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Entry tags:
- cats,
- grief,
- links,
- photography,
- sad
Photos and memories.
This morning, when I was seated in my chair at the computer and brushing my hair, Babe came over and climbed onto the orange pillow that sits by my chair and in front of the writing desk. She wanted attention and I petted her as I could, but I mostly focused on brushing my hair (because once I did, I was going to go sit on the blanket-bed and cuddle her, and I wanted to get to that). She wandered into the area with my scanner, but I managed to sound-coax her back out and over to the blankets before resuming brushing. She wanted me, though. And I went over after that and cuddled her for a time on my lap, and then she wanted to be on the blankets but stayed right by me and I petted her and Scott petted her. She was okay. She was with us. At one point Scott played with Apple with a feather toy, and Babe got interested and played for a few seconds. Only that, but she still had it in her to play. I think she purred, but I'm not sure - I may be mixing memories of the day before.
I wanted so badly not to take her in. But it was time, despite the good signs. While there still were good signs. She hadn't eaten anything since Sunday morning, not drunk any broth, not even when it was dribbled in her mouth. (She had taken her compounded medicines, but only because she really had very little choice with those - I debated trying to use a syringe to give her broth the same way, but that didn't seem a kindness to force her, especially not as each time risked a choking/gagging episode such as we saw from meds one day this weekend and food/broth several times when she was still eating.) She was stuffed up in both nostrils now, not just the one. (That was from the cancer, although both could have indicated a secondary infection of some sort, or been related to inhaling things meant to be swallowed.) Her purr, when she did purr, sounded like a grown man with a really bad snoring problem, even before the second nostril completely icked up and started dripping. She was breathing through her mouth. I think her sense of balance was off; her head would tip to one side. Sometimes she slept okay, but sometimes she'd start up, lifting her head. I don't know if she was uncomfortable, or if she'd stopped breathing for a tiny bit and started out of it; neither one looks nor sounds comfortable. For all that, she was cuddly and wanted her people, and she seemed still much herself. I'm glad we let her go while that was still true, but I wish I could have known to the hour when the tipping point would be. I'd've kept her right up to it, if I could have been sure of not keeping her past it.
Some photos of her that are more recent (some from the iPhone, not the best quality; others from my old Nikon, since the Samsung POS is in for service again). The pictures link to larger views of the same photo.
End of August/early September:
Mid-September:
This past week:
I wanted so badly not to take her in. But it was time, despite the good signs. While there still were good signs. She hadn't eaten anything since Sunday morning, not drunk any broth, not even when it was dribbled in her mouth. (She had taken her compounded medicines, but only because she really had very little choice with those - I debated trying to use a syringe to give her broth the same way, but that didn't seem a kindness to force her, especially not as each time risked a choking/gagging episode such as we saw from meds one day this weekend and food/broth several times when she was still eating.) She was stuffed up in both nostrils now, not just the one. (That was from the cancer, although both could have indicated a secondary infection of some sort, or been related to inhaling things meant to be swallowed.) Her purr, when she did purr, sounded like a grown man with a really bad snoring problem, even before the second nostril completely icked up and started dripping. She was breathing through her mouth. I think her sense of balance was off; her head would tip to one side. Sometimes she slept okay, but sometimes she'd start up, lifting her head. I don't know if she was uncomfortable, or if she'd stopped breathing for a tiny bit and started out of it; neither one looks nor sounds comfortable. For all that, she was cuddly and wanted her people, and she seemed still much herself. I'm glad we let her go while that was still true, but I wish I could have known to the hour when the tipping point would be. I'd've kept her right up to it, if I could have been sure of not keeping her past it.
Some photos of her that are more recent (some from the iPhone, not the best quality; others from my old Nikon, since the Samsung POS is in for service again). The pictures link to larger views of the same photo.
End of August/early September:
Mid-September:
This past week:
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May the grief go quickly and the memories last a lifetime.
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Grieve at your own pace--it's different for everyone. Remember that grieving isn't about forgetting, or "getting over it", but about coming to terms with it.
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I wish I could give you a hug.
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It never goes completely away but it does get easier. These posts have me all teary-eyed and missing Bandit again. But my emotions are a disaster this week anyway.
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http://www.showdog-magazine.com/Poems/poem8.htm
Yes, it's a dog's prayer...but the last stanza seems appropriate for all furry, four-legged members of our family:
Our hearts go out to you and yours.