And Then There Were None.

Felis Secundus Mortuus Est

Pookie Cat died this morning. I am now completely out of household felines.

Pookie was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer this summer. Not having the wherewithal to try chemotherapy and radiation on a 13? year old cat, I had the vet remove some tumors and I'd hoped to slow the progress of the cancer with steroids.

There were some complications from the surgery. With a big section of her lymph nodes removed, Pookie's paw never healed very well. Still, she was eating, drinking and using the litterbox, so I kept my fingers crossed and hoped she'd last a while longer.

I thought she was rallying last weekend. She was out wandering around, grooming herself and if not acting exactly spry, at least she wasn't holed up under the bench in my office.

By Wednesday, though, she had quit eating, and by Friday I was making arrangements with the SPCA to have her put to sleep Monday morning.

I came in yesterday afternoon and found her stretched out on the floor in the den. That was her usual spot for catching rays and whiling away the afternoon. She was so weak, she barely twitched a tail when I picked her up and carried her back to the food & water bowls. She purred and burbled at me, and I wished I'd held her longer.

She was sitting up under the bench at 6 this morning, but when I came back in at 9 she was gone. Carlos the Unreliable is coming over this morning to help me dig her grave. He and Pookie used to meow at each other for hours while he was over here working on projects.

I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do without a cat in the house. They'll probably come get me for lurking in my neighbor's bushes and nabbing their cats, running off and mumbling "I'll hug him and squeeze him and pet him and name him George!"

Sigh. Poor Pookie. I will miss you. Sleep well, my fat goofy kitty.