I’ve been writing about winds of change in my life recently, but little did I expect that I would have to bid a painful farewell to someone so near and dear to me, and I am unable to be by their side for the final moments.
She came into my life in 2018 and what was supposed to be a palliative adoption of four months or so, turned into four years. I always knew our bond was based on borrowed time, and every month that passed was a reason to be grateful and celebrate life. Despite the obstacles she had overcome during a mysterious and abusive past, she found peace, joy, and serenity in my home, and poured out all her love and affection that she had withheld over the years.
Lolita was 13 when adopted her, and if you have followed this blog over the years, you know her well through the write-ups about feline dementia and the positive effect of opera on her. She is my four-legged soulmate, and I am convinced my mother’s spirit lives through her somehow. Her health was never perfect, and all I could do was provide comfort and love for one who had suffered so much to make the final months peaceful.
The weeks turned into months, and the months into years, and when I moved to Lisbon at the end of February, I had hoped to be reunited with her and Cherry by July at the very latest. So it broke my heart when my daughter informed me that the vet recommended she be put to sleep. At 17, she is too weak and unfit for travel, loosing weight steadily, and increasingly having trouble walking. So we decided that the most humane thing to do is to end her suffering next week.
I wish, I truly wish I could hold her in my arms those final moments, and I know she will be looking for me. But some farewells are not meant to happen the way we want them to be.