.
We made the decision right then and there to put him down. No bother taking him out of sedation to say our goodbyes. He was more comfortable where he was. I had to quickly find a way to explain this to a 2 year old. I just simply told him that Newton was very sick and that he wasn't going to be coming home with us. I told Jeffrey, "You'll need to tell him goodbye." Jeffrey leaned over Newton, laid his head on his belly for about 20 seconds, then said, "Bye-bye, Newt," and waved at him. This just killed me. I pretty much lost it at that point. (Jeffrey looked at me and said, "Mommy cries..." and gave me a big hug.)
The vet's assistant was kind enough to watch Jeffrey for a few moments so I, too, could say my goodbyes. I just pet him for a while, whispered in his ears and kissed him goodbye.
That was the last we saw of him.
Since then, our home has been absent one family member. Even Scott was surprised to find that he misses the little booger. Fidget seems to be confused and comes around more than she used to. Jeffrey has asked about Newton a couple of times, and went looking for him once. I miss him and his soft belly at night.
I'm grateful that we took him in when we did. Poor kitty was suffering.
What's funny is this has prompted some conversations about whether or not animals have souls, and whether or not animals go to heaven. What do you think?
