My sweet Rainy passed away last Monday.
Never in my life have I loved and missed a kitty so much. She was at least thirteen years old, and we only had her for three and a half years. We're not really sure what happened, though she went downhill fast over the last weekend, losing her appetite, barely moving, and weighing maybe five pounds despite all the medications for her multiple health issues. We had a mobile vet come to our home, who told us that she felt a mass in her abdomen, and agreed that "it was time." That would make two cats we've lost to IBD-intestinal lymphoma.
She was a proud little tortie who loved us fiercely. She refused to drink out of a bowl, and so we gave her a pet fountain. She loved drinking out of Poland Spring water bottles too. She slept in cardboard boxes, some with wires and nails in Chris' basement tool area, and loved nothing more than being a part of his Thursday train nights, or his bike workouts.
In those rare moments when she would sit on my lap (I was the medicine lady, after all), I felt like the most blessed woman in the world.
I am glad she is no longer suffering, and that we gave her the very best life we could, more than she maybe ever hoped for when she was first rescued, soaking wet, dehydrated, and only four pounds, on a very rainy night Oct. 2007. She brought us so much joy, laughter, comfort, and companionship, as well as being a challenge to everything I've ever learned about cat care. Yes, sometimes I got so frustrated with her "accidents" that I just wanted to put my head in my hands and cry. But I would do it all again in a heartbeat if we could have her back.
Here's to heaven, where there is no more cancer for pets or people, and no more goodbyes.