Cat away

I had my cat, Raymond, put down at 8:45 this evening. After taking him home from his regular vet at 2:00, where I'd taken him because his breathing was bad, we hung out and napped together on the couch. I did, anyway. I woke up to find his breathing clearly distressed, worse than before. I took him to a vet ER at six o'clock. They did a work up and X-rays. The gist was that he would be dead in a few months at best and those months would be bad to start with and increasingly shitty with frequent trips to the vet and invasive procedures. 

Advice to those faced with this dilemma: Think of the animal first, you second. Give the animal more weight.

I held Raymond, kissed him, talked to him. A gentle death via a nice doctor who asked, when it was over, if she could hug me, to which I said yes, but please don't knock me over when you do, which is a concern of mine since having my leg amputated fourteen months ago.

Now I have all the after things to do. Putting away his bowls, litter boxes (I had two), toys.

Such misery. I don't plan on trying this again. I'll stick with the fish in my koi pond from here on out.

Raymond and I had two months and eleven days together. There were enough good days for him (and me) that I'm glad I did it, I guess, but how is it that after such a short time my heart is breaking?