We had to put Pepette to sleep tonight. Our hearts are breaking.
About two years ago, she had her first episode of what was eventually diagnosed as “psycho cat.” The Ukrainian vets couldn’t find any known illness in their analysis, and an American vet friend told me that sometimes it just happens – for reasons veterinary science does not understand, some cats just freak out. She suddenly and violently didn’t recognize us, as if a trigger would switch in her head, and she would hiss and growl at us, as if we were invaders in her territory. That episode was, as we now understand, relatively mild and passed in about 2 weeks. But those were a long two weeks, when we didn’t know if we would find an adorable and loving cat at home, or a demon who wanted us dead.
But that passed, and slowly we started to think it had been an anomaly, some nasty effect from the drugs used at the pet salon when she was groomed. We bought an electric shaver and Igor, ever the psychologist, trained her to let us shave her ourselves, with no knock-out drugs. It wasn’t a pretty shave, but she eventually she would stand patiently still long enough for a not-too-bad shave.
About three weeks ago, the demon returned. I was traveling, and Igor told me she had attacked him, completely unexpectedly and without provocation. And not just a playful swat, or a “hey, I don’t like what you’re doing and you better back off”, but a full fledged onslaught. Over the course of that week when I was away, she flipped back and forth from normal to demon periodically and seemingly randomly. He eventually closed her up in the spare room. When I was home for about 2 days between trips, we let her out. She was jittery and didn’t seem exactly like herself, but she was more or less OK with me. She sat in my lap for awhile one evening. The next morning, though, she didn’t recognize me and hissed and growled until we corralled her into the spare room again.
I was gone another week and Igor again said she had been hell to live with. Ever the psychologist, he tried hard to understand what triggered her schizophrenic-like episodes – the telephone ringing, sudden movement, turning his back to her all seemed to result in her becoming hysterical, but other times there was no trigger he could identify. When I got home Tuesday, I felt sorry for her locked up in the spare room, I wanted to see her and pet her, and I am sorry to say I didn’t really understand the full extent of what Igor had been suffering during the weeks I was gone. I guess I thought she would be OK with me, she’s my Pepetichka after all.
We let her out and she nervously scouted the apartment. After a bit, she joined us on the balcony, but didn’t really seem able to settle down and relax. She eventually laid down in the sun, her head resting on my foot. But only for a few minutes, then she was up nervously pacing around again. She seemed to know us, though, and didn’t behave threateningly or as if we were threatening her.
Igor went inside, I started moving plants out onto the balcony for the summer. She was interested, giving all the plants a good sniff and chewed on one or two of them. The next thing I knew, she was hanging from my left arm, hysterically biting and clawing me.
I don’t want to describe or remember that part. It was awful – my darling Pepette not only did not know me, she was terrified of me and I was terrified of her. It was not her, though – there was a devil behind those eyes, not my darling Pepette.
Igor corralled her again into the spare room, we cleaned and bandaged my wounds (which turned out to be all over my left arm and on my lower left leg). We discussed what we would need to do.
Today Igor called several vets, most of whom simply asked if we wanted to euthanize her or send her to the animal shelter. He settled on the one who said “Why put her to sleep? Let’s see if we can help her.” Ruslan the vet came over this evening, while I was still at the office. Igor says it was a bad day, she never seemed to have any moments of recognition. Ruslan examined her and knew quickly that it wasn’t rabies or any other identifiable illness. His diagnosis? Psycho cat – it just happens sometimes, especially in some breeds. You can’t predict it, you can’t treat it.
We had already decided that if the vet said something like, the humanitarian thing for her and for us would be to help her die peacefully. She has been miserable, and steadily getting worse these past few weeks, unlike during the first episode 2 years ago when she was bad for a few days but then got steadily better. There were no indications that she would get better, and even if she did, we had already learned all too well that she could turn at any moment.
The vet had already administered the shot when I got home. When I saw her, she was peaceful and beautiful. I’d like to think she was herself at the very end – she had dragged herself to her litter box to vomit in it instead of on the carpet, ever the fastidious one.
It was a difficult end to a very difficult few weeks for us. She was a beautiful and adorable cat, much loved and very spoiled. I keep thinking I hear her tonight – scratching in her box, nibbling at her food bowl – and I expect to see her funny little head peak through the door, up on her tiptoes with the silly look she has when she wants you to chase her and play. Oh, how I want her back.
We miss you, my darling Pepetichka.
Anka in Kyiv 