Saturday, October 26, 2002, 11:45 PM

a sudden death in the family
It came so quickly. Afterward we both remembered that Henry had been breathing in a labored, gasping fashion...but it was so quiet and he wasn't complaining...and he's always sort of huffed and puffed with strange sounds as he breathed. But tonight it was not quite the same.

After we were through watching TV, sometime after 9:30 but before 10:00, we were both at our computers when Molly said it sounded like something was dying, and what do you suppose Henry'd brought in this time? She said she wasn't going to go look, so I did. I didn't see anything, but then I realized that Henry was behind the couch, and he was looking at me with distress. I pulled out the couch and knelt by him. He was all smeared with a mucous-y blood, obviously coming out of his mouth. I knew as soon as I saw him that it was serious. I knew he wasn't going to make it. I don't know how I knew, but I did. He was dying.

Molly was a little hysterical, so I tried to calm her by giving her a job. I asked her to call the animal hospital - I knew there was a 24 hour one downtown, or at least there used to be, and I thought maybe we could put him in a towel and drive him down there - maybe they could help him. But while she was on the phone, he died. It was over. I was watching him struggle for breath, then I spoke to Molly, and while I was looking away he left. He didn't die alone. My hand was on him.

Even though I knew he was dead, I wasn't positive, I worried that he would let out a tortured gasp and be alive. I worried about that with Tom too. You know, not quite dead. But he was. It seemed wrong to leave him lying there on the rug behind the couch, so I took an old sheet that had been draped over that couch for a couple of months - hadn't made it to being put away - and wrapped him in it. I found a box large enough for him in the garage, and placed him, wrapped in the paint-splattered sheet, in it.

We didn't know what to do. For a while we closed the door to the family room and talked about it. I emailed Mary to see if she was home. She called me. We cried a lot. Molly called her dad and left a message. It was hard to have him in the family room. It didn't seem right. Molly wanted to take him downtown and give him to the 24 hour vet for disposal, but it didn't feel right to me. Tom is buried in the front yard, and it seemed like Henry should be next to Tom. They could keep each other company. I moved his box out to the garage while we talked about it.

Molly just couldn't face going to bed with a dead cat who had to be dealt with tomorrow...it was too awful to have waiting for her in the morning. So, she changed her clothes and dug a hole in the front, next to Tom's hydrangea bush. She dug a really deep hole, and it was pretty big too. She wouldn't let me help. I turned on the outside lights and held a flashlight. It took a while, but she did it without complaining. It had to be done, and she did it so I wouldn't have to...

I carried Henry in the sheet and put him in the hole. It was barely long enough because he'd gotten stiff while we talked and then dug the hole for him...and so I know he is dead, because rigor mortis doesn't set in when you're still alive...so I lowered him into the hole, and then cut the excess sheet. I left enough for him to be nicely covered and threw away the rest. I covered him with a layer of dirt, and then Molly filled the hole.

It's hard to believe that he won't be sleeping on me tonight, that I won't be pushing him to the side so that he's curled up next to me, not either standing on my chest or sleeping with his face right in mine. I'll never have to put up with him pushing his sweet face with that mouth that chewed on dead mice and birds right in my face. My quilt, now covered with an annoying layer of white cat hair, once laundered, will never be as full of cat hair again...because Peter has never shed as much as Henry, and he doesn't sleep on my bed as much Henry did.

It happened so suddenly.

Just yesterday Molly was studying for her math test, working problems all afternoon, and for a good deal of that time she worked problems with great big fluffy Henry in her lap, held like a baby, purring contentedly. He just wanted to be held, and she didn't mind working math problems with a cat in her arms.

I know he wasn't the sharpest cat, but he was very sweet. He sprayed sometimes...and he brought in dead and dying things that we didn't want to see (the last was a mouse head without much of a body a few weeks ago) or deal with...but he was a very loving and sweet cat, and I'll miss him a great deal. Unlike Tom, who was sick for a long time...and whose death was a decision I came to...Henry left suddenly. He was here and adorable and annoying today...and he's buried in the front yard tonight.

Added two days later:  Cuyla suggested that Henry may have ingested antifreeze - it's the time of year when people are changing and adding antifreeze to their cars, and it is a substance that is extremely poisonous. I spent some time searching the web for information about that this morning and found out that all a cat has to do is walk through some antifreeze that has been spilled on the ground. As soon as the cat licks the pads on his feet, he has consumed enough ethyl glycol to kill him. There's not much that can be done about it. Apparently antifreeze is very sweet, and the taste is an attractive one for cats, dogs, and young children. Something like a teaspoon and a half is enough to kill a good sized dog. It takes VERY little to kill a cat. The ethyl glycol itself is not poisonous - but as soon as the liver attempts to metabolize it, it breaks the compound down into components that are fatal. The symptoms are difficulty breathing, convulsions, and death.

If you actually see the cat consuming antifreeze, or perhaps realize that it has walked through it and is now licking its paws, you can take the cat to the vet and have the stomach pumped and a charcoal infusion and the cat will survive. Unless this happens immediately, the result is renal failure and death within twelve hours. There have been successful kidney transplants for cats who've consumed antifreeze - but such a transplant requires not only immediate diagnosis and treatment, but also the presence of both a surgeon experienced in the operation and a replacement kidney. These requirements make me think that the successes cited may have been experimental situations where antifreeze was fed to a cat to see if such surgery was possible. Sounds horrible.

So, the bottom line is that Henry didn't have a chance. Even if we'd realized that he was sick a few hours earlier, there was nothing that could have been done for him. He was doomed as soon as he sat down and licked his feet...and how could we have known? We couldn't have.