Right now, this is all that I have left of Toby:
When I say all I have left, I mean this digital photo of her collar, the empty, tiny cat-shaped hole she left behind, ephemeral memories.
I don’t think she ever crossed 5 lbs. She’s always been a dainty creature:
When she sat, she kept all four paws together, and then wrapped the tip of her tail around them, pure elegance:
To those of us close to her, she was full of curiosity and play:
And she had her goofier moments:
For a long time, we called her CatGirl’s daemon:
But over time, she let us all into her world:
The past half-year with Toby has been alternately delightful, as the drugs calmed her and allowed her to warm up to others in ways she never had before, and hellish, to watch her struggle through various attacks and seizures and turn feral and fearful. Her latest bout was so miserable that we decided that the quality of life line had finally been crossed. Today, a little after 5pm, her vet let her pass peacefully from this existence.
I’m writing this in part because we didn’t get to see her go. We wanted to so bad, but we didn’t want to make her last moments worse–each movement was inducing seizures and making her fearful.
We’ll miss you, little one. It breaks my heart to write about you like this, but I’m so glad you’re not suffering anymore.