A goodbye

My fuzzy best friend died today. Maggie was born in my closet when I was 12. I called her my furry horcrux (Harry Potter reference) because, I joked, she had a tiny piece of my soul. She was my sure thing. If I had a bad day, all I had to do was sniffle, and Maggie would appear out of nowhere with kisses and head rubs and comfort. She always knew.

She didn't like people, except for me. She wouldn't even tolerate Ryan for the first two years, and then she would run if he lifted his arms above his head. In the last few years she would sleep on him and treated him almost like she treated me.

Maggie was great with Rory. She'd snuggle with us while Rory nursed, and only raised her paw to smack her once. As Rory got older and more gentle, Maggie would stick around for pets and a brushing.

She loved nothing more than dairy products, and I couldn't eat out of a bowl without her begging, or just shoving me out of the way.

She was also incredibly vocal. All the time. If she couldn't find me (which happened a lot as she aged, she'd sorta get lost and confused) she'd scream until I made a loud noise for her or came and got her. She'd respond to talking to her with meows. We'd put on little performances for Ryan's eye-rolling amusement. She'd come if I called her, even from another room. And she never treated anybody else like that. It's silly, but I really believed we had a special bond. I probably humanized her more than I should've.

There is a pragmatic part of me that's relieved. She's out of pain. We go down to one litter box (instead of four). No more wads of hair from her pulling her own fur out. Ryan's shoes won't get used as scratching posts anymore. And it was just her time.

I took her to the vet today while Rory was at school and Ryan was at work. The reason Maggie had been drooling and losing weight was a large tumor under her tongue. It had it's own visible blood supply. It forced her tongue to the right and made it painful for her to eat. I knew as soon as she said it what we had to do. The doctor was very nice, asked if I was prepared for it. I was, I'd gone in knowing this would very likely be the outcome. The cat just looked awful. Very thin, gunky eyes, black mouth, covered in drool, missing huge patches of fur on her legs. I was almost embarassed at what a shitty pet owner I am, except that I'm actually not.

The doc gave her a shot of something to put her to actual sleep, and left us alone for five minutes. I said goodbye and hugged her and pet her and told her she would be missed and never forgotten and that we were grateful we got to have her as our cat. And then the doc came and took her to the back and euthanized her.

I am such a sap, I opted for the expensive option. They are cremating her and giving back her ashes next week. I'm going to put her under our roses.

No, we will not be getting a new cat. I'm looking forward to some day being a cat free house. I have never NOT had a cat that I can remember. It's just time for a break.

Sleeping in laundry was her favorite. And made me nuts. But still didn't inspire me to fold it any faster.

We never could figure out what happened. We had a bbq and were cleaning up after it. She was on the bed and then came running in from outside three minutes later covered in mud. No idea how she got out or what she did outside.

She was really good at giving face rubs. And she loved to groom me, although it grossed me out and I never let her.

Going in for the kill, I have loads of pictures of her lying in wait for my food.