It's Person again, finally here with Flossie's last post.
It's been fairly common, in companion animals I have lived with and others I've known, when it became apparent and undeniable that they were at the end of their lives, there would be this unexpected little burst of energy: for an hour, maybe even an afternoon - they seemed to be consciously soaking in for one last time all the things they had enjoyed in their little lives: barking at the mailman, playing with a favorite toy, eating a special treat. It has always been like a little gift that they give us, after watching them grow old or dealing with terminal illness - we all get that one last happy little memory to hold onto forever and ever.
I have never seen anyone do this to the extreme that Flossie did.
She had been "showing her age" for quite some time.
Her little body was showing signs of simply shutting down, and her last bloodwork confirmed that. She would lick small amounts of Gerber Beef Stew from a spoon or my finger, but showed little to no interest in any other food.
Her litterbox had been moved up from the basement so she wouldn't have to brave the long staircase, and we mostly just cuddled all day long.
For an entire weekend I watched her every breath, fearing that Monday morning we would have to make a heartbreaking decision. On Sunday I chose to stop giving fluid therapy - and I promised her I would never do anything else that she didn't want to do. Monday morning she woke up earlier than she had in months, and waited at the basement door for someone to open it, follow her down the stairs and out the door to the backyard (as if this was something we did every day; in fact, we rarely did this and hadn't since last summer).
I scrambled to pull together my drawing supplies, iPad, and a few other office essentials so I could get some work done while we were out there - and we spent several hours in the backyard.
When she decided it was time to come in she waited at the door again, marched up the stairs by herself, and then surprised me by hopping up on her table where she had always been fed. I opened a can of cat food not expecting her to touch it, but she devoured the whole thing
then curled up in a sunny afternoon window spot she hadn't gone to for months.
Each morning for the rest of the week, she woke up earlier than the last
and insisted that we hurry outside
where she would lie in her bed in the sun
or in the grass
checking out all her favorite spots
soaking in the sunshine
and then curl back up in my lap inside for the rest of the evening.
It was as if she was literally marking each event off of a list - all the things she hadn't done in so long, some of them in years.
Parts of the house and yard she hadn't visited. Toys she hadn't played with. Catnip. Even a visit outside the backyard fence to the alley and the neighbors' garage.
Friday morning she was up with the sun and seemed more insistent than ever to go out. Half-asleep, I pulled jeans and a sweatshirt on over my pajamas and followed her out; it was still quite chilly and the grass was dewy. After a walk around the damp yard, she curled up contentedly in my lap. Eventually Husband Guy woke up too, and thoughtfully brought me a latte.
There we sat until the sun came out from the clouds and warmed us
and dried out the grass.
After a few hours soaking in the sun, she asked to go back inside
and we cuddled for the rest of her life.
There is so much we can learn from this bizarre and unique little creature, and her funny little life.
It's all about love . . . giving it, soaking it in.
That's all there is.
Well, that - and sunshine.
Love and sunshine to you all; thanks for letting us share this blog with you for all these years and for being part of Flossie's happy little life.
xo
