My beautiful calico cat, Jade, was euthanized today on Monday, April 26, 2010. She was slowly withering away due to acute kidney failure. She was only four. I'm sure that what I decided was right, but I'll miss her.
There once was a cat named Jade. Her owner pulled her ears, tugged her tail, tapped her nose, ruffled her fur the wrong way, and patted her sides so hard it rattled her body.
She didn't understand why her owner did these irritating things to her. But she understood the soft tone she was addressed in, the gentle lilt in tone as her name was called. That soft voice accompanied every rough pat, every ruffle, every yank.
Sometimes her owner would answer every frustrated mew with her own, strangely alien gentle one. Every growl was answered with an artificial purr, every scratch with a soft squeeze of her paw.
Eventually, Jade came to accept these strange, annoying actions her owner insisted on…and maybe even learned to enjoy them. She soon took pleasure in every touch, every shove, every rough pat that smashed her ears against her head and crinkled her whiskers, answering every action with a delicate purr or a good-natured growl.
And that's how her owner would remember her forever after, even as the flesh melted off her bones. Even as her muscles weakened and she wobbled with every lash of her tail. Even as the pain in her abdomen grew and her fur became rough and ungroomed.
Even as her owner stood looking down at the skeletal creature on the blanket that Jade had become. Even as she cradled Jade's head in her hand and stroked her fleshless side. Even as she watched Jade's breathing slow and her beautiful green eyes grow fixed.
Even as her owner went home without her, tears in her eyes and pain in her heart. Even as her owner sat at the computer and typed this as the salty liquid streamed down her cheeks.
I love you, Jade.