The spirit was willing, but the body gave out.

[quala67]

 Last night, I lost my 18+ year old cat, Chris.  This is the same one that survived the shelving unit fall on him and break his hip in January, the same one that has been dealing with a thyroid inbalance for two years, and the same one that survived crystallized urine 15 years ago.  I'd been noticing that he'd been getting increasingly thinner, and started having issues to make it to the litter box in time before peeing.  Sunday nite, he was even more 'clingy' to me than normal, and just seemed out of sorts.  It didn't get any better, and yesterday I was running a little late from the office, and Mark called me to ask when I was coming home.  I said I was just on my way out the door - and he said that I needed to get home, that Chris wasn't doing well.  Fighting back tears, I immediately called John in Richmond and told him to get on the road.  Now.  I got home, and Chris was just a limp kitty.  He perked up when Momma got home, but he still was too weak to stand.  I kept him in my lap until John got here two hours later.  We went to the ER Vet, and the doc said that there basically wasn't anything to be done, and that all he'd do from then on out was suffer.  Both Mark and John left the room - neither of them could stand to be in the room when the doc administered the meds.  I, on the other hand, couldn't stand to let Chris die in a strange place w/ strange people.  I held him in my arms, his head resting on my right shoulder b/c I just didn't want to see his face when he couldn't see me anymore.  I had my left hand on his chest, and felt him take his last breath and felt his heart beat for the last time.  But I wouldn't have had it any other way.  Chris was Momma's Boy, and nobody ever doubted that fact.  I wanted to be with him at the end.

It was the right thing to do, but damn, it sure doesn't make it any easier.

Pardon me while I go wipe my tears away...