"That's not right." I looked at my cat Xander who had appeared out of nowhere. He was writhing and expelling drool on my back porch.
"What isn't?" Asked Rich.
"The Cat. Something is wrong there."
"Where? What cat."
"There! On the Porch." Oh.
He went out and knelt by his black and white face and petted him while his breath slowed and ceased in the space of less than a minute.
This was not a surprise. But I thought we'd have much more time with him. He got diagnosed with a thyroid condition a few months ago. I made the executive decision not to treat it. My sweet cat that allowed my one-year-old to pull his tail with zero retaliation, turns into the rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail the minute he senses anything remotely medicalized is about to happen to him.
There was no way I could medicate this cat twice a day in perpetuity. So, we planned on humanely putting him to sleep when he started to fail. But there were not strong signs of this. He was still eating and using the litter box as recently as Friday. But he was sleeping a lot, even for a cat. Then he just lay down on the porch and politely died.
I think he's in kitty heaven, full of expensive sofas that the humans there put there for the sole purpose to use as scratching posts. There are piles of newspapers around sleeping humans for him to play with in the wee hours of the morning. And when he miaows, a door is always opened. It would have been ten years this October that I went crazy and decided that I HAD TO GET A CAT THAT DAY. I had no idea that I had obtained a certified furniture shredder, newspaper and book fwapper and determined lap sitter. He was a very good cat, and an annoying one. I will miss both aspects of his personality.
Farewell Xander. Thanks for coming on the porch to pass into the land of endless tunafish and human laps. This way I know you'll be OK forever.
You will be missed. More than you could ever imagine.