The past days he had taken in so little. The syringe was of little use. A ml here, a ml there. No more than that. But he was a fighter. Getting up to use the litter box until the end. Lapping small bits from the glass bowl. Responding to a touch. Looking up to acknowledge a presence. Always a gentleman cat (except when climbing on the tops of the counters).
Last night when he sat looking at me I knew that his time was short. Unfortunately there was a board meeting so after holding him and talking to him and crying (blubbering), I had to wash my hands and face and go. Upon my return he was laying on the kitchen floor looking moribund. Touching his head he looked up at me as if to say, it is almost time. I wanted to bring him to bed but the thought of waking up with a dead cat just was not appealing. Instead I petted him and told him good night and went to bed myself, exhausted. He must have moved during the night to lay directly in front of the refrigerator, someplace he never did lay.
He was a good cat in his day, never using his claws. Jumping from the bathroom sink up onto my shoulder and turning around to have a look at himself. That was Ron. Cat of the loud purr and the sweet temperament. Cat. Two years is too short a life for a cat. We never did find what caused his infection and as an owner I can only speculate what would have, could have or might have happened had...but it is useless, senseless to think that way because he is gone. Found dead this morning in front of the refrigerator. A place he never did lay.
|the Ron 2008-2010. r.i.p....|