I think she knew what was going on. She didn’t fight the doctor. Instead, she cradled her head in my hands. I held her head and her little paw as the doctor injected her with the killer drug. She did not flinch nor cry; instead, she just stared ahead, appearing to accept her fate. I cried some but I just petted her little head, constantly whispering that I loved her. She did not die alone, but she was surrounded by people who cared about her. And after 3 shots (my cat was stubborn even in death), I was there when her life left her body. Her breathing stopped. Her pupils enlarged. Her body remained but her spirit, the spirit that made her special, was gone. And I stared at the body of a cat that I loved so much and I wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything. To be present at the end of her life, a life that brought joy and happiness to mine, seemed fitting for me and for the cat. She knew she was loved. She didn’t go by herself. That moment is precious, so very precious. It was a horrible, precious moment that concluded the life of my dear, sweet kitty.
I’ll miss her terribly.
10-30-89 to 4-16-05