Boris died last evening.
He had spent the week declining dramatically more every day. I came home early yesterday and wasn't able to do anything to make him comfortable.
I'd already made an appointment with Dr. Knightly. Boris walked into the cat carrier as calmly as he always did. (What's in here? Oh, my doom! Why didn't you tell me?)
Dr. Knightly gave Boris a whacking great double dose of morphine to Boris (She said, "I wanted to make sure he wasn't in any pain at all." Yet she refused when I laid bare my arm for her, laughing a little.) He was able to have about ten pain-free minutes with me. I watched as his eyes dilated. But the whole time, I was speaking softly to him, telling him that I loved him and that he was a good, good cat.
Right now I don't have the energy to tell you about all of the wonderful things he did, how Boris was uniquely Boris, what made him special and precious to me. Someday I will have the energy to tell you, but not right now.
How very odd it is to have an even number of cats! How strange to have four and to be able to reel off their names! Although I think it will be awhile before Boris doesn't come to the first of that list.
4 comments:
Oh how awful. I am so sorry. I hope he other four are giving you extra doses of love.
So sad, I am sorry.
Anytime you spend 18 years of your life with any living thing you develop a bond that's indescribable.
And pets love us unconditionally, unlike people, some of whom never learn to love anything or anyone.
So there's really no way for any of us to comprehend the depth of your loss, really. We can associate it with our own losses and offer our best shot at sympathy.
Sometimes it's all we can do to let you know you're in our thoughts and prayers at this extremely difficult time. I'm so sorry. I know he leaves a terrible void.
I'm sorry.
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