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And Then There Was One
10/13/2003
Mr Black, my cat, died this evening.
He had been winding down since the hot summer ended. I remember when I last took him to the vet because I blogged it.
I’m sure they always say the old ones have ‘many years left.’ I felt so cheated after I had a previous cat (they must have been roughly the same age) put down. He was dead before the vet drew needle out. I felt I had given him to someone else, and they hadn’t given him back. I didn’t want to do the same again.
Before I went for a run this evening I noticed that he was lying very still on the bed. He had pissed himself. He hadn’t lost control before, though he had seemed to be getting gradually more incontinent, and sometimes just meditated in the cat litter. (My other cat uses the garden.) I knew then that he had a very short time left.
I don’t think he was in pain until around 8pm when he seemed to convulse. He may have had a stroke; perhaps a second one. His eyes didn’t seem to see me. If he had lasted the night, I would have had him put down, but I’d rather he died at home, or recovered.
If he were a person, he’d have had to wait for his time. As an animal, you expect him to be put down. Both seem cruel.
I went to downstairs to cook and watch University Challenge. When I checked him, his eyes had closed, and he seemed to be smiling. I knew then that he had to be dead. There was no heartbeat. His limbs felt stiff. I phoned a few people who had fed him in the past, and stupidly stroked him.
I eventually got myself together to lay him out in the spare room.
Hurriedly scribbled by Dave @ 10:25pm GMT.
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