sick and tired

Juliet's decline was so gradual and her individual setbacks generally so small that I didn't quite put together the bigger picture while she was alive, at least not in a way that I could articulate properly. Sure, I noticed her back legs wobble or that she napped a lot, even for a cat.

But with the distance of a day, it occurred to me this evening how very weak and how very tired she was at the end. She slept a lot. She could even fall asleep while I was petting her. Robert mentioned that when she'd come up the little bed-side stairs, she'd be out of breath. (I had noticed that her breath sounded funny, like "chuff chuff chuff", and it looked funny, like she was purring even when she wasn't.)

And I remembered picking her up the last few days and how limp she'd be in my arms. She'd lay her little head on my chest and let me put my chin on her forehead. At the time, I noticed that she was soft and very warm and full of trust. But now, of course, I realize that she was so very weak that she couldn't even do her part when being carried.

I also reflected this evening on a Tony Kushner line that I first heard in 1995 -- "Deep down, I see someone entirely free of sickness." I mean, yes, of course, I knew she was desperately ill, and I had a lot of little jobs to do. But when I was just being with her, I wanted so very much to see with my heart, not just with my eyes. In her last moments and beyond, I saw a beautifully stunning cat, googly eye and all, a cat who, for me, has set new impossibly high standards of beauty.

It has actually been helpful to remember all this because it helps me understand why she's not here right now, why she needed not to be here anymore.

I have also been thinking of some happier memories of Juliet, and I hope to start posting them in the next few days.