My orange cat, Mustard, is gone. In about a week, he went from pretty healthy for an old guy to dehydrated and not eating to diagnosed with diabetes to unable to move around at all AND not eating or drinking. There was probably something else going on too, since his belly was bloated. But I'll never know.
Mustard was a gift to D#1 for her 3rd birthday. We'd lost a cat to cancer not long before and a friend asked if it would be ok. She turned 21 this past July, so he was well over 18 years old. Calling her to tell of his swift decline and loss was deeply painful for both of us, as he meant so much to her. This photo of Mustard and the one remaining cat, Tabbitha (who really "belongs" to D#2), shows them engaged in their favorite pastime: synchronized sleeping.
Of all the cats I've had over 4 decades, I only ever had 2 that weren't shelter cats or strays. He was one of them. He never knew a life where he wasn't loved and cared for. I held him on my lap, talked to him, and petted him up until the end. I'd like to think he still felt loved even then.
Beautiful post. He was, indeed, loved. Hugs.
ReplyDeleteOh I'm sure he felt loved and cherished, right to his last breathe. He was so lucky to have picked you too.
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