Monday March 2nd, 2026
I put Nugget to sleep.
He'd become terribly thin, often incontinent though he continued to try the toilet and the box I'd gotten him - and he showed little interest or movement.
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 euthansia-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 gently, loved on his ears, admired his white eye-liner and muzzle, and 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. She agreed it was a good time to let him go to the long sleep - when I asked her if she thought it was the right time.
When she described what was going to happen, I began to cry - I couldn't not, and I didn't want to hold it in.
She knelt beside us with a very fine syringe needle to dose him with a pain relieving cocktail of drugs. 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 peaceful sussuration of his heart, and I felt his long slow breaths through my other palm at his belly.
It seemed to be just seconds later that she used the stethescope to list for his heart and said "he has passed on now."
I didn't really understand her yet - he was till 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 his neck - he was no longer there - that life underlying even sleep that protected his neck, that predator/prey alertness even in the deepest sleep - was gone.
Suddenly I didn't know how to hold him any longer. I couldn't move - I just held him until she gently took him from me to arrange him in a basket and shroud she'd brought, and to clip off a bit of fur to leave with me in a little bottle.
Then she quietly left.
As the door closed, I sobbed in loss.
He trusted me.
He approached others from a base of trust, and gave freely - he made friends, even of some whod not particularly liked cats before. He even inspired a 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 - patience with nail trimmings and other indiginities, 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 the phone or a book - the heating pad by my desk and the 4pm 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 to porch, hammock or garden, but stay close on the leash.
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 alley between the garbage cans.
That others seemed to love him too.
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