My mother's cat, Dinky, passed the other day. If he had lived another six weeks, he would have been twenty years old. He went into a rapid decline over the past few days, and passed in his sleep. My mother took it extremely hard, as this is the second of her pets to die in the past six months, and her remaining dog is ill and has cataracts.
I buried him yesterday in the family 'pet cemetery' in the corner of the back yard, next to many other old friends we've loved and lost over these past thirty years. I'm glad he's at peace and no longer suffering. I hope he is back to his old fat self there in the Summerland, climbing trees (with a friendly person with a ladder handy to get him down, per usual), chasing mice (but never catching them, again per usual), and getting lots of love (ditto ditto).
If you would, pray for my mother, herself gravely ill. As Dinky grew obviously near his time, my mother asked to borrow my tape recorder, and is now dictating all she remembers of our family history. I think Dinky's passing has led to my mother making her own peace with her condition (she is now constantly telling us all how much she loves us - very uncharacteristic of her, normally a very reserved person). Perhaps she, and I, am just affected by her cat's passing temporarily. But I, too, have made my peace with whatever may transpire in the coming days and months.
Edited 12/27/2003 8:06:11 AM ET by Bluehawk (BLUEHAWK9)