When we picked up our white and orange kitten, Tiger, our hearts swelled. For nine months we played with him and loved him and watched him grow—A deep bond took root. He was so smart, so funny, and so loving.

Many times he went in and out of the house during the day but he always came inside before bedtime.

Then one evening he wasn’t home at dark—such a sense of panic we felt. Had he lost his way, was he playing with friends—was he actually OK?

So out on the deck we placed his bed and beside it the food dish too—in case he showed up quite late and needed to crash out there.

At dawn we checked…we called…we pleaded. But nothing we heard…no sign. It wasn’t until several hours later when the children were playing Around the world with the soccer ball that I heard, “Mom. Tiger’s home. Come see.”

So outside I sprinted, eager to greet him, and noticed a bloody back end. Without arousing panic I told the children we needed to bring him inside.

His eyes were glassy. He wanted no food. We gently laid him on the carpet. While my daughter lovingly tended to his face with kisses and words of comfort, my son prepared a warm, damp cloth to separate the matted bloody fur so I could clip it away to get a look at the damage. It didn’t look good. I thought perhaps an animal had attacked and Tiger managed to get away with gashes, but I also suspected a broken bone although I couldn’t feel one. Had he been hit by a car?

Off to the vet in another town we trudged because it was Saturday and the local vet was closed. Preparing for a basketball tournament and expecting Tiger would ultimately be OK, the children stayed behind but sent along their love. The vet examined, she shaved, she x-rayed, and then we knew—his bone was broken by the hip. The end had flipped and poked through the flesh and that’s what caused all the blood. As the site swelled the bone had retracted, taking dirt inside with it. Had a horse kicked him? He was terribly bruised and in a lot of pain and we knew what we had to do. As much as it was a painful decision, we knew it was the most humane thing to do. As I took off his collar and showered him with kisses and love and dropped my tears in his fur, he started to purr so strong. Did he sense what was about to happen? He looked me straight in the eye and seemed to relax in my hands.

The vet cleaned a spot on his back leg and gave him the lethal injection and I felt the purring vibrations stop as he died.

Instant heartbreak.

What a difficult decision to make and follow through on. He probably wouldn’t have survived we heard. And even with his left leg amputated, if indeed it could have been accomplished, his chance of survival was small—infection. It was a miracle he had dragged himself home. He must have wanted to say, “Goodbye” and “Thank you” and die wrapped in a blanket of love.

I still can’t believe he’s gone. I want him to jump up on my lap.

Man, I miss him so!

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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