My beloved pet and feline coworker left the planet the other day without even knowing the winner of the presidential contest.
At age 18 or thereabouts – that’s 88 in human years – a combination of geriatric medical issues caught up with Jinx. Her weight had dwindled from 7 pounds to 5; I could see no good outcome and didn’t want to put her through yet another battery of tests. So last weekend, I brought her home from the vet’s office for the last time.
The last two years have been a slog for both of us, as I detailed in another blog post about a year ago. Losing her sight was challenging, and meant many sleepless nights for the human member of this once-dynamic duo.
But Jinxie’s final few days were lovely. The weather was beautiful, unseasonably warm, and she seemed to love lounging in the sunshine on a pile of old flannel sheets I arranged in the backyard.
Doting neighbors stopped by, moist-eyed, to pay their respects. They love her, too.
At night, we lit a fire in the firepit and brought Jinx outside to enjoy it. She got (and gave) lots of cuddling time.
After feeding her with a syringe for a few days hoping she’d perk up again, I reluctantly called Gentle Goodbyes to schedule an appointment.
It was a little ceremony, of sorts, calm and peaceful. A candle was lit. Paw prints were made and some of her velvety fur was snipped as keepsakes. Swaddled in the same flannel sheets, there were two injections, and she was gone.
In a few days, I’ll be getting her ashes in an urn.
I know I did the right thing, but the house feels so empty now. My office is the worst spot, as Jinx spent much of her day there in a heated pet bed. I’ve cleaned up the litter box and the food, but I can’t seem to move the little bed from its spot.
Instead, I light the same small candle when I’m in the office and try not to sob. It’s getting a bit easier, but I miss her so much.