Last night I got up every 90 minutes to keep her hydrated and warm, petting and cooing her all night long. Kessy knew she was surrounded by love and affection, even from Champagne who came to nudge her at 3:00am hoping to play. I said my good-bye to her when I left for therapy and then work, somehow knowing that it would be my last time to see her alive. I received a gentle nod of the head, and that was her way of bidding me farewell.
My daughter and her significant other spent the day with her, keeping Kessy warm and comfortable, watching the last light slip away. They left her shortly after 6:00pm for an appointment, and I said I would be home in about 90 minutes. As I got off the bus this evening I looked up at the sky and smiled at the peculiar mauve and pink tone, thinking to myself, this is a good evening for Kessy to go.
She was gone by the time I got home.
Her death is not unexpected, and I treasure every moment I had with this beautiful 16-year-old cat.