At 9 a.m. this morning, I did the hardest thing any pet owner has to do. I put my beloved Toula, my third “cat,” to sleep.
For the past two and a half years, Ratatouille Ratone, “Toula” for short, has been a part of my small but happy family. In October 2004, her and her roommate Berta joined me, my cat Stella, and our two birds Sunny and Dusty in my one-bedroom apartment in southeast Minneapolis. Before too long, baby kitty Sophie Jack joined the crew as well. Stella immediately took to motherhood and took Baby (Sophie Jack) as her own. It was the same day that Baby moved in that I introduced the rats to Stella, face to face. With Toula not much smaller than Baby at the time, Stella adopted Toula as well, probably thinking of her as another baby kitty in need of her nurturing.
Alberta, the other rat, was never social or affectionate like Toula. She was sick most of her life and bit you when you tried to give her love. In March of last year, Berta began to grow a mammary tumor in her armpit. It was in these days that she began to warm up and show affection like she never did before. Always suffering from various health problems, I decided the only option was to let the tumor grow and put her down when the time was right. A month later, the time was right. I just never thought I’d have to do the same with Toula.
Toula was always the strong one, the social one, the happy one. She was Stella’s adopted daughter and Baby’s best friend and sister. She never caught any of the respiratory illnesses that plagued Berta. I always thought Toula would die of old age. For this reason, finding a small tumor on Toula a few months ago hit me like a ton of bricks. This tumor grew at a much slower rate than Berta’s. I’d have had the tumor removed, but at nearly three years old, Toula was elderly, and removing it would probably cause even more pain. Even now, the tumor wasn’t too bad, she was still happy and lively, but I couldn’t keep putting it off. I couldn’t keep letting it grow until it got to the point where it was too painful. It had really started interfering with her mobility and when that happened, I knew it was time. Even when I let her run free, she primarily just curls up and sleeps now. Exploring is too hard for her these days, so even though she’s still got her spunk (and you can see it in her eyes), her body just can’t keep up with it anymore. Sadly, I suspect this is how it will be for all of us when the time comes.
I finally made the call last night to set up an appointment and just get it done. And I was shocked when the animal clinic said they wanted $50 to put her (a one-pound animal) down. I called another place and you’ll never believe how much they charge for the same service, with cremation included… nothing. Because rats are considered “pocket pets,” they do it at no charge. And it just kills me that some places will charge $50 for what others do for free. It just proves that people are always trying to get ahead at your expense, and when they do it in times of grief, that’s just something I can’t respect.
I knew it was going to be hard, but the trip to the vet was horrifying. As I handed Toula over to the vet tech, she knew something was wrong and started squirming and scratching, when she normally loves other people. It was an unbearable sight, and she was put back in the box I brought her in, but without the sheet that comforts her. It only made it worse. I couldn’t take seeing her so confused, so scared, so I grabbed her back, rubbed her neck, her ears, and got her comfortable again. I put her back in the box, but with the sheet to hide in. I told the vet to take the box and sheet and bring the sheet back to me afterward. The crying, which I had been holding back, broke through when the box went out of my sight. When the sheet came back to me, it was done.
And now there’s an empty space where her cage used to be. I moved the cats food and water into the vacant space, but I think it’s confused the cats more than anything… not because their food and water has moved, but because it’s where Toula’s supposed to be. No longer will Baby run up to the cage door as I open it and butt heads with Toula. No longer will Stella try to crawl into it. No longer will I have bits of rat bedding scattered across the floor (though this is actually a good thing). And no longer will I leave my room and return to find Toula snuggled up under the arms of her feline friends. I think Toula always thought of herself as a cat. And if she thinks she’s cat, who am I to say she’s not?
Rest in peace my dearest Toula, my third cat. We’ll miss you.
by Sarah
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