We'll miss you. I'm glad we slept together last night, I knew you weren't feeling good, I appreciate the purring in my ear that you managed. I knew this past week had been pretty hard on your failing body. But I had hope.
I had hope that we could have more time with you when I saw that you had walked into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed with Brian sometime after four this morning. My hopes were higher when I saw that you'd climbed into the window, after having been so weak yesterday. Yesterday, you were wobbly and could barely hold your head up.
I told myself you were just dehydrated, that all you needed was fluids. The I told myself that if you'd just eat, it would be all better. I opened up a can of people tuna just for you. You lapped the liquid, then turned away. I gave you two different kinds of Fancy Feast. I put A/D, the wonder food, on my finger and put it in your mouth. You swallowed it uneasily, then stumbled away from me. Food and fluids, I told myself, that's all you needed.
This morning, I boiled up a chicken breast just for you. I found you outside, laying in the sun. You didn't want this chicken. You walked away.
You finally came back inside the house and climbed onto the back of the sofa. Behind me. I called the vet and I was told I could bring you in at anytime, I didn't need an appointment. I told Brian that if there was anything to do that would extend your life and make you feel better, we'd do it. He agreed with me.
The vet checked you out. She told us that having a cat a month after an FIP diagnosis was good, that it doesn't happen often. She said the only thing that would help is Buprenex and it might cut your pain by fifty percent, but that you'd never get better, just worse. We couldn't do that to you. Not for us. We couldn't watch you die a little more each day.
We said our goodbyes. I got in my last kisses and you couldn't pull away this time.
Godspeed, Marco Warco Barco Butt. You were one of the best, you'll always be one of the best in our hearts.