I've been changing things slowly as they come up: taking the dog food to work to leave on the free table, rearranging, picking up dog beds... I gave Ant a couple of her beds, but not her favorite one. Jasmine's bowl is washed and put away, and I gave Ant toys and bones and a brush. I feel fine through most of it, maybe a little sad, but I just pulled down the mortar and pestle Sean got for me so I could crush her glucosamine pill into powder and I cried my eyeballs out.
I think she was ready to go, I really do. I think about how she would stretch in her downward dog and just plop her butt down because she couldn't get back up from it that way- she'd have to lie down first. I think about the bloody drool and how she started declining hard treats. I think about her terrible vision and hearing and how through all of that, she was this sweet, happy girl and she didn't care what was going on as long as she was near me.
That last time I woke her up was after the vet had arrived and explained everything. Dad and I had just spent an hour at least outside with her in the shade and it was so quiet and lovely and cool and she just wanted to nap, right there outside. When we brought her in, she went straight to our room and curled up. When I woke her, she was a little testy, like "Would you please let me sleep?" Yes, baby. I apologized for waking her and apologized again for picking her up, promising it was the last time. She did not protest, as she'd gotten very used to the one thing she hated more than anything.
She was ready to go, and I am so fortunate to have been able to let her go at home, pain and panic free, napping in my lap with my arms around her- the safest place in her whole world.
I knew I wouldn't be able to move to a new home until after she was gone, because she wouldn't know her way around. I knew I couldn't move the furniture around or leave things on the floor. I knew I had to watch her pain and mobility and measure her food. I was her eyes on our short, slow walks and I knew which curbs she could manage.
Now Mini and I cry to each other and come running. We nuzzle and hold onto each other. She sleeps at the foot of my bed, and when I wake up at night, she crackles the barest noise to me and I feel the slight weight of her tiny paws. She noses at the covers and I lift them up as she burrows in beside me. She is not comfortable until her face is buried in my hand and I coo to her as she brushes me with her tail.
She is old too- 11- but she is a very small cat and her age is a quieter management than Riley's. I joke that I can make people in my neighborhood REALLY think I'm crazy- first, the dog stroller, next, walking my cat! Perhaps you remember my earlier attempts, but now that she is lonely and does not have a blind dog to harass or try to cuddle with, I feel like I should make her world more entertaining. I found some toy mice she adores and I marinate them in catnip, but it's usually too hot, too cold, or too mosquito-y to leave the balcony open, so maybe we ought to start venturing out. That's probably good for both of us.
