D, that foreground, paw-licking darling, was put to sleep today after about 15 years to the day I brought her into my basement college apartment.
She'd been getting skinnier over the past several months, but so slowly you don't even really notice that much. This morning she was fine, walking around. When I got home after work, she was laying in the hallway between the bathroom and kitchen and I poked at her with my foot and said "What are you doing there, goon?"
And she didn't raise her head to respond.
She wasn't moving much, and when I moved in to pet her, I could see her breathing was labored. When she did gain consciousness, she looked around, tried to get up, and failed. Repeatedly.
I freaked and called 3 vets (apparently Wednesday is a golf day) before finding someone open, while Mrs. Shambles pet her. I wrapped her in a towel and off we went. I was a damned mess.
As soon as the doctor walked back in with her, I could see on his face what we needed to do and listened to him explain the emergency option without any of the muscles in my face or throat or lips or tongue able to say "Shut up and please - PLEASE - can we end her suffering?" When he finally said "euthanize," I found the words - or word - and said "yes."
I got to be with her and pet her head and say "It's okay" as they gave her her last shot. And I wasn't out of town (which I will be in two days) and she wasn't alone here at home. And for that I'm thankful.
Though I'm still a mess.
D is survived by her foster sister, G (background pic). She will be missed.