Saying my goodbyes.
Spot lived to be about 15 years old. She was born with us beside her and died the same way, and she lived and loved deeply.
Spot was always generous with her affection, friendly to strangers and downright in love with our family. She's always been really smart -- when I was a baby, she played with my toys just like I did, and she would always sit in a chair at the dinner table and put her paws up, one on each side of the plate. She knew how to get out attention; she'd come over, and reach out one of her paws, and tap us on the hand or the arm to get us to pet her. She knew when she met a nice person; she liked Dustin almost as much as she loved us.
Spot was healthy through most of her life, despite living with hyperthyroidism during the later part of her life. She was a little old lady who played like a 2-year-old and loved like a child. Sadly, Spot had recently been suffering from pulminary (lung) cancer, which caused her to lose over four pounds in less than six months, stop eating, and feel too weak to move.
We loved Spot very deeply, and we did everything we could to keep her happy in her last few months. We took great care of her and paid her lots of attention, and I know she enjoyed our company until she died. We spent over $1000 in the last month alone just trying to find out what was wrong with her, and we would've gladly spent a million if we could have done anything to keep her alive and well.
We brought her to the vet this afternoon around 2:30 after being unable to find someone who did house calls and was available. I had noticed this morning that one of her pupils was completely dilated and wouldn't change, but the other was fine. When I showed dad, we knew it was the last straw, and we had to take definitive action.
We brought her to the vet and she took it like a champ. She treated the vet's office like it was home, when normally she'd huddle up against us in fear and cry to us. This time she marched around and investigated, and even laid down on a chair and relaxed. They examined her and did some X-Rays and bloodwork; it revealed the damage from the cancer in her lungs. They told us that it was irreverseable and no matter what we did, keeping her alive would only prolong her pain.
I thought I was prepared for this, knowing for so long how sick she was, but nothing made me ready for her to go. She was really brave; I knew she was competely ready to die. They brought her in to us, we said our goodbyes (well, dad did -- I couldn't find my voice), and then the doctor came in and explained to us how the shot would work. Spot settled down, and laid her head down before he even put the needle in. She died just like that, quickly and peacefully.
We'll be getting another cat soon, probably a kitten, who could never be a replacement but hopefully will help Tiger and Vagabond cope. They already seem to know that she's gone, but they don't seem to realize it's permanent yet. They're staying close to each other, and hopefully they'll be okay.
Spot was loved by everyone in our household, and by others who weren't even part of the family. She got along amazingly with the other two cats, loving them like they were her own sister. She loved my parents and I like we were her own mother and she was always gentle and affectionate. My bed will be an empty place without her.
We buried Spot beside her sister Bear, who died from lung problems as well about 7 years ago. She's not suffering anymore, and at this point, it was the best decision we could make for her. There's an empty spot in our hearts for her now, and I think we've only cried a small fraction of the tears we'll cry before we've mostly healed. She had an amazing life and she was an amazing cat. You couldn't ask for a better companion.
I love you, Spot. Rest in peace. I'll never forget my baby girl.
