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This summer has been sad and stressful, and I'm grateful beyond words that I decided against doing any conference travel, any vacation travel, or anything remotely related to promotion. The business with the roof on this house, and then the complicated and difficult relational issues involved with buying a new home, and my sweet Ambrose dying last month after 15 years with us, and now CharlieMeow, one of the cats we inherited when my mother died, has also left us. Kidney disease is the pits.
Oh, my heart hurts. Sweet Charlie. I knew on Monday he'd turned the corner and wasn't going to wait much longer. I am not entirely sure how he kept breathing, tbh. He'd lost two pounds in two months and was losing interest in anything but being near the water bowl, not really drinking. He must have had bad headaches from dehydration--toward the end the fluid injections wouldn't even collect in the pouches under his skin; he was so dehydrated the fluids were absorbing immediately. I had a final appointment for him with his vet, but I ultimately cancelled it. I just had the feeling I should let him die at home. So glad I did.
I realized yesterday that he's the only animal of mine, ever, to die at home. All the rest were put to sleep by kind and loving vets. Dying at home is an oddly peaceful thing, and sitting vigil, it turns out, is something that brought me some emotional resolution that a vet visit wouldn't.
I'm sad. PeterPaws, the other inherited cat from my mother, is sad too. In the last month he's lost both Ambrose and Charlie, who was his companion for about 18 years, and he's going to need extra snuggles and treats.
And so am I.
Oh, my heart hurts. Sweet Charlie. I knew on Monday he'd turned the corner and wasn't going to wait much longer. I am not entirely sure how he kept breathing, tbh. He'd lost two pounds in two months and was losing interest in anything but being near the water bowl, not really drinking. He must have had bad headaches from dehydration--toward the end the fluid injections wouldn't even collect in the pouches under his skin; he was so dehydrated the fluids were absorbing immediately. I had a final appointment for him with his vet, but I ultimately cancelled it. I just had the feeling I should let him die at home. So glad I did.
I realized yesterday that he's the only animal of mine, ever, to die at home. All the rest were put to sleep by kind and loving vets. Dying at home is an oddly peaceful thing, and sitting vigil, it turns out, is something that brought me some emotional resolution that a vet visit wouldn't.
I'm sad. PeterPaws, the other inherited cat from my mother, is sad too. In the last month he's lost both Ambrose and Charlie, who was his companion for about 18 years, and he's going to need extra snuggles and treats.
And so am I.
