It is with a heavy heart that I write this. While my husband and I were away on our trip celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary, our beloved kitty and my companion for the past 15 years passed away.
A year and a half ago she was diagnosed with diabetes and given about three months to live. So, I took her home to spend her last days. The vet had told me that when it was time, I would know. But she continued on living her little pampered kitty existence and I struggled with the vets words. How would I know? She didnt seem any different. My mother rattled on and on in my ear about not letting the boys find that cat dead. I assured my mom that I didnt want that, either.
The Friday before we left (on Sunday) I knew. It was time. She'd quit eating on Wednesday and by Friday she could no longer jump up on our bed. On Saturday she could barely walk across the room and only came out from behind the rocking chair to drink water and pee on the bathroom floor. She looked like hell. My fluffy orange tabby looked like a ragged, half starved stray. The neuropathy the vet spoke of had obviously set in. But I couldn't get her to the vet before we left. If she lasted the week, then I would have to take her when we returned. We were on a cruise ship for a week- so I was without contact. I'd left my sister the vets phone number and directions. I'd contacted the vet to let them know the situation.
When we hit dry land again, I called my mom. When she answered the phone and heard my voice- there was a change in her tone and I knew. But I asked about the boys first and how they were and the week had gone. Finally, I asked the question that I already knew the answer to.
Rhi had passed away on Tuesday. My sister found her in the floor and her boyfriend rushed them to a local pet ER. There wasn't anything that could be done.
She was a good kitty. In fact, maybe too good. Both of boys don't really get that cats aren't all like her. Rhi was a easy going animal. She's moved with me from place to place, saw boyfriends come and go then accepted Jay. People asked me when I was pregnant with WC- you're keeping the cat? As if I'm going to give away a member of my family. Then they would inevitably launch into some story about someone they knew whose cat had pissed all over the house once a baby came home. So we brought WC home and the cat still used the litter box. She always had her own toys, food and a sanctuary to retreat to and be alone if she wanted. Most of the time she stayed right in the room with everyone and watched or slept. Then we brought CJ home and I think she looked at me and her eyes said you just had to bring another one of those home. In the wintertime, she loved to curl up right on the couch with the kids- if only she could keep her heaters still long enough. They loved to rub her fur and she would put up with their roudiness for a while until she'd had enough. She had a full set of claws and never once did she ever scratch them.
There will never be another cat like her. Rhiannon will be missed.