Goodnight, Sweetheart

We took her to the emergency vet around midnight, and after looking at her blood work and x-rays I believed that she did have some health problems, and although they might well be serious, we'd be able to get through them, she and I.

I am heartbroken about this, possessed by a profound sense of loss. Since Lola was FIV+, I always assumed that eventually she'd get sick, and we'd fight it with every available weapon. Instead, there was nothing to fight. The stroke took her vision, most of her voice and her ability to walk. By the time we made it to the clinic she was as good as gone.

I was with her at the end, stroking under her chin as Dr. Edmonds administered the drug. After that, she wrapped Lola in a quilt and brought her to me. I held her like an infant; her eyes were still open, and for a split second I thought I saw her soul behind them. She was still warm, and it seemed like I should reach in to scritch her belly, and she'd start purring again.

The sun was starting to rise in the west as we left the clinic, bands of pink and blue broken with dark bars of clouds. As Mom drove back into Washington, I noticed how the momuments stood out, all white against the not-quite morning sky to the east. This did nothing to change the hard fact that we were going back home, and when we got there, I was going to open the door and not holler "Hi Cats!" which had been my custom.

Lola and I would have celebrated five years together in three weeks. I think it is safe to say that I loved her more than anything. She lived her whole life wanting only to be beautiful, and she brought me such joy.

Sweet Lola, you will live in my heart forever.

before - after