I’m currently finishing my sips of the nonfat raspberry no-whip mocha Bub so kindly picked up for me on his way back from his weekly run with the boys. He’s so sweet.
So I’ll cut to the chase and be done with it.
Thursday I wound up spending time with my Mom. My dad called while I was with her to say that the vet had contacted him, letting him know that Felix was not in good shape. At the most, she could see him surviving a month or less only if we did a bunch of 24-7 stuff at our house. She suggested we not bring him back home. He could no longer go to the bathroom (litterbox), and he was quite frail. So we didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. We all met up at the vet to see my childhood pet one last time. He was all of 5 pounds since his kidneys weren’t working and they had him on meds. He had the cutest kitty bandage on his paw. Little blue paw prints on a white background.
His eyes were still so intense. At some moments they look golden and shimmery, at others, green and clear. It was like he knew the prognosis wasn’t good. He’s usually a ball of energy, but he was mellow. His tail wagged often at times and then he sort of chilled. He was so, so tiny due to the weight loss. But when I went to kiss my kitty goodbye, I looked deep into his stunning eyes to let him know it was me, the girl in 5th grade who cradled him in her lap, who was so anxious to return from school, and college, and work, and then during visits–to feel his warmth, purs, and love. To slip him food scraps, pet him like crazy, give him a scratching behind the ears and on his neck.
He wasn’t there. And for a minute I was surprised at the fact that I was relieved we were saying our goodbyes so that we could let this little creature be in peace and without pain.
I’ll always miss him.