Our thoughts are all for Snicky today, as we wait to take her for her last vet appointment. She's having great trouble walking, and stopped eating and drinking. "It's time" — that message began coming loud and clear, beginning yesterday morning as she crouched in her heated cat bed with her head down. We tried fluids and a little syringe-feeding, but it made no difference. So, as soon as our vet arrives at the hospital this afternoon, we'll be bringing her in.
Man, these are the hardest times for cats and their people. I know they are so difficult for some people that they never recover from their loss, and they forego ever having another cat because they can't face the end again. I'm not there yet; I will keep taking the leap and accepting the bad with the good — especially when the good works out to equal 18 years of companionship, fascination, and fun. I wouldn't have missed out on Snicky for the world.
Last night, Possum and Wendy settled in together a respectful distance from her bed, as if they were keeping watch. Snalbert checks in with her occasionally, but it's clear she prefers to be left alone.
Snicky was the first, and very best birthday present my husband ever gave me. We have been so lucky to have this beautiful, tempestuous, affectionate, unfathomable, tiny, graceful beast with us for 18 years. She used to fly through air and climb to the tops of our bookshelves when she was young and crazy. Lately, she was content to curl up near my husband for hours, keeping warm. She became Top Cat of the household after our eldest, Chloe, died several years ago, and only retired from her position when she grew frail and Snalbert took over after waging a biting campaign on everyone (including us) after the kittens arrived. But aside from that — and her much-hated pills — everything in Snicky's life has been on Snicky's terms. This afternoon, we're going to give in one more time, and do her bidding.
We'll miss her at our feet tonight. And for a long time to come.