It’s been quite the week, and I am just beginning to have the time to actually think about everything that has happened.  For starters, our church’s extended family has lost three saints (two were old age, one was sudden), and our home is down by a (great) grandmother and, as of today, one fuzzy, beloved cat.  So apologies if there hasn’t been any time to post.  I have been juggling a lot of loss, and frankly I am feeling it right about now.

We have had some time to process the deaths of our our family and loved ones, but I will admit that I am still reeling from the sudden realization that Izzy would not be coming home with me this morning.  We realized a couple days ago that she wasn’t looking well–we weighed her, and she had lost 3.5 pounds, wouldn’t eat, didn’t appear to be using the litter box, and wanted to sleep all the time. She has always been, shall we say, less active.  But this was a whole new level.  So we made a doctor’s appointment, and I spent extra time cuddling her, enticing her with tuna, etc.  She clearly appreciated the attention–she would follow me around, lay down on the ground next to me.  I tried to keep her on the couch or on my lap if possible.  But she was frail, and it was deteriorating quickly.

This morning at the vet (the earliest appointment I could get), they did a panel of blood tests, which revealed that she was extremely dehydrated and anemic, with an elevated Calcium level, all of which was indicative of bone cancer.  The vet, who I think had been hoping that this might be reversible, came in and shared with me that there was little we could do, she was probably suffering, and that the best thing was to let her be at peace.  I had always known this might be a possibility, so I was prepared for it, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. I had some time with her to cuddle, to say goodbye, and to cry.  I was able to get in touch with a close friend who loved her too, and that person was able to say goodbyes as well.  All of it was quiet, peaceful, and quick.  She isn’t suffering anymore, and I am grateful for that, but I will admit that it is hitting me harder than I expected.

So I just thought I would post some pictures of my little fuzzball, back when she was healthy.  She was a pretty needy kitty, and Lord knows she put up with a lot–kids, for example, were NEVER on her bucket list–but she was sweet, and kind, and cuddly.  She saw me through the lonely days of graduate school, and made us a family when Alex and I got married.  I am grateful that I was able to limit her suffering, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.  The house is quiet, and will be for a while.  No Izzy mewing on the stairwell.  No Izzy begging to get in the bedroom one last time.

I don’t know how we will tell our eldest, who was worried about her.  I can only hope that grace will be enough for all of us, and the joy of the memories we had.

Rest in Peace, Izzy-Cat.  You will be missed.