It was time for bed so I warmed up Cleo's plate of soup and walked around
checking all the strategically placed, easy to climb in warm beds that
Cleo rotates into throughout the day.  Put my hand in one and discovered
that Cleo is lying on top of the bed and her little bald body is not very
warm.  I sit in the dining room chair, place her plate on my lap as we've
done at least 4 times a day for the last three years, but she's too weak
to even eat, her eyes are glazed and now she's drooling.  Okay, I've
known this time was coming, 3 years of battling cutaneous lymphoma and
adrenal, doctors have given up, they don't even know why or how she's
still alive.  I sit and remember my promise to her that I will never
force feed her, that that is how she will tell me she is ready to go.
 
She is so cold, my Cleo who loves to be warm.  I lay on the couch, lay
her across my chest under my sweat shirt, put a blanket over us and I
stroke her little body and pray that slipping off to the Bridge will
at least be easy for her, as nothing else in her life has been.  Her
heartbeat feels erratic at times and she seems bothered by this so I add
my voice to the stroking of her body and she calms down.  I tell her of
the Bridge where Rusty will be waiting, how both of them will have fur
so thick and soft that even her sister the Tiny One would be envious.
I tell her that her nails will be strong and straight, not crumbling, and
that she should have them painted in celebration of at last having
beautiful feet.
 
Her heartbeat and breathing are getting shallow and weak.  I give her
messages for Russ, my bearman.  Please tell him I'm sorry I didn't take
him for a walk in the front yard EVERY time he asked; tell him I'm sorry
for the pain he went through the last 2 days of his life when we fought
to save him.  Tell him I still count to 7 every night at ferret round-up
time, even though it's been 3 months.
 
Her heartbeats are very few and weak now, she's calm upon my chest and
I lay thinking how very strange life will feel without days and nights
being regulated by Cleo's feeding times.  For 3 years no matter what
changes or challenges life has thrown at me, Cleo's warm soup time was
the constant that never varied.  I feel warm liquid running down my side
as she loses control of her bladder.  I tell her to go, find Russ and
dance with thick beautiful, warm fur and painted nails.
 
She gives a big sigh and then her little body is still and quiet, no
heartbeat, no breathing.  I hold my breath for 30 seconds, trying to feel
the slightest breath or heartbeat from Cleo.  I am thankful it was so
peaceful and think I will just lay here with her a few minutes more and
then put her in her sleepsack that she will be cremated in.  Maybe I
should bathe her one last time as we are both a little wet -- so many
thoughts and feelings in the dark at 3:00 in the morning with Cleo's
cold, still body upon my chest.
 
And then Cleo raises her upper body, shakes her head and starts licking
my chest!  I warm up more soup, Cleo eats like she's starving.  I put her
near a sleep sack and she climbs in and I can see the sack moving this
way and that as she arranges her blanket inside just so.  I carry her in
the sleep sack and make a bed for her beside mine in case she needs me in
what is left of the night.
 
It's been 2 days since Cleo left and came back, eating well, making her
usual rounds from sleep sack to sleep sack.  I have never been able to
explain why or how she keeps on going, and I certainly wouldn't try to
explain what happened that night because I know she was gone.  My family
now refers to her as the Ever Ready Battery that just keeps going and
going and going --
 
Posted anonymously to protect the innocent in CA
 
[BA]
[Posted in FML issue 3990]