RIP Atticus

 Longtime readers of the blog will recall that in 2016, Gina and I adopted a very large, very charismatic black cat, named Atticus. He was already a few years old at that point, and was an amputee - he'd been found living on the streets with an injured and gangrenous tail that required amputation. 

Atticus has brought us a lot of joy in the intervening 8 1/2 years; a sweet and affectionate cat, he greeted me at the door whenever I came in (or at the bedroom door when I emerged in the morning), always wanting to be in my lap or sprawled across my shoulders. Anything we were eating he wanted a share of, and he would have loved it if we'd just put the jar of mayonnaise, or salsa, or whatever else on the floor for him to help himself to. 

As he got older, health issues began to pile up; hyperthyroidism, a heart murmur, arthritis, and most recently, kidney disease. Yesterday when I got up, he seemed lethargic and unsteady on his feet, and we couldn't get him to eat.

Taking him to the emergency vet, they discovered a very large mass in his abdomen; prognosis was not good given his advanced age (he was probably 14-15 years old at this point), and the vet was confident that his lifespan past this point would be measurable in days at best. We made the difficult decision to have him put to sleep, taking cold comfort in the fact that we wouldn't prolong his suffering to try and steal a few more painful days with him. 

We said our goodbyes - told him how much we loved him and would continue to love him for the rest of our lives - and I cradled him in my arms as the drugs were administered. 

In a few days' time I'll get the call to come collect his ashes. In the spring, we'll pick a nice spot in the garden outside and inter him, and plant something nice over him; something that will attract birds. I think he'd like that. 

8 1/2 years doesn't feel like enough time. I keep expecting him to come trotting around the corner to jump in my lap and demand treats. We've been sobbing on and off since the vet let us know about the mass. 

I don't think we'll be catless for long, but right now the grief is very raw and very sharp; I see Gina and I becoming second chancers, giving a home to cats who - due to amputation, like Atticus, or FIV+ status, etc - are considered "less desirable" for adoption.