It's going to be a big adjustment not having her here. It's been so long, it's hard to remember when she wasn't around...in fact, my very first blog post was a sketch of Squeaky, staring into that place only cats can see.
There are reminders of her everywhere, but it's the little things...
Walking into the laundry room without climbing over the gate ...
Being able to leave the bathroom rug in the bathroom floor without it getting peed on...
Finally taking that hideous plastic slipcover off the couch...
Scrolling through my Facebook memories and realizing how many of my posts were about her...
Giggling over the very last picture I will ever take of her...
While I was looking through my blog for that photo I posted yesterday, I could see how much she'd declined just in the last few weeks. Not too long ago, she started to show signs of being in pain, but as long as she was eating well, I felt like she would still be OK for a little while longer.
About Saturday, or so, she went off her feed. She'd done this before, but had always started eating again in a day or two. This time, she didn't.
When I got home from work yesterday, she had gotten so weak, she could barely walk across the kitchen floor. That's when I finally made the call I'd been dreading for so long.
I said I wasn't going to cry, but I did. I cried all the way to the vet office. I cried in the room waiting for him to come in. I cried all the way, as I drove home alone. I tried to apologize to the veterinary assistant for crying, only she was crying, too.
The only time I didn't cry was when I held my kitty, wrapped in her towel, and rocked her as the light left her eyes.
My heart aches, but I know I did the right thing for her.
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