Binky was eighteen. He lived with intestinal lymphoma for almost two years. When we started treating his cancer, we learned that before we’d adopted him, he’d been shot with a BB gun. Either an ultrasound or an X-Ray (I can’t remember which) discovered a BB lodged in his shoulder area.
Six months after we adopted him, he had to have all of his teeth removed. They were decaying and his breath…OMG, his breath.
For the past year or so, I knew he was slowing down. We redoubled our efforts. More acupuncture. Cold laser therapy. Reiki. I believe all of these things helped in their own way. Along with chemotherapy (which is a lot easier on cats than people).
But I knew. He was losing weight. He had less energy. Sometimes. There were days he still acted like a kitten even a month or two before the end. Okay. Maybe not a kitten. But at least a much younger cat.
I knew this Christmas and New Year’s would be our last with him. That’s partially why I took this picture of us. We woke him up for this, and I’m not sure he was all too happy about it. But…that’s what you do when you know it’s the end. Or…at least that’s what I do. Everyone grieves their own way.
We pre-grieved. A lot.
There were at least half a dozen times in the past year we thought it might be the end. But then he’d magically pull another life out of his ass (or make us do it…there was a lot of ass wiping the last six months or so because his arthritis often led to him falling over in the litter box).
Every time…we cried. Bawled even.
Yet when the end came for real, we were still unprepared. He was fine. And then he wasn’t.
He had the best death possible. Outside. In the sun. At home. With both of us holding him. But that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t give anything for just one more day with him. One more hour. One more minute.
I don’t remember exactly what it felt like to hold him anymore. Except that he was heavy. Even when he was light. He’d always kick at our arms, trying to get higher, closer, or just more stable.
Sometimes, Wingnut cries from the other room and for just a second, it sounds like Binky. And I’m still surprised at how quickly feeding time goes now.
I wish I’d taken more videos. We have a bunch, but not enough. Because there will never be enough memories of Binky.