His soft breathing continues here beside me. I am grateful for Rescue Remedy for giving him a little comfort. Ever since I first gave him some, right around sunrise, he seems to be calmer. Throughout the night, he would cry out in distress, and turn from one position to another, agitated, from his resting place on the bathroom floor, between the toilet and bathtub. It was so heart shattering to hear those cries, knowing that there was little that I could do about it. Each time, I would come to him, touch him gently, and sit nearby. I am honestly pretty surprised that he made it through the night.
He gave up food sometime last night. I couldn't even coax him to take a few licks of the canned food that had brought him fleeting pleasure even a few hours earlier. He also gave up water sometime last night, a bit after the food. Throughout the day, I had had to insist upon the food, bringing it right to his exhausted body. The last time he ate, he took huge, ravenous mouthfuls. Little bits of food kept drooling out of his mouth throughout the evening. It was tragic. But I tried to help clean him up, since he had lost the strength to do it himself. He always has hated being messy.
I spent a lot of sweet time with him yesterday. Holding him, resting near him, talking to him. Telling him how much I love him, how he has touched my heart so deeply, and how beautiful his life has been. I spent time in the afternoon telling him stories from our lives together. The day we met, at the pound down by Camden Yards in Baltimore. The first night I had him in my apartment, and he slept in my bed. The way he used to think that potlucks were just a reason for him to sit in the circle of people and receive attention, like a king. The way that his sweet, soft little chin would sometimes rest on my cheek as I was preparing to fall asleep. The time he stole the entire cheese off of a slice of pizza, and gulped most of it down before I could even realize what was happening. And most recently, at the brunch at my house a couple weeks ago, he stole an entire omelet off the table when no one was in the room. It was sorrowful to be telling him these things, but also beautiful to reconnect to the beauty of our lives together these 13 years, and at that point, he still had the energy to maintain a soft, cooing purr. I am the lucky one here. I am so grateful to the Universe that this little being came into my life.
As he would cry out during the night, I felt heartsick and powerless to help him. I could touch him, help him to know that he wasn't alone, but wasn't able to do much for his physical discomfort. I began to question whether my decision to completely rule out euthanasia was a selfish one. I just can't imagine allowing some stranger to inject my little love with poison, and to be there in a strange, sterile, impersonal environment. And I believe that it is not up to me when life leaves. God decides that, not me. When his time to pass comes, it will come. I only hope that he won't have to keep suffering and struggling.
In this moment, he is quiet, resting. During the night, I so deeply longed to just take him into my bed, to hold him close. But the one time I tried to take him into the room where I was sleeping, he moaned more and more, and kept changing his resting place, trying to get comfortable. I believe that even in moving him, picking him up, he feels more uncomfortable. Because he is so thin. Because his internal organs are pretty much spent. And because the force of gravity and my touch carrying him causes those things to be amplified.
I slept off and on through the night. But each time he cried, I came. My body is completely drained, from little sleep these last two nights, and from the emotional strain of this whole process. My heart aches more than I have ever felt, and my stomach feels awful. I am trying not to get too caught up in my own grief process yet, in order to be present to Familiar kitty. It's so tricky, the way the mind wants to come into this whole thing, to distract me from just sitting quietly with him. Nope, my mind wants to go into memories, which make me even sadder, or it wants to go into the future, thinking of what I will need to do after he passes. Past and future. But just as I would do in meditation, I am working to come back to this present moment. Because in this present moment, this little kitty that I love is still alive, and I have another opportunity to love him.
Another long cry. I must go to him.
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