On Pets

Our cat, Dutch, died yesterday. When we left for Amsterdam, he remained in Evanston with our tenants, a family from Spain that is visiting Northwestern this fall. We only half joked that he came with the lease and our tenants had graciously agreed to care for him. At something like 19 years old, he was too old to be moved and we also knew, there was a real possibility he would not be around when we return in January.

 There had been signs the last few weeks of him slowing down significantly and he was having accidents outside of his litter box, at first occasionally and then all the time. I was increasingly texting with Irene, our tenant, about his well-being – and, frankly, the limits of what we could ask of her and her family in caring for him. I was also increasingly waking up at 3:30 am with anxiety, checking my phone for bad-news text messages.

 So, yesterday morning, my neighbor Kate went to our house and facetimed with me to take a look at Dutch. It was clear that he was in terrible shape. So, we made the call, had a family facetime goodbye, and Kate brought him to our vet, who with just one look at him, agreed that it was time.

 It has been a tear-fest around here as we say goodbye to this member of our family and also struggle with the weight of not being there for him in his last days. We are also crazy-grateful for our friend Kate who carried this burden for us and made sure that he was not in prolonged pain.

 I am sure in a few days we will all feel much better. I know for me, it will allow me to enjoy our last weeks away, rather than worrying all the time about things back home. But, it also means that home will be different when we return.

 We love you, Dutchie and we will miss you so.