He'd had that checkup back in June, on the 24th. The blood values weren't good, the vet was leaning towards cancer.
The next week, his tummy started to balloon. Like Jackie. Like Mystie. Like Monica. And it kept getting bigger. Since we had a good idea how this was going to go (quickly), I watched him carefully over the next couple of weeks.
He could no longer jump up onto one of his favorite condos in the garage. He was able to pull himself up using the crocheted blanket that's over the vinyl storage bin. And I told Brian "when he can no longer do that, it's time".
His final few weeks were full of treats and cuddles and lots of love. He spent the afternoons stretched out on the ground outside of the garage.
When we took him in, even though he wasn't eating much, he'd put on over a pound.
His passing was peaceful.
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