And Then There Were Four

Fluffy lost her battle with Chronic Renal Failure a little after 11:30 this morning. She went peacefully. The last few minutes, she was out of pain.

When I got home from school yesterday afternoon, I saw how changed she was. Her face was different. Her eyes were different. She wasn't Fluffy anymore. She was a ghost.

The dreams I had over the last week were her saying good-bye and begging for release.

I do have a couple of photos of her from yesterday and today, but I prefer to remember her with us, with her spirit engaged.

She will be buried tomorrow, after her grave is dug. I don't believe in digging graves unless I have to. So, I wait until they are needed.

The other cats pretty much ignored her the last few weeks. When I sat down to talk to Fluffy yesterday and last night, they crowded around asking why I was spending time on a ghost. They had said good-bye to her, but I had not.

This morning, when we arrived at the vet's office, she mewed excitedly. It was like she knew she was going home, over the Rainbow Bridge. She wanted to go.

Her gentle spirit will be missed. I've done most of my grieving before this, over her illness. I will probably cry later, but right now, I just have business to attend to. The business of dying.

Sleep in peace, my Flufferdoodle. My Fluffy Bear.

Bad Dreams

I've been having bad dreams all week. It's been hard to sleep. Several of the dreams are about Fluffy. I had another one a while ago, and I haven't been able to get back to sleep.

I was turned loose, running for cover, and Fluffy met me on the trail. I called for her to follow me. She was wearing some kind of square thing around her neck, hanging down. When I got to safety, she met me. The "harness" was hanging on by a thin thread, and I removed it.

I can't think of a more poignant dream about the harness of life. Fluffy is ready to go.

I'm at school right now. I've been running past her and doing so much for myself and everyone else, that I haven't had time to concern myself with her more than getting fluids into her every time I'm home. I've been "running past her" and expecting her to keep up or come to find me.

The other cats pile on me when I'm home. They miss me, too. They take my time, and she lays in her bed. I call to her, she looks my way, and then snuggles back into her bed. She comes up to my chair, and climbs into it using her claws, walks across the table beside it, and lays in the cat-tree by the window. She can't climb up into it anymore, to lay in the sun. She doesn't stop for cuddles. They hurt - unless it's her head or tail. She's spent one night on the bed with me in the last two months. Probably, that was her "good-bye" sleep with me, but I mis-read it.

I'll be home with her tonight. I'll take the time to sit with her and talk with her. I need to see that she's ready. I need to say good-bye to her. We have an appointment with her vet for Saturday morning for more fluids. It may just be her time to sleep the long sleep, instead.

I'm a little somber this morning. I'm a little sad. I knew this was coming, but I kept hoping I'd have a little more time with her. Wait till Thanksgiving. Wait till the semester's over. Wait for me. Don't go, little one, don't go.

I'll miss her.