You've likely seen this elsewhere, but after 18 years of putting up with me (or was it the other way round?), Sam was called over the bridge to restore the peace.
He suffered from 10% kidney functioning for nearly two years without any real issues but he was dehydrated and had a very high white blood cell count (vet thought infection or possible tummy tumor). A week of antibiotics perked him up for a week; we started a second round on Monday and on Wednesday, Halloween, the bridge gates opened.
I had planned to take him back to the vet on Thursday, quite possibly for the last time, but Sam wanted the last laugh (it'll be a while before it's truly funny).
He had been urinating outside the box almost of this time but seemed to be constipated and we had him on pumpkin as of that Monday - it can take 48 hrs to "kick in." Late that Wed. he had lost the ability to use his rear legs, also a symptom of constipation which explains the "take him in on Thursday" thinking. He could still twitch his tail, though. His eyes were so dilated he was essentially blind as well.
I sat for a few hours with him stretched out on me, just loving him and fearing the worst. When he struggled a bit, I thought perhaps the pumpkin was kicking in so I laid him in the litter box and started back to the computer to check something regarding his condition but his head just fell to the side.
Sam died at that moment, not in my arms, but within the litter box. How typical of my boy, in a way, as we bonded over the litter box (I was so nervous about getting my first cat as an adult with all the responsibility that I headed to the bathroom as soon as I got home and while there, Sam joined me. He used his box as I used mine, both of us looking at each other the whole time.)
So, yeah, in a way it was funny.
Our anniversary together would have been the day before Thanksgiving. We made it just shy of 18 years.
18 years of love and a few scoldings, 18 years of me harassing him for photos and of him shielding his eyes from the flash, 18 years not to be forgotten.
Sam doesn't need glow; he's at peace but for the other cats and their friends who need it, glow in his name for them.
Sam, I hope you've met Daffy, my dear cat from my jr high/high school days. Both of you were "my" cats, although Daffy only had about 5 years with me. Both of you are missed dearly; both of you were closer to me than most friends. You were my companions in life and neither of you are far from my thoughts.
Don't worry, Sam, Brandy and Kahlua now keep me company. Of course you know they are not replacements for you because you are irreplaceable.
Now, please, don't slap all the cats there waiting to greet you in jail. You can set aside your badge now.
Love you, Sam.
Val
