Little Cheaselwicke died last Tuesday.
He had a large tumor in his throat. The vet found it when she had him under anesthesia - she couldn't even get the endotracheal tube in for cleaning his teeth. She phoned me - we had a heartbreaking consultation - I started crying - he was facing months of chemotherapy and strenuous measures that a little cat should never be forced to endure. The choice was clear: I told her to let him go.
She "put him to sleep".
I have been grieving since. He was my best friend. Fifteen years old, he had been with me through the darkest periods of my life. The sudden death of my beloved husband, the agonizing death of my warm and witty father, and my intelligent mother's quick descent into the craziness of Alzheimers...
...and Cheasley was also my best "interventionist" when I was drinking. He used to sit at my feet, looking up at me with that Look he had - critical, observing everything, the wheels turning behind his intelligent eyes, as if he was thinking "Are you really going to keep drinking more wine?" He was also my best buddy ever when I finally got sober in 2000 and faced life without my self-medication of alcohol. He was there to soothe and comfort me.
Last week, one of the last quality times we spent together was when Cheasley got up on my lap, put his paws around my neck and looked close and deep into my eyes. I stared back and for several minutes we just looked at each other, silently, him purring, our hearts connecting.
I love him so.
He had a large tumor in his throat. The vet found it when she had him under anesthesia - she couldn't even get the endotracheal tube in for cleaning his teeth. She phoned me - we had a heartbreaking consultation - I started crying - he was facing months of chemotherapy and strenuous measures that a little cat should never be forced to endure. The choice was clear: I told her to let him go.
She "put him to sleep".
I have been grieving since. He was my best friend. Fifteen years old, he had been with me through the darkest periods of my life. The sudden death of my beloved husband, the agonizing death of my warm and witty father, and my intelligent mother's quick descent into the craziness of Alzheimers...
...and Cheasley was also my best "interventionist" when I was drinking. He used to sit at my feet, looking up at me with that Look he had - critical, observing everything, the wheels turning behind his intelligent eyes, as if he was thinking "Are you really going to keep drinking more wine?" He was also my best buddy ever when I finally got sober in 2000 and faced life without my self-medication of alcohol. He was there to soothe and comfort me.
Last week, one of the last quality times we spent together was when Cheasley got up on my lap, put his paws around my neck and looked close and deep into my eyes. I stared back and for several minutes we just looked at each other, silently, him purring, our hearts connecting.
I love him so.
Very sorry to hear of your loss.
ReplyDeleteCharles