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Feeling less raw today than yesterday, let alone the day before. Which isn't to say I'm not still tearing up at random. I expect that will go on for a while. 

Yesterday, we had our Farewell to Summer pool party (technically not the last one, we're doing a redux next weekend) with the usual suspects. I'd scheduled it before the week turned itself upside down. A storm came through in the middle of it, but that gave us time for food and chat before getting back to pool fun. 

The party broke up early (by which I mean 8:30/9pm), which is a bit unusual, but honestly, by 9:30, my body was already thinking it was edging close to midnight. 

I actually slept decently last night, not waking up until the light started to seep in around the curtains. A first in the past week or so.  

We met the usual suspects for lunch at a pho place, then grabbed coffee (iced tiramisu latte for me) and headed back home. 

And now I'm sitting here at my desk with my window open to the grey day; the wind coming through actually has a cooling factor to it and it smells strongly of rain. A herald of the turning season. Though it's supposed to be back to the 90s mid-week. 

I'm drinking my Beloved Veil tea from Ritualcravt, which feels appropriate this week, this space on the seasonal calendar. There's something nostalgic about the cinnamon and star anise. 

Silver seems to be doing okay.

On Wednesday, we'd brought her over to Mithril after she'd passed and let her sniff. She hissed and backed away with wide eyes. But I think it's helped. She seemed a bit mopey Thursday and Friday, but less so Saturday and today. (I'm not sure how much I'm projecting onto her.) She has done a little bit of searching. Staring at the library bay window, checking under the TV. Spots where she'd seen Mithril the most over the last couple of weeks. But maybe it's settling in; she's just checking. Just to be sure. 

I'm trying to keep both her and myself on our typical schedule. Which is a little funny because that schedule got skewed the last few weeks, which probably explains why I'm in my office and she's upstairs on the couch. 

Ah well. 

I'm feeling the need to play a little Dishonored. I need something grey and tragic. I'm also contemplating some fic events for October. Fictober or Whumptomber, maybe. And I wouldn't mind focusing any prompts that strike me on Dishonored. 

Summer of Clones came to an end this month. I have three works in progress to show for it, and one or two more ideas. I'd like to get at least one of those done in the coming weeks. 

I wish I was someone who could turn sadness into creativity, but that's never worked very well for me. Still, I was missing writing before I started on the prompts this summer. And I've been missing in the last few weeks when I haven't had the brain cells to devote to anything but home, cats and work. 

So onward I go. 

On Monday, when we made the appointment, I was questioning myself. Am I misreading? Am I moving too fast? 

This morning, when it took over an hour for the anti-nausea to kick in, when I scooped you up from the couch and felt you tremble and held you for fifteen minutes until the pain medication kicked in and you were ready to move around, I stopped questioning myself. 

We got two more weeks with you. Most of the days were good.

Cats don't comprehend future the way humans do. What you know is the moment. 

One of the things I read while rolling the question around in my head was to think about your cat's five favorite things. If they're not doing one of them, maybe their quality of life is still fine. If they're not doing three of them, then maybe it's time to think about whether they're enjoying their life. 

You used to pounce your sister (just a month ago, you did this). You slept, luxuriously, in the sun in one of the three beds in the bay library window, for hours on end. You would use your mouth to fling your mouse or feather toy and yowl as you did it. You would run around the house, legs straight under you, moving at a rapid clip, as if you'd missed a meeting; Matt and I would tell each other you had Important Cat Business. You would watch birds and squirrels on TV and sometimes outside. 

Over the last few weeks, you no longer pounced your sister. You no longer slept for hours in the sun; over the last handful of days, I wondered if you slept much at all. Over the weekend, your Important Cat Business turned into restless roaming. The birds on TV only caught your attention in a small, good moment, buoyed by Buprenorphine. 

This weekend, you lost interest in the treats you'd loved for years, in the new freeze dried treats you'd devoured a week ago. You loved the new kibble and then you didn't.

You sought our company, in between moments of restlessness or when the painkillers settled in. Your butt button - as we called the inevitable rising of your rear end and the coy flicks of your tail whenever a pet trailed from your head down your back - started to malfunction, working at times, but not others. 

Your world was already small, contained to us, your sister, this house, the time and entertainment we gave. But it grew smaller. 

On Monday, we made the appointment. 

And today, we said goodbye. 

Dr. L. was amazing. I was glad to have a vet you'd seen when you were well.

You got to stuff yourself on Churu treats, which you'd never much cared for before, before she gave you the first of the series of shots. Mild sedation, which probably hit you harder because you were so small and you hadn't really slept in days. 

We stroked your head as you settled on your emotional support plastic bag (the one some breakfast burritos had come in two weeks ago) and whispered encouraging words to you as Dr. L gave you the deeper sedation which cats sometimes react badly to. You didn't. You relaxed and laid your head down. 

When you were deeply asleep, Matt and Dr. L carried you to your window and placed you on your flat bed. I laid down behind you. The sun shone on my back. I had the windows open. I could hear the birds chattering. I think you heard them too. 

And I hope you heard my voice as I stroked your head and told you how brave you were, how sweet you were, how good you were and that you were loved. 

I also told you that it was okay, that you didn't need to linger. 

And very soon after the final shot, you were gone. 

Good girl.