Our oldest cat, Murphy, was diagnosed with feline arthritis back in July. He’d probably had it for quite a while but the symptoms were getting more obvious and detrimental that we had to take him to the vet. He was limping around on one of his legs but we had thought he just landed funny from jumping from a high area – just a sprain – but after he started crying and falling down a lot when he walked we took him to the clinic. The veternarian said he had developed arthritis from age and possibly his weight. He also had a bad ear infection which was affecting his balance. The vet put him on some Metacam (pain medication) and an antibiotic. We were also told it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get his weight down which we attempted to do by limiting his food portions and not allowing him to graze throughout the day.

The medication sure did its job well. Murph wasn’t complaining when he walked. His limp was still noticeable but he seemed pretty happy that he wasn’t in pain anymore. I kept him on his medication schedule, made sure he was eating right, and got plenty of love & attention. As the months went on, he started limping on both hind legs as well as waddling and dragging them a few times. The vet said there really wasn’t more that we could do as arthritis is a degenerative disease and all we could do is slow the progression and make Murphy feel good about himself.

Last week, however, his condition got worse and beyond his control.

Early in the week, we had noticed there was a few drops of cat feces around the litter box area. We figured it was Murph and that he didn’t make it to the litter box in time, but he was going in there so we thought it wasn’t too big of a deal. On Wednesday, though, Murphy had started hiding. He was hiding in closets, under the bed, under the table, etc. If you got near him he would cry a bit and hobble himself off somewhere else. After the kids went to bed, I sought after him again and noticed more feces near him, only this time it was loose. As the evening went on, he kept on defecating as he walked. I cleaned up right behind him. Murph was losing control of his bowels, not a good sign at all. I placed a water dish near him so he could stay hydrated as his stools were becoming more loose than before, a couple of times he did it where he lay. I tried to clean him up the best that I could but fur is fairly tricky to clean without a shower. Not a proud moment for him, no doubt.

Murphy howled and hissed whenever he had to move. He was dragging himself throughout the house, unable to use his hind legs. I usually give him his pain medication on Sundays and Thursdays. I decided to give him his Thursday dose early to relieve his pain. It seemed to work for the most part. Metacam works really well for it but had the side effect of putting him in a stoned state, eyes glazed over and made him only feel like laying around. We sat with Murph for the remainder of the evening, unsure of what to do next. The best thing I thought we could do was to take him to the veternarian in the morning to see what they could do for his condition. I left a light on for him as he couldn’t bear to make it back to the bedroom. He looked miserable and suffering unneededly.

In the morning after the kids went off to school, Mandy and I took Murphy back to the vet’s office. The veternarian looked him over and concluded that his condition had changed for the worse. He told us that he could give him some cortisone for his arthritis and some medication for his bowel problem but we had to also think about his quality of life. He said that arthritis symptoms get progressively worse especially when the environment gets colder. With winter approaching soon, Murphy’s quality of life looked bleak. What kind of life would he have in the near future. One with him dragging himself everywhere he goes, unable to get into the litter box. Even with the anti-diarrheal medication, he’d still void where he lays. His pride and dignity all but extinguished.

It was a difficult and extremely emotional decision. It wasn’t one that was taken lightly at all. Murphy was put to sleep during that visit. I couldn’t believe how quickly the injection ran its course. One minute he’s with us, then his breaths drew slower and slower, and then nothing… I buried Murphy next to our other cat, Molly, who had died earlier in the year from what looked like a sudden heart attack. At least he has a friend in the heavens.

The children are coping okay from what I’m seeing. Abigail and Nicholas are too young to understand what happened. Ben especially was heart-broken by the news. He was the one cat of ours that he really liked. The kittens were confused for the first couple of days without him. I’m trying to dote on them so they don’t feel neglected. Murphy took over the parental duties after Molly passed, but now they’ll have to do more on their own.

I still mull over in my head whether or not we did the right thing, thinking through possible other outcomes, what I could have done differently to help him. I try to console myself with the fact that he wasn’t going to get better, that this was inevitable. You could see the suffering in his eyes.

We’re doing our best to keep everyone’s spirits up but I can’t help myself from thinking about him throughout the day. It’s hard to not remember him. He was quite possibly the best cat in the world ever. He wasn’t a cat to complain about anything. The only thing he demanded was love (and the occasional slice of ham) and during his life, he received more than enough from everyone he had met. We’ll always miss you, Murphable.

Murphy Romig
September 1, 1998 – October 16, 2008
R.I.P.