Good Night, Little Fella

Last night, I had to say goodbye.

In the two weeks since Mulder was diagnosed was kidney failure, I'd given him daily IV treatments, antibiotics, a special diet and a whole lotta love. And in the end, that just wasn't enough.

During that time, he seemed to revert to form and personality, for the most part. He was chatty and affectionate. He was lively and frisky (as frisky as a 15 year cat can get). He was playful, both with me and his adopted sister Willow. He slept on my shoulder, tried to drink my whiskey, wanted to eat my pizza, sat on my laptop and was generally the charming little rogue he's been for a decade and a half.

When I came home from work on Friday, however, I could tell something was wrong. He was sad, lethargic, not very talkative and clearly couldn't get comfortable, no matter where he was. I tried some at home treatments, to no avail. After a trip to the emergency vet yesterday, it was clear we were facing more serious problems. Fate, it seems, had dealt the resilient little fella yet another blow: he had a urinary tract blockage. With his stage four renal failure, all those toxins were building up in his system, and he had no way to get them out of his body. The only solution was surgery to remove the blockage, and we couldn't be sure that he would survive the surgery, or that another blockage wouldn't occur after that and put us in the same, painful situation again. Plus, the blood tests indicated that even if we removed the blockage, his condition simply couldn't improve beyond what it was, and his quality of life wasn't going to get any better. Faced with him spending potentially his last days at the vet, undergoing and recovering from surgery in a cage in a strange place, or the possibility of his maladies worsening when I couldn't be there with him 24/7 to take care of him, I made the heartbreaking decision to let go.

He passed quickly, quietly and peacefully, purring all the while, in my arms. I'll miss him terribly. Goodbye, little fella.