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What you do think about if you're me...

But what still doesn't hit home until it's actually happening...

When you go from four cats to one cat, over a period of six years, is how utterly empty a house feels. 

Even when we were down to the two girls, while it was quieter, though that was in large part because Slinky was incredibly loud the last couple years of his life — a mix of hearing loss and dementia, I think, which...he made it to 19, so he earned it — the house still felt full. 

I know right now some of this is the raw nerve of grief amplifying silence and making things seem larger, more hollow. 

But damn. 

I told Silver she has to give me at least nine months before she can descend into any kind of aging/ailment related nonsense. She and her sister were littermates, so now I'm nervous. 

On Monday, when we made the appointment, I was questioning myself. Am I misreading? Am I moving too fast? 

This morning, when it took over an hour for the anti-nausea to kick in, when I scooped you up from the couch and felt you tremble and held you for fifteen minutes until the pain medication kicked in and you were ready to move around, I stopped questioning myself. 

We got two more weeks with you. Most of the days were good.

Cats don't comprehend future the way humans do. What you know is the moment. 

One of the things I read while rolling the question around in my head was to think about your cat's five favorite things. If they're not doing one of them, maybe their quality of life is still fine. If they're not doing three of them, then maybe it's time to think about whether they're enjoying their life. 

You used to pounce your sister (just a month ago, you did this). You slept, luxuriously, in the sun in one of the three beds in the bay library window, for hours on end. You would use your mouth to fling your mouse or feather toy and yowl as you did it. You would run around the house, legs straight under you, moving at a rapid clip, as if you'd missed a meeting; Matt and I would tell each other you had Important Cat Business. You would watch birds and squirrels on TV and sometimes outside. 

Over the last few weeks, you no longer pounced your sister. You no longer slept for hours in the sun; over the last handful of days, I wondered if you slept much at all. Over the weekend, your Important Cat Business turned into restless roaming. The birds on TV only caught your attention in a small, good moment, buoyed by Buprenorphine. 

This weekend, you lost interest in the treats you'd loved for years, in the new freeze dried treats you'd devoured a week ago. You loved the new kibble and then you didn't.

You sought our company, in between moments of restlessness or when the painkillers settled in. Your butt button - as we called the inevitable rising of your rear end and the coy flicks of your tail whenever a pet trailed from your head down your back - started to malfunction, working at times, but not others. 

Your world was already small, contained to us, your sister, this house, the time and entertainment we gave. But it grew smaller. 

On Monday, we made the appointment. 

And today, we said goodbye. 

Dr. L. was amazing. I was glad to have a vet you'd seen when you were well.

You got to stuff yourself on Churu treats, which you'd never much cared for before, before she gave you the first of the series of shots. Mild sedation, which probably hit you harder because you were so small and you hadn't really slept in days. 

We stroked your head as you settled on your emotional support plastic bag (the one some breakfast burritos had come in two weeks ago) and whispered encouraging words to you as Dr. L gave you the deeper sedation which cats sometimes react badly to. You didn't. You relaxed and laid your head down. 

When you were deeply asleep, Matt and Dr. L carried you to your window and placed you on your flat bed. I laid down behind you. The sun shone on my back. I had the windows open. I could hear the birds chattering. I think you heard them too. 

And I hope you heard my voice as I stroked your head and told you how brave you were, how sweet you were, how good you were and that you were loved. 

I also told you that it was okay, that you didn't need to linger. 

And very soon after the final shot, you were gone. 

Good girl.