Goodbye, sweet kitty
In memory of K.C. (Casey) 2000-2009
We found you curled up in a kennel at the local humane shelter. We went out there to adopt a cat we saw in the shelter ad, but he was already taken. You were such a sweet kitten, always hungry to the point of ripping holes in the side of the catfood bag if we didn't set some out quick enough to suit you. You never were a lap cat, preferring to stay on the bed, usually on one of the pillows, or snuggled under the covers. You never socialized with the other cats, but that was just your personality. The rest knew not to mess with you, because you were a big girl, and even though I never saw you raise a paw to swat at someone, your growl could keep anyone at bay.
You never had any heath problems, pretty maintenance-free for a cat until earlier this year. We noticed you had moved from the bed to the living room couch. Then one day I saw you fall trying to get onto that couch. We set out a blanket and a pillow for you, and took you to see the vet. You had diabetic neuropathy, and it was robbing you of your strength in your hindquarters. We started giving you insulin.
I'm sorry that I fussed when you peed on the floor. It took me a little while to figure out you no longer could get into the catbox. I banned you from my bedroom because you peed on my throwrug. You didn't do it to be mean, you did it because it seemed like the surface to go on.
Last week, I heard you pawing at the bathroom door. Silly Bogey had locked himself in again, and you needed a drink of water. I came out of my back room to see you pawing away, but you were lying on your side to do it. When you went in to drink your water, you couldn't hold yourself up on your front feet to even lap in the bowl. You merely lifted your head to drink, while on your side. You had begun to eat the same way, and we had to put your food on a saucer so you could reach it.
Sweetheart, I couldn't take it, seeing you like that. Your mind was willing, but your little body was not. Barely an hour ago, I said goodbye for the last time. You didn't even meow on the way to the vet. You were very complacent, until it was time to take you out of the carrier, and you grumbled as usual. The vet was very kind, as was his staff, and after the deed was done, I wrapped you in your favorite red blankie.
I will miss you, Sweet Cheeks. I hope it's great on the other side of that Rainbow Bridge.