Earlier this week, he stopped eating. He wouldn't get up at all of his spot on a chair. We took him to the vet, fearing the worse, and got that news. He had a tumor near his rear legs that was too large to operate on. We thought he was just slowing down at first, not eating or playing as much. But Sunday and Monday he hadn't eaten at all. We had to put him to sleep. I drove home and got C and M, so they could say good-bye. Jane and I stayed in the room with him until the end. The shot only took seconds to take effect- he really was near the end, but at least his last day or two wasn't going to end with him in pain. He was about 16, and though it feels like we had him all 16 years, we only had him for 5. And it was a wonderful five years. We rescued him from a shelter, but he rescued us; he completed our family, and now his loss has left a huge gap. Every morning, I expect to see him coming to greet me, to say good morning; and every afternoon, when I get home from work, I want to see him again.
It's been a lonely four days, but we're all healing.
we'd posted to Instagram, looking at the goofy pictures of him we'd all taken over the years.
So the title is a bit misleading. I hadn't expected to write this much about Kona, but I guess I needed to. I'd spoken these words to others, but hadn't written it down. There won't be anything about writing, like I thought I'd do.
We know we're going to eventually get another rescue, and as much as we'd like to RIGHT NOW, we know it would just be looking for something to help comfort us. We know we'll wait for a while, to give us time to properly grieve his loss. He deserves no less.
Kona, here's to you. Cheers, Kitten Pants!