This is the hardest story about Charlie to write but certainly among the most important. It’s the story about her final months leading up to her passing. I want to tell it because I know many others have gone through this experience and can relate to how it feels. I think that Charlie’s story is one I can be proud to tell.

The Start of 2026

At New Years Eve I was sitting at home on my couch before midnight. I didn’t want to go out and chose to just have a quiet night at home. Naturally, around 11:55 PM on 12/31, Charlie was sitting on the couch in her usual spot. Her spot was right behind me on top of the couch cushion where she liked to hang out on lazy nights. I was only up that late because it was New Years.

When the countdown began, I was petting her all the way through the countdown and into the start of the new year. It was the best possible way to start off 2026. I like to say I gave her pets and kisses for one year straight.

After that, we were off to bed by 12:10 AM.

Charlie had been to the vet maybe 6 months prior to that night. At her age, I made sure to get a blood test every time we went. As of that last appointment she was totally fine. There was no evidence of any issues, weight was good (normal for her was 10.4 pounds) and her physical exam looked great.

The only thing I had noticed between New Years and her last vet appointment was a few times she puked after using the litter box. Literally, only twice. While it sounds bad in retrospect this was actually kind of normal for her throughout her life. She never learned to regulate her eating and when she puked it was always because she just ate too much; in other words, regurgitating food, not really a systemic problem.

What really prompted me to take her to the vet only two months later was when I noticed her struggling to use the litter box. She was walking in and out…something I’ve never seen her do before. She would pace around, go in, back out, and never actually use the box. The next morning when I woke up I found she had gone outside the litter box.

I set up the vet appointment right away and got her in the next day.

Charlie’s February Check-up

I opted for a morning appointment and was in there by 8:30. We got her out of her carrier per usual and they weighed her.

7.5 pounds.

I was shocked and said, “There’s no way, can I see that?” and so they weighed her again. Same weight. That’s when my heart sank. To go from 10.5 pounds down to 7.5 is no joke for a kitty…or anyone for that matter. That is a loss of about 29% of her weight in only 9-10 months. Many people celebrate a small victory of losing 3 pounds, but for Charlie, I knew it was serious.

Naturally, I ordered all of the blood tests that day. The physical exam went well as Charlie was not in any visible pain. She was acting totally normal like she always did at her visits.

Then, the blood tests came back:

For anyone that has taken care of an animal like a cat or dog, these dreaded results of BUN and Creatinine are a literal nightmare. These results were horrible: stage 3 chronic kidney disease, also known as CKD.

Following these awful results, they asked me to bring Charlie back in two days to have them test her urine. What they were looking for was any kind of bacterial growth I think. So that’s what I did.

By the time of the second appointment, Charlie was still having issues using the litter box for bowel movements so the vet had to sort of “squeeze it out of her”. I wasn’t happy about that. I could hear Charlie meow twice from the other room because they had to squeeze her so hard to help with bowel movement. They at least got some out. The vet seemed pleased with the results of it.

That was a horrible week. I’d never in all her life had to take her twice to the vet in the same week and yet here we were, back at the vet, and she’s got squeezed because she was having trouble with bowel movements.

At any rate, they gave her more Sub-Q fluids and we went home. After a few days the results of the urine tests came back…nothing. Nothing at all. No indication of infection. Coupled with the her blood work, only increasingly intrusive procedures would allow us to go deeper to find other causes. But there weren’t any.

She had stage 3 CKD.

I was told to get Charlie a very, very small amount of Miralax to help with her litter box issues. But we were cautious about giving her too much so as not to dehydrate her more. I started giving her the Miralax in extremely small doses and keeping a close eye on her. My doses were so small that I don’t think she even got much of it, but a few sprinkles was enough I think.

For what it’s worth, she never had an issue going to the litter box again.

CKD Is Devastating

This was all happening in February. It also just so happened that I was getting a new job at the same exact time. In fact, later that day after Charlie’s vet visit I literally got the call that I landed the new job. Definitely a day that I won’t forget. Terrible news coupled with good news.

There was hope after her vet visit though. When she got back she was eating again. I shopped around for more wet foods for her but it was tough since Charlie also had many allergies. I had to be careful.

I found that Tiki Cat and Weruva were OK for her to eat. She loved them both and was really big on her gravy. She would eat anything with gravy. It was amazing watching her get excited about food again. She went from eating a half can a day to 1.5 cans! That was in addition to her specialty dry food and she was drinking her normal amount of water.

Things were looking up.

That is, until Sunday overnight into Monday on April 26th and 27th. I woke up that morning and went into the kitchen to find that she puked up a lot of her wet food from the night before. This wasn’t uncommon for her throughout her 17.5 year lifespan.

What was very uncommon was the wobbling.

I noticed that she had a slight wobble in her walk. She seemed to have a hard time balancing herself. Charlie had injured herself here and there throughout the years so I had hoped that this was another instance.

I was cautious given her CKD diagnosis. When I saw she still had the wobble the next day, I set up another vet appointment. This was only two months after her stage 3 diagnosis.

The Worst Week of My Life

When I called Charlie’s vet, they didn’t have an appointment until about four days out. I told them the situation and waited to hear back for an earlier time. By the next day, I noticed that Charlie’s wobble was slightly worse. She could still jump up on the couch and the bed, but something else changed.

Charlie stopped purring.

Everything that I did could not generate a purr from a sweet little kitty that usually purred just laying on the couch next to me. I was devasted, crushed, panicked. I called the vet and was able to move her appointment up to Saturday morning literally as they opened up shop.

I thought about going to an emergency vet but Charlie was still drinking, still eating, still using her litter box normally. It didn’t seem “emergency” level except for the loss of purring. She was still functioning, still came to lay with me at night. It was enough to wait one more day for the vet in the morning.

Charlie’s Final Vet Visit

I woke up early so that I could be ready. Getting Charlie to go to the vet was always hard. I had to essentially trick her out of the bedroom with the hopes of food and then close the door before she ran back under the bed. Once she was under the bed, forget about it, she was impossible to get out.

We went to the vet and arrived early. I explained the wobbling, lethargy, the purring (or lack thereof)…all of it. The vet had a much more somber tone this time around. I didn’t really think about that fact until recently and in retrospect, I now know that someone with her years of experience probably knew when I walked in the door what was going to happen.

So we did the rounds again: blood test, physical exam, trying to get Charlie to walk, Sub-Q fluids, nausea meds…I demanded them all.

Then the new blood test came back about 20 minutes later:

A few of the tests were so “off the charts” they had to be ran twice.

If you know, you know. The above results are devastating.

We spent 1.5 hours at the vet that day. I took home Sub-Q fluids that I could administer to her, some appetite stimulants and some nausea meds. I insisted on getting them to try. The vibe from the vet was clear though, “you certainly try if you want”.

They didn’t say that of course but I could feel it. They knew. I just didn’t want to “know” yet.

Hell Weekend

I won’t spend too much time here because this isn’t a time I prefer to think too hard about. Her last vet visit was on Saturday and for the rest of that day and Sunday I basically begged Charlie to eat.

She was still drinking water here and there and peeing in the litter box. But, that was it. Nothing more.

I tried all the wet food I had. I went to the store briefly and picked up different brands, all in gravy, tuna and chicken. I could tell she was very interested when she would give them a sniff, but she never ate a single morsal. Back in the day she would have been all over that…but not on those days.

On Sunday, a full 24 hours after she ate last, I rubbed some appetite stimulant in her ear per the directions I received. It accomplished nothing. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday, watching her, trying to encourage eating, watching her drink smaller and smaller sessions. Barely using the litter box. Just laying from one corner to the other, hardly moving at all.

In my heart I knew what it meant but I didn’t give up. How could I? After 17 years, how does someone just give up to say, “Well I guess she’s a goner”?

I had to try. And then Monday came.

Monday, May 4th, 2026

On the morning of Monday, May 4th, I tried to give Charlie her Sub-Q fluids at home. She had not eaten all night, nor drank, nor moved all that much. Overnight my heart broke when I saw her try and fail to jump on the bed to lay with me. I am forever grateful that I was still awake, saw it, picked her up, and placed her on the bed with me.

It was the last night we would ever spend together.

The Sub-Q fluids didn’t work. Charlie fought me the whole time. She was so weak but still refused to let me do it for her. I tried and tried. Then I eventually knew, at that moment as I let her walk away and go back to her corner, I knew this wasn’t how I was going to allow us to spend our last day together.

I wasn’t going to spend this day forcing Charlie to do something I knew she hated. I wasn’t going to have our last memories be about me holding her down to give her fluids when she was already actively dying. At that point, fluids weren’t even the only problem. It was likely her other organs were starting to fail too.

She had stopped cleaning herself during hell week. She looked so tired. And when I started work from home that day, I went to check on Charlie after my first meeting which ended around 10 AM. I saw the look in her eyes.

…you hear about this from people who are close to their pets, you hear about “the look”. It’s that sunken-in look in their eyes, a tired look. For Charlie there was a look I never, ever saw before.

I gave her a kiss. I went into the front room. I cried for about 10 minutes.

When I called the vet, they answered the call, and when I went to speak, I couldn’t get words out. I would just cry. Up until that point as a 42 year old middle-aged man I had never experienced that in my adult life. I’ve never been robbed of my ability to speak due to grief. Never. I had to hang up the call before ever saying a word.

I called again, this time able to speak while controlling my tears. I told the front desk lady that answered what the situation had been since Charlie’s visit two days ago. She placed me on hold. They never placed me on hold before. She was gone for 5 minutes.

You already know what she said after speaking with Charlie’s doctor. I already knew too.

She gave me times that I could bring Charlie in for euthanasia at their office. She also gave me a list of at-home euthanasia options to consider. I had looked into that option a few days before so I was aware of it.

I thanked her, hung up, and cried. I don’t remember how long.

I had the presence of mind to reach out to my manager and tell them that I was going to take off the rest of the day and a bereavement day for the next. I was working from home to take care of Charlie which helped. I told my manager why, they understood, and I just shut down my work laptop before any further conversation was had.

Euthanasia At-Home

I received the list from my vet of places that performed at-home euthanasia. I did a brief search on each one to check out their ratings and websites. I narrowed the list down to three. The first one I called stated that they couldn’t come out until Wednesday which was a full two days from then. I wasn’t going to make Charlie wait that long. I would have rather taken her to the vet later that day than wait.

I thanked them and hung up.

The second place I called was available, thankfully. EverPaw was amazing, super easy to work with, and was available that day for multiple times. It was noon when I contacted them. They offered to come at 1:00 PM.

I remember that when she offered the 1:00 time I began to cry. I couldn’t speak again. I was thinking, “Oh yes, please swing by at 1 o’clock and take my cat’s life.” It just wasn’t a conversation I expected to have that day. But, they were kind and understanding when I asked to place them on hold.

I fought to collect myself. When I did, I asked if they could come later in the day. She offered 2:30 and I accepted. I paid everything in full right away and I elected to have Charlie privately cremated.

In retrospect, having the at-home euthanasia was the best possible decision I could have made for Charlie. I am forever grateful that I went this route.

Saying Goodbye

It was maybe 12:30 when I completed setting all of this up. I simply wanted the extra two hours to say goodbye to Charlie.

It’s funny: after 17 years I was still begging for just an extra hour or two to spend with her.

That’s how special she was.

I spent that time talking to Charlie, making her promises, giving her pets. I picked her up and put her on the couch one last time. She jumped down eventually and wobbled back to her corner of course. I won’t go into details here on those two hours, that time was just for us.

The vet arrived at 2:23. I let her in and she walked me through the process of what she was going to do. The vet was so kind and understanding; I did my best to listen while not crying.

We went into the bedroom where Charlie was. I knew for a fact I was making the right choice for a myriad of reasons, but another reason was that Charlie didn’t even try to run and hide. That was a hallmark for her. If a stranger even came to the door she would bolt under the bed. But not today. She was so tired, she just kind of looked up at us from the corner.

I went to scoop her up so the doctor could give her the sedative. The process was a sedative, sleep, then the final shot. Of course, once I went to pick up Charlie she did in fact make a pathetic attempt to go under the bed but she was very easy to stop.

She was so cute, even having her little tongue hanging out like she always did in healthier times. I have a few photos of her doing that in the picture galleries on this site as well.

Charlie’s heart started to race as the doctor gave the sedative. After she did, the vet left the room and I held Charlie for another minute or two before she fell asleep. I pet her, kissed her, told her I loved her. I could feel her heart rate go from racing to slowing.

When I could see her start to close her eyes I laid on the bed while still holding her. I waited until she was completely asleep and limp. When the vet came back in the room she made sure that Charlie was indeed asleep. She then asked if it was OK to proceed with the final shot and I, once again, could not speak.

I just nodded my head and went into the front room. My whole body just couldn’t take it anymore. It was 2:48 when Charlie fell asleep; it was about 2:53 when the vet told me Charlie had passed.

That means that Charlie had officially passed away on May 4th, 2026 at around 2:50 PM central time.

The doctor had cut a few pieces of Charlie’s fur for me to keep and gave me another few minutes with her after she had passed. I looked at Charlie for the last time, I gave her pets, kissed her, and reminded her how much I would miss her. She was no longer with me, no longer to be a part of my life. No new memories or new pictures. No more adventures together.

The vet came back in the room and asked if I wanted to keep the blanket Charlie was laying on. It was her favorite one which is why I chose it. I knew that I could never look at it again even though I had had it since she was a kitten. I felt Charlie should be wrapped in it as she was taken to the next part in her body’s journey.

At 3:00 PM on the dot the vet left my apartment with Charlie.

Anyone that has loved an animal knows the painful and empty feeling that washed over me next. That silence, the emptiness. It is not a memory I revisit often nor intend to. But after 17 years I learned what made this place home is no longer here, and therefore, I too was no longer home.

The Aftermath

It took me about two months to have enough grieving time to write this post. But I said to myself that this story is just as important as Charlie’s adoption story. Not only to lay out the facts, but to think about my own choices, address my own feelings, and to honor Charlie by recognizing that I gave her the best end I knew how to do.

It’s a funny paradox thinking about unconditional love. The term unconditional translates into the idea of infinity; unconditional has no constraints, terms or conditions tied to it. It is love that cannot sit on any number line or timeline because whenever you think you’ve reached an end you will always have more to go.

I think the grief associated with losing Charlie shares the same properties. While I still love her and always will, I am left behind in her absence. The grieving and pain of losing Charlie is unconditional and infinite. It stretches out from now until I join her again.

If all of this talk about unconditional love and its relationship to infinite grief is true it means that there will never be a point that I “get over” Charlie. There is no logical way to escape infinity. The love will forever be there and so will the grief.

The trick I’ve found is to learn to live with that grief. Like trekking through the rest of life carrying it on my back. In any normal sense this would sound like too great of a burden for my body to handle; it sounds like my life is perpetually worse in the aftermath.

But, like any other equal and opposing force, unconditional love counters the weight of grief. I was with and loved Charlie for just over 17 years since I adopted her. We had 17 years of shared memories, happiness, fun, sleep, food. There is literally nothing in this world that can undo a thing like that. It happened, and Charlie’s life improved mine and even saved it in many ways. She gave my life permanent meaning.

So, I keep moving forward. I live by the same standards I held when she was with me. Take care of myself, think carefully about where I live, where I work, and my actions in the world. That is the greatest honor I can give her in the aftermath of her passing. Her legacy is to be felt through me and my actions until I cross the bridge to join her again on the other side.

Goodbye, sweetheart. I will always love you. I can’t wait to see you again.