This weekend, we had to say goodbye to Matilda. It was not entirely unexpected, but it was sooner than we'd hoped.
The short version is that the meds to treat her hyperthyroidism put too much strain on her kidneys. The resultant nausea made her stop eating, and, when none of the many efforts to entreat her to start eating again were successful, she faded very quickly.
The vet was wonderful with her. Iain and I held her and pet her, and she went peacefully, still purring.
We brought Tils home as a kitten, and she was a perfect companion for 15 years. Contrary to her imperious appearance, she was extraordinarily sweet and goofy — just a bundle of loving fuzz, one of whose favorite places was tucked in between my back and the back of my office chair while I worked.
I can't even imagine how many of the words I've published in this space were composed with the comforting rattle of Tils' purr against me, or her wee furry paws kneading my spine.
Matilda got along splendidly with every person, cat, and dog she ever met, and she never caused a fuss or misbehaved. She was just undiluted sweetness, her whole darn life.
She was unusually talkative and playful; she was unfathomably graceless and ferociously beautiful; she purred like a lawnmower.
I loved her mightily, and I will miss her so, so much. I feel very sad, and I feel very fortunate to have known her for as long as I did.
My life is better because she was in it. I hope I returned the favor.
[Note: I will be taking the rest of the day off, and I will return tomorrow.]
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