So we've been here for three months and both of my cats have seen fit to up and die on me. I guess that pretty much firms up what they think of being moved cross country in their golden years.
Miss Independence seems to have had a couple of lungs full of cancer; at least that's what the xray I found myself staring at last night at midnight showed us. Abby stopped eating yesterday and around 6pm she was having a hard time breathing. I thought I'd take her in to the vet this morning, hoping that it was a respiratory cold, but by 11pm last night I was feeling neglectful and selfish for not taking her in, so she and I took that long, sad ride down the street to the emergency vet clinic.
So I found myself once again, for the second time in just over two months, murmuring my gratitude and farewell into one of my kitty's furry ears while the vet just made it all go away.
We had fifteen years together and I have to say it was a bit heart-ripping to wake up this morning after the few hours of sleep I managed to get, and find that I'd left the hallway door open (we normally close it so she can't come in to our room and rattle our window blinds to wake us) and that there was no kitty to feed, for the first time in my adult life.
When Penny died, I had days to process it; there were tons of tests and "is this the right thing?" and time to snuggle and soak in all her Penny-ness before saying goodbye. With Abby it happened so quickly and urgently, I am still finding myself surprised by her absence and catching my breath when I realize that, "oh yeah, she died last night."
So thanks Miss Abby, for being my kitty and keeping me company on this part of the journey. Like I told you last night, I will miss you every day.