There is no easy way to write this. We euthanized Scrubby on Monday evening. There is no good time to intervene and say goodbye, but the actual euthanasia was peaceful. I held him in my arms. My husband rubbed his ears. Once he was gone, we cried and spent some time with his body.
It was hard to say goodbye, but Scrubby was very brave. I wanted to be brave, too.
I have been trying to keep all of this private and off the internet. It’s been a horrible few months, and I lack the vocabulary to describe my feelings. I wish I could crawl under the covers and sleep for a week, but that’s not how adulthood works. So I stumbled my way through Tuesday and Wednesday without an elegant or graceful way of discussing Scrubby’s death. And there were a few times when I nearly broke down in public and cried.
For example, I was hosting a live CareerBuilder video chat on Tuesday afternoon. Scrubby was barely dead. Steve Browne’s audio was jacked. I kept fumbling my lines and misreading the screen. And I forgot to unplug my landline and the phone rang. It was the pet crematorium, and I could hear them leaving a message on my answering machine. They wanted to know how I would like to handle Mister Scrubby’s remains.
If you go back and watch the video, you can see the look of bewilderment on my face. Do I answer the phone? Do I interrupt the show and announce to the internet that my cat is dead? Do I just go about my business and pretend that Scrubby is alive?
I just tried to roll with it. I channeled my inner Carrier Underwood and thought, “Jesus, take the wheel!”
Many of you have been reading my blogs for over a decade. You’ve known Scrubby since the moment we rescued him. In some weird way, Scrubby was our collective pee cat. So thank you for always asking about him—at HR conferences, in public bathrooms, on airplanes—or just indulging my cat stories simply because you love me.
Your kindness means a great deal to me, and I appreciate it.