You Can Close Your Eyes
Well the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still be spinning around
And I still love you
Little Black Newt is gone.
I took her in yesterday afternoon, just as the day was ending.
I knew the time was close when I got home from work on Monday. Her eyes wore a faint haze of pain and she complained whenever I lifted her. She was wobbly on her feet, but her appetite was good and I still clung to the hope that she would go peacefully in her sleep.
As if I didn't know better than that, after fifteen years together. Tenacious, intense Newt wouldn't let go of life easily. Not without help.
I brought her up on the bed with me Monday evening several times, and gave her some fluids, but I dozed off and when I woke, she had wandered off. I wanted her to sleep with me that night, to hang on to the last few moments of peaceful togetherness, but she was restless, as if seeking something, and when I would rouse and go look for her, I would find her lying wearily in the back room or at the foot of the stairs. I can't imagine what a perilous and tiring journey the trip downstairs was for her...
Tuesday morning, when I found her collapsed in the litterbox, unable to right herself and get out without help--I knew it was time. I dashed around, preparing the carrier and waiting for the vet's office to open so I could call. But as I was cleaning the cat boxes to dissipate my nervous energy, I asked myself what my hurry was. Why was I in such a rush? Was I rushing to out-run the inevitable or to avoid thinking about what was to come?
So I made the appointment for the late afternoon--we would have one last day together.
I tempted her with all her favorite foods, but she just turned her face away from my offerings.
Her hindquarters grew weaker. I found her lying half in and half out of her sleeping box, as if her legs had given out as she tired to climb in. I helped her into her sanctuary and sat on the floor with my hand inside the box, resting on her as she lay there quietly.
From time to time during the day, I would go and sit with her, putting my hand in to feel her breathing. I put my favorite Christmas CD on downstairs and turned on tree lights. I had wanted Newt to see one last Christmas and this was the best I could do for her. Or for me. The whole day was--all in all--painful and too short.
There was a part of me that was recoiling from the reality. I kept finding things to do, keeping myself busy so I wouldn't think too much about what was coming. Then I realized that this was unfair to Newt. I was frittering away her last day--our last chance to spend time together before eternity took her. I forced myself to slow down, to stop my busy work and go back and visit with her, touch her, tell her I loved her.
I planned on running my errands before the vet appointment, so that the truck would be warm for Newt's final ride but I found myself with time on my hands and decided to go ahead and run my errands early so I could spend some quiet time with Newt before we had to go.
While pumping gas in the cold wind, I gave myself a mental shake for my lingering indecision--she's old and she's tired and she's in pain--just let her go. I knew I had to--but it was one of the hardest things I have yet to do.
I got back home with nearly an hour to spend with Newt. She was lying where I had left her. I gently carried her in and placed her on the bed, then sat on the floor with my arm along her back, feeling her warmth. She purred a little at my touch but mostly we just sat together in the darkened room in silent companionship.
The memory of those quiet moments are sweet. I wish I could have frozen time and stayed like that with her forever.
But too soon it was time to start the truck and bring the carrier up from where it had sat warming all day next to the wood stove. I tucked a hot water bottle in one end of it and laid the plush cat blanket inside. Then I gathered up her insubstantial little form and put her inside. She protested weakly but quieted down once we were in the truck and on our way.
The sun was setting in clear colors of peach and blush and blue as we pulled up to the vet clinic. In fifteen minutes, Newt was gone, too.
I held her, looking into her eyes as they grew more unfocused and distant, as she grew more limp in my arms. The end is always so quiet--but the final twitch of her lips as her heart stopped just about broke my own heart.
It hurts so much to let her go, my little Newt, my silky black kitty. How I hated to let you slip into your final sleep, because I will miss you so.
So close your eyes
You can close your eyes
It's all right
Driving back up Baycrest with my sad burden, I recalled the tiny black kitten who had ridden up that hill with me fifteen years ago. She had settled into the warmth between my knees as I worked the clutch on the Datsun and stayed there, purring, all the way home...
I suppose it sounds sick or morbid, but I drew some comfort from preparing her for burial. I suppose some of it is the psychological need to convince my heart that she really was dead. I had to stifle my urge to protest when Dots had curled her body ("just like she came into the world") into the moisture-proof bag--"But she can't breath in there..." On the trip back home, I found myself driving with the extra care I always did when I had one of the cats with me even though Newt was past caring how quickly I cornered or braked.
I had washed a scrap of plush, white fabric to wrap her in. I spread it out and laid her on it, curled in the compact shape of a sleeping cat. There was a bittersweet comfort in touching her dear body, the familiar thick black fur, hanging on to the sensation for as long as I could. Weeks ago, I had found her collar with her name tag. I slipped my silver ring on to it before placing it around her neck. I let my hungry fingers caress her just a few more times before wrapping the fabric around her and binding it with strips of linen. No Egyptian princess was ever prepared for eternity with more loving--or heartbroken--hands.
What a small package she made.
So much of her essence seemed to imbue that parcel, I couldn't bring myself to put it out in the cold just yet. I tucked a sprig of autumnal-colored silk flowers under on of the strips of linen and added a black raven's feather before I zipped the bag closed around her and put her in the back hall.
So this old world must still be spinning around
And I still love you
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still be spinning around
And I still love you
Little Black Newt is gone.
I took her in yesterday afternoon, just as the day was ending.
I knew the time was close when I got home from work on Monday. Her eyes wore a faint haze of pain and she complained whenever I lifted her. She was wobbly on her feet, but her appetite was good and I still clung to the hope that she would go peacefully in her sleep.
As if I didn't know better than that, after fifteen years together. Tenacious, intense Newt wouldn't let go of life easily. Not without help.
I brought her up on the bed with me Monday evening several times, and gave her some fluids, but I dozed off and when I woke, she had wandered off. I wanted her to sleep with me that night, to hang on to the last few moments of peaceful togetherness, but she was restless, as if seeking something, and when I would rouse and go look for her, I would find her lying wearily in the back room or at the foot of the stairs. I can't imagine what a perilous and tiring journey the trip downstairs was for her...
Tuesday morning, when I found her collapsed in the litterbox, unable to right herself and get out without help--I knew it was time. I dashed around, preparing the carrier and waiting for the vet's office to open so I could call. But as I was cleaning the cat boxes to dissipate my nervous energy, I asked myself what my hurry was. Why was I in such a rush? Was I rushing to out-run the inevitable or to avoid thinking about what was to come?
So I made the appointment for the late afternoon--we would have one last day together.
I tempted her with all her favorite foods, but she just turned her face away from my offerings.
Her hindquarters grew weaker. I found her lying half in and half out of her sleeping box, as if her legs had given out as she tired to climb in. I helped her into her sanctuary and sat on the floor with my hand inside the box, resting on her as she lay there quietly.
From time to time during the day, I would go and sit with her, putting my hand in to feel her breathing. I put my favorite Christmas CD on downstairs and turned on tree lights. I had wanted Newt to see one last Christmas and this was the best I could do for her. Or for me. The whole day was--all in all--painful and too short.
There was a part of me that was recoiling from the reality. I kept finding things to do, keeping myself busy so I wouldn't think too much about what was coming. Then I realized that this was unfair to Newt. I was frittering away her last day--our last chance to spend time together before eternity took her. I forced myself to slow down, to stop my busy work and go back and visit with her, touch her, tell her I loved her.
I planned on running my errands before the vet appointment, so that the truck would be warm for Newt's final ride but I found myself with time on my hands and decided to go ahead and run my errands early so I could spend some quiet time with Newt before we had to go.
While pumping gas in the cold wind, I gave myself a mental shake for my lingering indecision--she's old and she's tired and she's in pain--just let her go. I knew I had to--but it was one of the hardest things I have yet to do.
I got back home with nearly an hour to spend with Newt. She was lying where I had left her. I gently carried her in and placed her on the bed, then sat on the floor with my arm along her back, feeling her warmth. She purred a little at my touch but mostly we just sat together in the darkened room in silent companionship.
The memory of those quiet moments are sweet. I wish I could have frozen time and stayed like that with her forever.
But too soon it was time to start the truck and bring the carrier up from where it had sat warming all day next to the wood stove. I tucked a hot water bottle in one end of it and laid the plush cat blanket inside. Then I gathered up her insubstantial little form and put her inside. She protested weakly but quieted down once we were in the truck and on our way.
The sun was setting in clear colors of peach and blush and blue as we pulled up to the vet clinic. In fifteen minutes, Newt was gone, too.
I held her, looking into her eyes as they grew more unfocused and distant, as she grew more limp in my arms. The end is always so quiet--but the final twitch of her lips as her heart stopped just about broke my own heart.
It hurts so much to let her go, my little Newt, my silky black kitty. How I hated to let you slip into your final sleep, because I will miss you so.
So close your eyes
You can close your eyes
It's all right
Driving back up Baycrest with my sad burden, I recalled the tiny black kitten who had ridden up that hill with me fifteen years ago. She had settled into the warmth between my knees as I worked the clutch on the Datsun and stayed there, purring, all the way home...
I suppose it sounds sick or morbid, but I drew some comfort from preparing her for burial. I suppose some of it is the psychological need to convince my heart that she really was dead. I had to stifle my urge to protest when Dots had curled her body ("just like she came into the world") into the moisture-proof bag--"But she can't breath in there..." On the trip back home, I found myself driving with the extra care I always did when I had one of the cats with me even though Newt was past caring how quickly I cornered or braked.
I had washed a scrap of plush, white fabric to wrap her in. I spread it out and laid her on it, curled in the compact shape of a sleeping cat. There was a bittersweet comfort in touching her dear body, the familiar thick black fur, hanging on to the sensation for as long as I could. Weeks ago, I had found her collar with her name tag. I slipped my silver ring on to it before placing it around her neck. I let my hungry fingers caress her just a few more times before wrapping the fabric around her and binding it with strips of linen. No Egyptian princess was ever prepared for eternity with more loving--or heartbroken--hands.
What a small package she made.
So much of her essence seemed to imbue that parcel, I couldn't bring myself to put it out in the cold just yet. I tucked a sprig of autumnal-colored silk flowers under on of the strips of linen and added a black raven's feather before I zipped the bag closed around her and put her in the back hall.
So this old world must still be spinning around
And I still love you
