Fin.
I was ok until I got in the door. Snert was quiet in the carrier on the way over. They put us in a room and we put the carrier on the table.
I got him out of the carrier and put him on his towel. That towel was older than he was. It had been a beach towel I got in the 1980s before I got married. It was faded and soft. The table was tall and I wrapped my arms around him and petted. He was patient and let me. I just stood there and leaked tears.
It struck me that one of the more vivid memories I have of him is that when Glenn was hospitalized for detox early on he called me and told me he was going to break out of the locked ward and come kill me. I called the unit back and told them what he said and they told me they'd call if he escaped. I cried for a long time after that. From fear. From heartbreak. From grief over the death of a dream. Snert showed up on the bed where I was curled up and lay down right beside me. I put tears on his fur that day too.
The vet came in and drew up the medication. He shaved the forearm and applied the tourniquet. The needle went in and the vein blew with the injection. Sedated but not fatal. Snert hissed but was drowsy. He wasn't afraid or he didn't seem to be-- that was I was the most torn about taking him in to the vet for- that he would be afraid. We went to the leg on the other side and this time he was collapsing in my arms before the needle even came out. I held him for a while; warm and heavy in my arms. We grieved, Arthur and I. Then we wrapped him up in his towel and left. I took a picture of the towel-wrapped bundle on the table. I curled him up in his favorite sleeping position. Tail over nose.
I am in a thousand pieces. Sharp. Jagged. Raw.
I got him out of the carrier and put him on his towel. That towel was older than he was. It had been a beach towel I got in the 1980s before I got married. It was faded and soft. The table was tall and I wrapped my arms around him and petted. He was patient and let me. I just stood there and leaked tears.
It struck me that one of the more vivid memories I have of him is that when Glenn was hospitalized for detox early on he called me and told me he was going to break out of the locked ward and come kill me. I called the unit back and told them what he said and they told me they'd call if he escaped. I cried for a long time after that. From fear. From heartbreak. From grief over the death of a dream. Snert showed up on the bed where I was curled up and lay down right beside me. I put tears on his fur that day too.
The vet came in and drew up the medication. He shaved the forearm and applied the tourniquet. The needle went in and the vein blew with the injection. Sedated but not fatal. Snert hissed but was drowsy. He wasn't afraid or he didn't seem to be-- that was I was the most torn about taking him in to the vet for- that he would be afraid. We went to the leg on the other side and this time he was collapsing in my arms before the needle even came out. I held him for a while; warm and heavy in my arms. We grieved, Arthur and I. Then we wrapped him up in his towel and left. I took a picture of the towel-wrapped bundle on the table. I curled him up in his favorite sleeping position. Tail over nose.
I am in a thousand pieces. Sharp. Jagged. Raw.