I laid my kitty, Chloe, to rest this week.
how it hurt. how I cried. and petted her lifeless body.
the vet hugged me when it was over. how did she know that was exactly what I needed?
just moments before, Chloe had turned to me, and rolled over on her back for me to rub her. just as she had done when she was eight weeks old. back in 1995.
she knew then that she found a lover for life.
and, at the end, she also knew it was her time.
what an honor to do this for her. it was so peaceful.
she was suffering. blind. deaf. unable to jump like she used to.
didn’t know where the box was. or what that white wall wanted to do with her. she would howl at it endlessly.
until I would pick her up. and she would try to mew, with no sound.
I would plead her to tell me what she was seeing. no such luck.
I made this decision for her, which was stricken with guilt. sadness. and freedom.
the trifecta creeps in daily.
but, I have reconciled that this was right. and that she is up in heaven with her sista, Delilah, and brotha, Jr. though she never liked Jr. ;-(
my sweet Chloe girl was my first kitty choice. and she went out my last kitty.
four days in, I still look for her. and expect her to be balled up next to me on the couch.
there’s a tale here.
interspersed with six other cats. but not tonight.
she was my first, and my last kitty. who lived through three (at least!) falls from our loft. the last one, six inches from me, as I was standing below. she was a stubborn delicate trooper. a grey cloud of fur. my grey spirit.
may she rest in peace. sweet Chloe girl.