Transition Time for Klyaksa

Sometimes I wonder if I've become the crazy cat man but then I think about how this dying cat on my lap has been with me for over twenty years. Twenty Years. More than one-third of my life on this earth and in terms of relationships she has been one of the few constants. Sure, I've had friends for longer than that, but none who were there in my life every day, and none from whom I've learned so much about love. Taking care of someone you care about who is dying, now that's an education.

She peed on me twice tonight, in her sleep. She couldn't really stand up to drink water earlier tonight. She hasn't eaten more than a couple of bites of food a day for the last week and a half. To put it bluntly, she's done.

She was purring this morning. I got her off her nicely-appointed kitty condo, with the veterinary heating pad and towel, walk-in litter box and Rubbermaid tubs for stairs, and put her on top of the comforter while I read morning emails. She napped and purred. After yesterday I thought today might be a better day. I'd gotten her to drink more water, from the gallon milk jug in the bathroom that she'd drunk from most of her life, but which she'd forgotten about since her big crash in August. I swear yesterday she drank for two minutes straight, and today I timed her. Four minutes plus. She needed it.

Hyperthyroidism
Chronic renal failure
Malignant abdominal tumor
Being twenty

The odds are not good for any of us, and I knew the deck-stacking had happened. I've been saying goodbye to her for over three months now, but I'm still not ready to let go, fully knowing that this afternoon or tomorrow she will be.

And I will be amazed and crushed by how empty my house will be, with just six pounds gone.