Parting Words

Last weekend, my wife and I had to make one of the hardest decisions we've ever made as a couple – namely putting our cat to sleep. To some of you this may seem silly and sentimental, but the pet lovers amongst you will undoubtedly be able to relate to this short tale of how a feral kitten from downtown LA changed our lives forever.

Found running around in the rat infested alleys around the back of the old LA Theater, Graham (then two months old), was taken to the South LA animal shelter where on a hazy Californian July afternoon, my wife and I spotted him and decided to give him a new home and a new hope.

He immediately caught our eyes due to his calm and composed demeanor, sitting quietly while the other cats howled and vied for the attention of passing humans. Instead, Graham sat there quietly gazing into our eyes, with a slightly quizzical look on his face, ignoring even the batting paws of a kitten in an adjacent cage trying to swipe through the bars. In hindsight, he was probably in shock from the ordeal of capture and terrified by the cacophony created by these gigantic bustling beings (humans); but this unshakable, stoic little “small-for-his-age” kitten left an indelible print in our hearts.

Graham came down with a flu/fever that nearly killed him (not unusual for rescue cats) within three days of his adoption; a flu from which he never fully recovered. The fever had been extremely high and most likely caused permanent damage; his sinuses never recovered either, causing him to sneeze and blow mucus all over the place (yeah, lovely I know) for the rest of his life.

Taken away or orphaned from his mother way too young, Graham developed behavioral problems and could never quite get his head around the difference between play-fighting and fight-fighting. Combined with his congenital problems and slight brain damage (from the fever), he didn’t exactly have the best start in life.

Despite his behavioral issues, Graham turned out to be one of the most interesting cats either of us has ever known. Forever the eternal kitten, he LOVED to play fetch with his toy mouse, which he would drop at our feet every morning as we got out of the shower. He would pause in the middle of his meals to bring us the mouse as a sign of appreciation and would not finish until we engaged him and acknowledged his gratitude. He was also one of the most communicative cats in the known universe; never wanting to be alone (although not necessarily touched), he would follow us from room to room like a shadow, with an accompanying chatter of chirps, squeals and purrs that carried an infinite range of intonations.

It was quite a struggle for a while - being bitten and gnawed on every time we tried to pet him - but over time we made real progress; he'd even started "making biscuits" (kneading) - until out of the blue, a freak accident spawned a heavy dark cloud that would hang over his head for the rest of his unfairly short life.

It was Saturday morning, the first day of Thanksgiving weekend, and we were preparing to have brunch; Graham, as usual, was chasing around like a bat out of hell, batting a (toy) mouse through the kitchen and into the lounge. This time however as he came galloping through from the kitchen, he lost his grip and went skidding across the hardwood floor and straight into the footrest of a bar stool. This wasn’t the first time he’d smacked his head into something, so after he sneezed a few times and regained his composure, we thought nothing more of it. Until the next day that is.

The next evening, returning from Griffith Observatory, we came home to find a large lump right above the bridge of his nose and stretching half way to the back of his head. It was huge (nearly an inch high), soft and puffy. So we did what any caring pet owner would do and rushed him to the vet. A couple of x-rays, a quick procedure and a couple of rounds of antibiotics later we assumed all would be good. It wasn’t. Within just a week or so, the abscess was back with a vengeance; further testing revealed it to be a pseudomonas infection – something that animals with immune deficiencies generally never recover from. Graham went back to surgery. This time, they cut his head open from front to back and inserted two straws for drainage; the resulting wounds were so horrific they don’t even bear description. His recovery was slow and painful for both us and him, and as you can probably tell from the general direction of this story, the abscess came back yet again.

During the following months we tried countless rounds of antibiotics, homeopathic remedies, all raw food diets - you name it, we tried it. Then, having switched back to the last known antibiotic that might even put a dent in this thing, we thought we’d had a breakthrough. For over four weeks his head stayed clear; his fur was growing back, and he was starting to look normal again. But yet again, it came back and the location on his forehead meant that the infected tissue couldn't be cut away.

What made this such a hard decision was that a) he was only three and a half years old, and b) he still wanted to play all the time (even if he was a little lethargic and became more and more listless with it as time went on), but the options were limited - either put him out of his misery, or try and keep him going as long as he’d hold up. What do you do in that situation?

We really opened our eyes to what was happening to him, and we opted for euthanasia. The idea of keeping him alive for another nine months with a volcano for a head just didn’t add up in the grand scheme of things; his comfort and standard of living outweighed our selfish desires for his companionship.

A few pointers for anyone going through this:

Weigh-up the pros and cons of euthanizing your pet. Do what’s right for them, not what’s right for you (as long as it’s in your means).

Be certain of your decision. As hard as it is to make the decision, be certain and free of doubt - otherwise it will come back to haunt you, your mind spending its idle time re-examining the past and options after the event.

Decide if you want to be present or not. Your pet will pass out within a second or two after the first round of injections, leaving them in an anesthetized state similar to that for a surgical procedure. In Graham’s case, he passed out immediately (we had been expecting a slow drifting off) and was laid out on the table, lips curled back and eyes open. Not the best last memory we could have had.

Take time to grieve, but never forget that you did the right thing.

Don’t run out and buy a pet from the shelter the next day, but do so in a reasonable timeframe if you’re going to. For a lot of people, not acquiring a new pet in a sensible time span can lead to feelings of resentment to other animals, or fear of loving and losing another creature. The longer you leave it the harder it will be.

Say your goodbyes and move on. Life doesn’t stop, we have to get on with our own race for survival - focus on your pet being happy and free from all the problems that ailed them and let them live on in your heart, as Graham does in ours.

If there’s one thing Graham taught us, it’s to be resilient - to always look on the upside and stay focused even when your world is crashing all around you - and that just like a foster child that acts up in their attempt to gain attention, a feral cat with behavioral problems can become a sweet loving kitty, with enough love and understanding; you just have to take the time to see why they are acting the way they do, so you can help them work through it. We will always remember Graham as being one of the strongest, silliest, and most unique beings we’ve ever had the pleasure to know.



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Yannick Lord is a Los Angeles based Fashion, Glamour, Commercial and Lifestyle photographer with a passion for music, art, design, entertainment and technology. Please feel free to explore these pages for more news, reviews and, of course, my photography.