Monday March 2nd, 2026

I put Nugget to sleep.

He'd become awfully thin, and he showed little interest in things around him.

He wasn't hiding or obviously in pain - but he seemed to no longer have joy or comfort.

So, I decided for him - and called a gentle, euthanasia-focused vet to the apartment.

That last day I ordered him sushi and he ate a bit. I lay on the floor with him until she came - aware it was our last hours - touched him lightly, loved on his ears, admired his white eyeliner and muzzle, and he offered a stroke or two down his soft, creamy throat. I spoke to him about our years together and of what was coming.

When she arrived, he got up to investigate the new person at the door. She asked me some questions about him, and assessed his condition. I asked if she thought he was ready, and she agreed it was a good time to let him go to the long sleep.

When she described what was going to happen, then, I began to cry - I couldn't not, and I didn't want to hold it in.

I asked to hold him throughout. She encouraged it, and I held him - so small and light against my chest as I leaned back on the sofa - supporting him as we had so many times before.

He was quiet in my arms, patient as he had been for the last few weeks - trusting and there, patient but not really happy nor unhappy.

She knelt beside us with a very fine syringe to dose him with a pain-relieving cocktail. In a minute or so his little dark grey head sank down into the crook of my arm and my palm - asleep. She'd said his heart would still be beating, and I raised him to my ear to hear the regular susurration of his heart, and I felt his long slow breaths through my other palm at his belly.

Her back to me, she prepared another needle. She returned to our side and adjusted his body a bit, slipping a wee-wee pad beneath him. Then she inserted the needle. And this was the last dose.

It seemed to be just seconds later that she used the stethoscope to listen for his heart and said, "He has passed on now."

I didn't really understand her yet - he was still warm and soft in my arms - but then I moved my hand and his neck was so without animation, so loose, I felt afraid I'd break it - he was no longer there - that awareness that underlies even sleep, which protected his neck - that predator/prey alertness even in the deepest sleep - was gone.

Suddenly I didn't know how to hold him. I couldn't move - until she gently took him from me to arrange him in the basket and shroud she'd brought. She clipped off a bit of fur and placed it in a little bottle to leave with me.

Then she quietly left.

As the door closed, I sobbed in loss.

Things I loved about Nugget...

He trusted me.

He approached others from a base of trust, and gave freely - he made friends, even of some who'd not particularly liked cats before. He even inspired a friend's family to adopt their first cats.

He adapted to me and gave willingly to my needs - using the human potty - trying even as his body failed - agreeing to let me sleep in the mornings - and showing patience with nail trimmings and other indignities, particularly in the last months of care.

He had his patterns of wanting my company - finding my arms when I lay stomach down to read my phone or a book - the heating pad by my desk and the 4 p.m. anticipatory rubs and reminders that dinner would be approaching - the bed at night between my legs and the armpit in the mornings.

He was willing to come out with me onto the porch, hammock, or garden, but stay close on the leash and relish the sun.

His sweet ears.

His soft throat.

The fur along the inside of his forelegs.

The pads of his paws, and the fur between the toes and behind the pad.

Picking him up to kiss his belly, and the feel of his claws in my hair.

His soft flanks, even as they became so thin.

His chirps and his little voice.

His bold little chest.

His long white whiskers, and the two black ones at the top, one on each side.

His mousey grey fur, with its white and cream highlights.

His eyes, clear all the way to the end.

That he liked to tussle through bed sheets, sweatshirt arms, and blankets.

His gentle reminders that it was time, or past time, to eat.

That he sought me out for snuggles.

That we found each other in an alley between the garbage cans.

That others seemed to love him too.