My heart is breaking
I'm sitting here on the couch with Isabelle behind me on the back. She seems to be having a pretty good morning. That's surprising considering the night she had. Today is her last day.
We're giving her fluids every single day. Every morning she's a bit perkier, but not as much as she was the day before and she's sliding faster and further throughout the day. But with her blood work, the vet didn't think the fluids would do her any good and my girl proved her wrong for several days. But we know without them on Thursday, she wouldn't have made it another day. I've been terrified every morning since Thursday that when I get up, she'll be gone. We didn't think she'd make it through last night. She's no longer eating. She's no longer meowing.
I don't want this to be a clinical description of her final hours, so I'm going to stop with that. Oh God. Her final hours.
I slept in the recliner for half the night with Isabelle curled up on my chest and shoulder, her back beneath my chin and purring against my left ear. It's our favorite position. I think we both needed it. She's spent the last several days napping on John, being held in the baby position - it's their favorite position. I know he needed that and she took full advantage of it, loving every second. She's a Papa's girl for sure. She slept between our pillows for the last time the other night. It was such a comfort going to sleep with her furry paw near my eye. I welcomed it. She curled up on her back and turned on the cute yesterday. I've been realizing all the little things the past few days that are our normal life with her, and cherishing each time one is repeated, knowing it's probably the last time.
This is the hardest decision we've ever made. Having no children of our own, we have thrown our hearts and souls into our girls and in a very real sense, they are our kids. We adopted Isabelle (or did she adopt us?) five weeks before our wedding, when she was only eight weeks old. We've never really known life together without her. And now we're losing our baby. I've never cried this much.
Today she's been doing most of her normal things and enjoying herself as much as she physically can. She's had some water and has taken a shower with me, which ended with her wrapped up in her towel as a purrito and being dried off. She has laid on the back of the couch, watching the birds and napping. She's wrapped her paws around my arm to hold me in place while receiving chin scritches. She's laid in the hallway, holding up the wall in her usual super kitty pose and has bathed on the bathroom rug. She's slept on the bed and in John's chair. She's napped in the sun. I'm so grateful these last few days have been sunny.
One last good day.