Pushkin, RIP

Pushkin, RIP

Such sad tidings: After all our hopes that Pushkin might rally once again, on Friday evening, 29 January, at about 8.30 p.m.,  she finally found respite from all her respiratory problems. 

In the report I posted on 26 January, after we had got Pushkin home last Sunday from another 48-hour spell in hospital, she was so happy to be home, and was doing very well, and I ended the piece with the wish, "long may it continue."

Alas, it was not to be; on Thursday, she began wheezing again, and was very restless and could not get comfortable. We tried all the usual soothing methods that often work to calm her, but she could not settle. I stayed up with her until 2.00 a.m. on the Friday morning, but she could not find a good spot on my knees. I tried folding up a little towelling square and tucked it under her chin as she lay on the sofa; my thought was, perhaps this would help her to lift her head up, and so ease her breathing, and it seemed to help for a short while, but soon she was seeking a different position. 

Although I could see it was a terrific effort for Pushkin, she was still able to get up on to the sofa herself - my goodness, she was game! and she could also get down on from the cushions back onto the carpet as well. At about 1.45 a.m., she jumped down and went to the back door, sitting patiently until I opened it up for her. I knew she wanted some air, but this time she didn't go out on the patio - she just sat in the doorway, and I hoped the fresh air might help her. 

I could also see how terribly thin she was, and because she hadn't eaten much on Thursday, I was not surprised to see she was a bit wobbly on her back legs as well.

The cool air seemed to help her a little, and her breathing was less laboured, but it was awful to see her like that. 

I had to get some sleep, but the next day - Friday, 29 January - she was still obviously struggling, and we made the decision to take her back to Wylie Vets, and see if they could do something to help her. 

We took her in at 4.00 p.m., and Pushkin was put on oxygen straight away, and given a light sedative to calm her; they promised to ring us to let us know how she was getting on.

When the vet rang at 7.00 p.m., it was not good news. Pushkin had made no progress and there was no sign of improvement. Because they know her so well, once Pushkin was in the special oxygen kennel, they would have expected her to begin to breath better, and start to rally round, but she was still gasping and distressed. She simply could not carry on like that.

It was not a surprise, and we had been half-expecting it, but the actual moment of truth still came as a shock. We said we would drive back to the surgery at once, as we would like to see her and give her a love, before they put her to sleep.

So that is what we did. We arrived at 8.00 p.m., and a lovely nurse brought Pushkin to us. We sat with her on the back seat of the car and talked to her, and stroked her, and told her what a very, very good cat she is. 

In the end, it all happened very swiftly. When we were ready, the nurse came out for Pushkin and took her back to the surgery. Because of the virus and lockdown restrictions, we were not allowed to go in with her, but the nurse said she would hold Pushkin and love her for us, and by 8.40, the nurse brought Pushkin back to us, and said how peacefully she had gone to rest. 

The vet and the nurses all said we could not have done more for Pushkin; because of all our efforts to get her well, she has had something like an extra six months of life, and it's true: Since these problems first appeared, when she has been in a remission, we have enjoyed some wonderfully happy times with Pushkin, and at the first sign of a recurrence, we always took her back to the vet to try to get her restored to full health again. We are firm believers in "Where there's life, there's hope," but there comes a time when you have to accept there is nothing more they can do. 

We brought Pushkin home, to be buried in the garden, alongside Blackie.

The next morning, the last Saturday in January, dawned cold, wet and dingy; Bob was up very early, to prepare the grave for Pushkin and, later that afternoon, we wrapped her up in one of Mum's old nighties, with a scarf under Pushkin's head, and laid her to rest. We sang "All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small..." as it felt appropriate to celebrate her life, and was a hymn that we also sang at Mum's funeral.  

It's hard to say goodbye to a little cat that has shared our lives for 16 years or so! and it's hard to be in a house without a pussy cat in it. It's also something to remember how much Mum was instrumental in bringing Pushkin into our lives, a link that will remain in our memories. 

Pushkin was such an inoffensive little cat; a cat without a meow, but still a great communicator of her wishes. When I was ironing, she would sit beside me, waiting until I got the message that she wanted me to take off my left slipper, and tickle her ears with my toes.... and she would sit beside Bob whilst he was still eating his dinner, with the clear indication he should hurry up and finish, as she was in need of a cuddle on his knee.... and I still think I catch a glimpse of her tail by the back door, as she used to wait to go out, or feel the faint brush of her fur as she walked past me. 

We miss her, and Blackie, so much, but we will always remember them, and all the joy they brought into our lives.