Dear Cutie Pie,

I’m so sorry I didn’t go into the back of the animal hospital with the veterinarian and hold you while they put you to sleep.

I can’t remember exactly what Mother said. I know she thought we should stay in the waiting room, not insist that we go behind those big, white doors where they took you. But I was a teenager. I should have tried to stand up to her.

I can’t remember if veterinarians at that time were open to families choosing to be with their pets when they were euthanized. They are now.

What I can clearly remember after half a century is your face. You looked right at me, your eyes terrified as you were carried away from us. You must have felt so betrayed.

Cutie Pie, you were a great cat, and I loved you so much. You were supposed to sleep in the hall closet, but often you managed to sneak upstairs to my bedroom and sleep with me. When you were curled up beside me in the morning I knew my father hadn’t disturbed me. As you got older, you got sick sometimes on the yellow quilt I used as a bedspread. Mother must have known. I must have been told to keep you off. Or maybe she allowed it because in our crazy family I so badly needed comfort.

I want you to know, Cutie Pie, that I have never let a dog or cat of mine be euthanized since then without holding them or kneeling beside them and stroking them. If, one day, my horse needs to be euthanized, I’ll be there with her. When our little kitty Amy was hit by a car, I held her in my arms until she grew cool. Although she must have been killed instantly, I felt her spirit still in her for a minute or two. The blood on my jacket didn’t matter. I hoped to comfort her, not fail her as I did you.

I have been with friends minutes before they died and with my mother-in-law as she died. I thank you for the strength to do that. I hold their hand or touch their shoulder, and later grieve my loss.

I was a coward the day they took you away and I can’t forgive myself for letting you face death so frightened and so alone. I’m determined never again to be that cowardly.

I am so, so sorry.

Sammie, age 64