Content Warning: Pet loss and euthanasia and sadness. But also hope.

Summary: "I don't fear The Great Rest. Not in the way humans do. Why fear something that is a part of life? Something we have all been working toward since birth? I have lived a long and beautiful life since My Human found me, and I have no regrets. But I am not without worries. The tears on My Human's face worry me. The slumping of her posture worries me. I want to get up and go to her. I want to purr until her heart is soothed and her tears dry and her back straightens. But I'm just so tired. Who will do it when I am gone? Who will bring her mice when she has not eaten and who will zoom around the room to remind her to go to bed and who will sit on her lap and purr when she is stressed? How can I leave her behind? "

Or...
Post-war; A loving goodbye and a well-earned rest.

Crookshanks
A Well-Earned Rest

It's the cold that wakes me. I blink open my eyes to find that the morning sun has moved from the sitting room sofa as I slept. I glance to the fireplace, prepared for the disappointment I know will come. I can never understand why humans refuse to light the fire all summer long. Why do they confine this joy only to the winter months?

No matter. It is time to move. My body aches as I jump off the sofa, and I stumble a bit. But I need not go far. Just down the corridor. The sun will now be warming my favourite napping spot—the window seat in my human's study. It is a good spot. The seat is soft and well-cushioned, it remains in the path of the sun for almost the entire afternoon, and it frequently comes with scratches from My Human when she isn't too distracted by work.

I have been getting extra scratches lately. My Human has been watching me and periodically will set aside her quill just to come over to pet me for a moment or two. She didn't used to do this so often, and I wonder what has changed. But it is a good change, so I can't be bothered to wonder very hard.

When I let myself into her study, My Human looks up from her desk to watch me walk across the room to my favourite window seat. I glance briefly at my food bowl in the corner. It still holds my breakfast from this morning—or is it dinner from last night?— but I am not hungry. I see My Human take this in with sadness in her eyes. I want to sooth this sadness. But I am tired. So instead, I will nap.

I move to jump onto the seat, but it is growing more difficult. My body aches, and I am so very tired today. I'm often tired nowadays. My hindlegs don't have the power they once had, and I don't quite make it. I dig my front nails into the plush rust-coloured velvet of the seat and hear a satisfying ripping sound as they anchor themselves there, but still, I struggle to get purchase with my back paws. Gentle hands help to give me a push. There was once a time I may have met this with indignation, but today I am grateful for the assistance. I can't let anyone know that, of course, so I still respond with an affronted "mrow" as I at last make it up onto the seat.

"It's alright, Crookshanks," My Human soothes gently. "I've got you."

I calculate the trajectory of the sun briefly, then gently lower myself on the side of the sun patch that will enable the maximum time soaking in the sunshine before I must move again. A sparrow is perched on the tree outside, and I try to muster an "Eck eck" to tell him to get lost, but I am too tired. Instead, I lay down my head and prepare for sleep. My Human's gentle hand strokes my head, and I nuzzle deeper into the soft cushion that has been set out just for me. It is coated nicely in a layer of my fur. Periodically, The Humans clean it off, and I have to start again, but for now, there is plenty. I let out a purr of satisfaction. The kind that always makes My Human smile, though I am too tired to open my eyes to see it. I feel My Human press her lips to the spot between my eyes—the spot only My Human is allowed to kiss—and I drift off to sleep.

I dream of the countryside. Of the past. But it is many countrysides and many pasts, all jumbled into one. At times, I cannot say if this is memory or imagination. Sometimes I seem to be on the Hogwarts grounds, running alongside a large black dog who is not a dog. Sometimes I seem to be in the yard of the crooked house where I spent a year without My Human. A chicken with missing feathers is waddling fast away from me while The Temporary Human admonishes me, though I know her admonishments are half-hearted at best and she will still give me a saucer of cream come teatime. Sometimes I am at the cottage My Humans moved into after school. The first Tiny Human is even tinier than she is now—just a hairless kitten. She watches me with wonder, reaching out a pudgy hand. I get up and walk away before she can pull on my tail. It is time to patrol the garden, anyway. It is my duty to ensure the Gnomes do not return.

I miss the countryside. The London terrace-house is not all bad. The house is large and spacious; the housekeeper knows to wait patiently while I decide if I want to be inside or outside after I scratch at the front door; there is no shortage of rats to chase in the alleyway; and there are plenty of windows to sit in. But it just doesn't compare to the open freedom of the country. I often wonder why My Humans moved here so suddenly. My Human's work seemed to have changed and necessitated a relocation to London. She still goes to the office nearly every day as she has for years, but now work also finds her here. People in business robes carrying briefcases come and go frequently—far too many people for my comfort. And when I go outside, there are often a collection of people with large cameras that flash with frightening brightness and smoke and loud bangs. Sometimes, one of these people will crouch down and hold a microphone to my face and ask me my opinion on the capital gains tax or the French tariff on potions ingredients or new restrictions for experimental charms. The other humans will laugh. I will merely stretch, give them a dismissive look, and walk away.

What silly things humans find to worry about.

I feel a hand scratch under my chin. It takes me a moment to realise it is not in the dream. I open one eye. It is The Spare Human. Strange. He does not often come into My Human's study while she is working. But he is not unwelcome. I turn my head over to allow him maximum access to my chin, and I offer him a small purr. But I am tired and my eyes close again. The hand retracts, and I hear him cross to speak softly with My Human, their voices coming in low, soothing murmurs.

Half in dream, I think of this surprise in life. Once, I would never have let The Spare Human scratch my chin. When first we met, he did not like me, and I did not like him. He guarded the rat who was not a rat and yelled and kicked at me when I got too near. After the rat was uncovered, we reached a begrudging truce, but back then, I never would have expected us to reach a point of chin scratches. The years have changed us both.

I'd had my doubts when My Human had picked The Spare Human as her mate. But I had to admit she laughed a great deal more and was much more relaxed when he was there. And when The Hairless Kittens arrived, one after the other, it was clear she had never been so happy.

They have their ups and downs, of course. They argue at times, but humans seem to enjoy doing that—why else would they all do it so often? My Human works hard and long hours, and this vexes The Spare Human. It vexes me too, but I have more logical and productive ways of handling it. I bring her dead mice when she forgets to eat, zoom fast around her study to alert her of the time when she works too late into the night, climb into her lap and purr when she looks too strained… The Spare Human never seems to understand the nuance of these techniques, but I can't blame him, really. He is only human, after all. They only see so much.

When I open my eyes again, I'm not sure how much time has passed. I blink groggily as I raise my head to see what has woken me. No amount of sleep seems to ease the tiredness.

A stranger is in the room now. I am not much fond of strangers, but this one has a kind face as she smiles down at me, and she does give quite exceptional ear rubs, so I decide I don't mind her so very much. I'm less sure a little later, however. She proceeds to lift my lip to look at my teeth, pinch the skin at my neck. Then she presses on my belly and something there is painful. This Stranger pets very strangely. She pulls out her wand, points it at my chest with a muttered, "Sonorus," and bends her ear to it. After a moment, she retracts her wand and straightens. She offers one more admirable ear rub and a gentle smile before turning away to speak to My Humans. What a strange human.

The Tiny Humans are there now. I don't remember them coming in. The Spare Human is holding the smallest one—he is hardly out of the hairless kitten stage and suckles on his paw as he stares around the room with wide eyes that seem to blink rarely. The elder Tiny Human plays on the floor with a toy, occasionally trying to interject with questions, but the adult Humans ignore her or occasionally shush her. They are taking amongst themselves, the Stranger with a grave expression on her face. Tears run down My Human's cheeks and The Spare Human puts his free arm around her shoulders as he listens quietly.

I know then what they are talking about. On some level, I've known for some time.

My Human looks at me and our eyes lock. I offer her a few slow blinks. I try to tell her from across the room that it is okay. Try to convey my love and purrs through just our eyes. She buries her face in her hands for a moment, then lowers them, drawing in a deep breath.

She comes to me then. She kneels on the floor so her face is on level with mine and pets me gently. There is something different in her pets. It is as though she fears breaking me. But I lean into her hand, and she smiles a watery smile as she rubs the requested spot just behind my whiskers.

Then she looks to the Stranger and nods.

The Stranger opens her bag, and I see her preparing some sort of potions vials. I can't be much bothered by what she is doing. I'm tired. And I'm ready.

I don't fear The Great Rest. Not in the way humans do. Why fear something that is a part of life? Something we have all been working toward since birth? I have lived a long and beautiful life since My Human found me, and I have no regrets. But I am not without worries.

The tears on My Human's face worry me. The slumping of her posture worries me. I want to get up and go to her. I want to purr until her heart is soothed and her tears dry and her back straightens. But I'm just so tired. Who will do it when I am gone? Who will bring her mice when she has not eaten and who will zoom around the room to remind her to go to bed and who will sit on her lap and purr when she is stressed? How can I leave her behind?

It is at this moment that the Tiny Human sets aside her toy and toddles to My Human. It is clear she does not fully understand what is happening, but she understands her mother's pain and understands her need for comfort. Tiny humans are almost like cats in that way. Such a shame they all seem to forget this skill as they get older. The Tiny Human places pudgy arms around My Human's neck and My Human turns to look at her. Her motherly instinct immediately wipes the sorrow from her face, and she smiles at her daughter. But even if it started out as a farce, there is truth in that smile. She pulls her kitten close; they press their foreheads together and rub nose and a small laugh escapes My Human's lips.

The Spare Human puts his hand on My Human's shoulder now. The younger Tiny Human is still perched on his hip. My Human looks up at them from where she sits on the floor, still stroking my fur with one hand and hugging her kitten with the other. My Human and The Spare Human exchange an unspoken communication.

My Human looks to me once more. I blink slowly at her, assuring her it is alright. That I will be alright. She smiles. The crinkling of her eyes allows the tears she had tried to hide from her kitten to escape and streak down her face. But her back is straighter. She holds her head higher.

It is only when she turns back to the Stranger that I remember she is there. The Stranger has been waiting quietly. She nods to My Human in understanding, her face full of sympathy, then she moves back to me. She gives me another excellent ear rub before she pinches me, and I feel a small sting. This human really does pet very strangely indeed. But then she backs away and My Human is there again.

My Human strokes my fur and murmurs words I am too tired to quite listen to, but the tone is soothing. I rest my head on my paws and try to purr for her as she rubs the spot behind my whiskers. Her face seems to swim before me; my vision is going in and out of focus.

As I drift to sleep and beyond, I feel her lips press to the place just between my eyes. Moisture drips onto my head. Is it raining? Perhaps if it is raining the humans will light the fire.

"I love you so much, Crookshanks. Thank you."

I dream of the countryside. It is not raining here. It is a beautiful sunlit countryside. And a large black dog who is not a dog greets me there. And as we run, side-by-side across green hills, I feel no more pain. My body is again strong and light and fast and I am no longer tired. And I no longer worry.

My Humans are safe. They will look after each other.

For all The Humans and Spare Humans who have had to make an impossible choice out of love.
And for Jasper—Rest easy. The Spare Human will look after me.