In June, my two year old kitty died in front of me due to congestive heart failure. as we rushed to the vet. Leading up to that day, she would hang her belly to the floor in clear distress and refused to eat. When we called the vet, they decided to set an appointment for that upcoming Monday because we would receive more time that way and there was a possibility that my kitty had diabetes The seriousness of this weekend was not made obvious until later. She only started to decline dramatically on Saturday night, and then on Sunday she snuggled with my other kitty for hours, a unsaid goodbye between the two. The next morning Monday, I wrapped her in a warm towel and carried her to the car that my mom will be driving as I sit in the back. On our way, my kitty wiggles out of my arms and into the seat beside me, moaning. I pet her, and she tries to jump onto the car floor, but I didn't want her flying everywhere, so I lift her up. Underneath, I discover stool. I put her in her crate and she convulses a little until she completely dies. I watched helplessly as the life escaped from her face.
It was such an ugly, cruel death for such a sweet, spunky girl. She was a fearless Siamese, small but mighty, riding my shoulders like a queen around the house. She was only supposed to live six months, but with medication, she lived two vibrant years. However, it's been a while now since her death, and I still can't get over how guilty I feel for not providing her a peaceful exit from this Earth. I wish she could have been euthanized, but she hated car rides and her fear raged one last time. In the very end, she knew nothing of my love and only of the suffering she was forced to endure as a result of my ignorance.
I am starting grad school and I now have arrived at the conclusion that if I should die a painful death, it will be for the best since my innocent kitty was not spared that horrible fate. She relied on me, and I failed her.
While I realize that her last days were confusing for us, I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself. The day she died, I ultimately got to leave and continue to live my life. I hate the thought of such a big soul being washed away with the passage of time, abandoned to that defining moment.
Also, I suffer from OCD, so the guilt can be overwhelming. Any advice?