Euthanasia

My best pal Dusty, our tabby cat, is getting old. And he’s lost so much weight he looks like the greyhound in 50/50, called Skeletore because he looked like death warmed over. He sleeps almost all day and night, and he wobbles when he walks. There’s something wrong with Dusty other than his sixteen years, but he doesn’t seem to be in pain. We’re afraid we’ll soon have to take him to the vet to be put down (what an odd euphemism for “killed”). How does one decide when it’s time for the put down? “Euthanasia” is made up of “eu” (good) and “thanatos” (death), a good death, one that avoids the pain and suffering leading to death. When the time comes for me to take him there, I’ll probably weep like a baby, even though I know he’ll forgive me. Heroic measures for an aging cat are needlessly expensive and foolish, just as they would be for a dying spouse or child. My fear is that a stroke or dementia could allow me to live long after all quality of life is gone, a condition that could bankrupt my wife or children. The question of proper time leads me to the question of assisted suicide. How does one know when it’s time to pull the plug (another odd euphemism) on oneself or a loved one? Where does one find another Kavorkian? How does one avoid the legal ramifications? Maybe move to Oregon. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see, just as I now wait on Dusty.