Those final moments are spent kind of in limbo. Getting extra kisses in. Her one last nap with Rozzy. A special plate of raw tuna. And then the time comes and that’ s it, this is it and you watch the vet stick the needle in, and those last desperate moments where you try to say everything you wanted to say to her before she slips away. I am confident I sent her off with all I wanted to say. As one who has lost so many loved ones without the ability to have that one last conversation before they left, I make a point to do so when the situation is controlled. It’s just what I do.
My vets are wonderful. They had tears in their eyes as well. They, too, talked to her and petted her as she slipped away. They remarked on just how awesome Cray was, from not being a spastic asshole when she was in for checkups, to being in awe of a cat that did not mind wearing dog clothes.
As I lay in a useless heap on the couch afterwards, there was an undeniable feeling that swept over me that let me know that my craybutt had met up with kittykat in the afterlife, and it was all good. That moment was brief, but incredibly strong. And then it faded and I haven’t had it since. Call me batshit if you want, I don’t care.
I received her pawprint and a lock of her fur in the mail yesterday. The tears flowed. The vets did make a point of getting a good sample of all her gray and orange. That was appreciated. But when I think of her now, there’s a dull ache of missing her, but there’s no pain. There’s no despair. It’s just love. A lot of love that resonates from my core and reaches to the heavens and she gets it and she knows it.
Cray is safe now and I am thankful for that.
It’s been a trying week. Scuse while I regain composure.
Cray lost the use of one of her back legs last night. I think she was going blind, and she stopped using the litterbox again, and I’ve been hand feeding her, and she’s been having trouble breathing. It was time to let her go.
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