Sad news, LiveJournal friends.
Our sweet black kitty,
Darth Vader, died last weekend, January 7.
He'd not been feeling too great. We figured he had a little cold, as smooshfaces are prone to get. But he got constipated, so we took him to the vet. The vet said he had a bit of a fever and was dehydrated. He said he could perform a procedure to unblock him - I won't go into the icky details - so we said OK, and left Vader there overnight.
Well, we and the vet's office think that Vader was an old man - much older than his paperwork from the shelter said. The sedative/anesthetic seems to have aggravated an existing kidney problem. His kidneys failed, and he died in the night.
My husband and I are sad, of course. But it turns out that we're much happier that we got to know him than we are sad that he's gone, if that makes sense. He was a bloody awesome cat: great with people, affectionate, with a purr that never stopped. When I think about him, instead of crying, I think, "Damn, what an awesome cat."