Today, at 11 a.m., Little Girl went to sleep for the last time. She was 18 years old. She hadn't been able to eat or drink in over a week. She was starving to death right in front of us. She had lost an enormous amount of weight and was as skinny as a skeleton. But she still purred and enjoyed a good lap and liked to romp in the sunshine out in the backyard.
There was cancer in her mouth, on her tongue. It made her drool constantly and it smelled awful. She was dehydrated, but the drool never ended. It would soak her bed, so that she had to get up and go sleep elsewhere. And then she would soak that, too, and have to move again. And always she was hungry, but could not eat. And always she was thirsty, but could not drink.
This is how Here Kitty Kitty died, too. In the end, I was having to squirt water into his mouth for him. It would take 15 minutes of this just to get him a drink. But there was no way for me to feed him. And so, finally, we had to put him to sleep just to end his suffering.
When he died, Little Girl wouldn't stop crying. She was far more upset than we had expected. In fact, we hadn't expected much reaction from her at all, but she was clearly upset that her companion was gone.
And now she has gone to join him. And she won't have to cry anymore.
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