In Remembrance
After over 7 years of always being in the center of everything, this past Saturday we had to put our little one to rest. Diagnosed this spring with degenerating kidneys, he slowly started to lose weight and energy. Having attempted some treatments early on, it became better for all to allow him to just be comfortable for the final few months.
When I returned from Wisconsin a few weeks back, he had declined so noticably that we decided to stop the prescription dinner and just give him things he found more palatable. Over the past couple weeks, he might have eaten a couple bites every few days, but obviously only when we were near him. Most of the time he just rested in his covered litter box, coming out only when we lifted the top off.
We first met Honey at the local Humane Society "kitty prison" around April 1999. There is probably no more certain destiny than two gay men walking into such a place and meeting a male cat named Honey. He was estimated to be around 5 at the time. He immediately made himself part of the family. The most sociable creature, he allowed everyone to visit him and give him treats. All who met him always commented on his natural friendliness.
Adapting to him no longer being around has been a trying experience. Although it has been only a few days, the silence -- the complete void -- is something we could never imagine. What is making it all the more surreal was that all the previous passings of pets were natural; Honey was put to sleep. Stroking him as he laid on the vet's table, as he watched the needle flow into him. Then he just laid down his head. It didn't drop; it was a very gentle resting of his head. We believe he was probably well aware of what we were doing and quite relieved to not to have to continue in his state.
I could never in a few paragraphs describe all about him and how interwoven our lives were. Most all furniture decisions were based on how it went with orange hair. He is missed. By us, by the lady that visited him during our vacations, and by so many others.
In a matter of "life continues", friends of mine have three children and a 1-year old spayed calico that doesn't like chaos. They are keeping the kids, God bless 'em. When we feel we are ready, Dakota will be moving to our house. We're taking the opportunity to call it our house, having called it Honey's since we moved here in October '99 and being pretty sure it will be called Dakota's house soon. She will certainly never be a replacement for Honey; from my visits I know her to be most surely her own self.
The first photo was the first I ever took with the cell phone, testing it out. The second one, he was sitting on my lap on the same sofa/recliner, just looking at me. It is still the wallpaper for my cell phone, and many people have seen just how handsome he was.
When I returned from Wisconsin a few weeks back, he had declined so noticably that we decided to stop the prescription dinner and just give him things he found more palatable. Over the past couple weeks, he might have eaten a couple bites every few days, but obviously only when we were near him. Most of the time he just rested in his covered litter box, coming out only when we lifted the top off.
We first met Honey at the local Humane Society "kitty prison" around April 1999. There is probably no more certain destiny than two gay men walking into such a place and meeting a male cat named Honey. He was estimated to be around 5 at the time. He immediately made himself part of the family. The most sociable creature, he allowed everyone to visit him and give him treats. All who met him always commented on his natural friendliness.
Adapting to him no longer being around has been a trying experience. Although it has been only a few days, the silence -- the complete void -- is something we could never imagine. What is making it all the more surreal was that all the previous passings of pets were natural; Honey was put to sleep. Stroking him as he laid on the vet's table, as he watched the needle flow into him. Then he just laid down his head. It didn't drop; it was a very gentle resting of his head. We believe he was probably well aware of what we were doing and quite relieved to not to have to continue in his state.
I could never in a few paragraphs describe all about him and how interwoven our lives were. Most all furniture decisions were based on how it went with orange hair. He is missed. By us, by the lady that visited him during our vacations, and by so many others.
In a matter of "life continues", friends of mine have three children and a 1-year old spayed calico that doesn't like chaos. They are keeping the kids, God bless 'em. When we feel we are ready, Dakota will be moving to our house. We're taking the opportunity to call it our house, having called it Honey's since we moved here in October '99 and being pretty sure it will be called Dakota's house soon. She will certainly never be a replacement for Honey; from my visits I know her to be most surely her own self.
The first photo was the first I ever took with the cell phone, testing it out. The second one, he was sitting on my lap on the same sofa/recliner, just looking at me. It is still the wallpaper for my cell phone, and many people have seen just how handsome he was.