Every morning it's the smell of this place. It really is like breathing in the bitter, acrid scent of Twinkle's death over and over. It adds a bitter edge to every time I come here, because it's uniformly disturbing even without that association, but the fact is, it has it.
They do a trial period for working from home to make sure it goes smoothly. I'm thinking of setting a date for mid-July. It's when I'm kind of thinking of getting a kitten. Maybe I shouldn't, though. I'm going to have to paint the place at least, and two cats is enough to deal with trying to show the place. I'll have to think about it.
This morning I can't stop dwelling on Bonnie's last moments. Sense of betrayal, even though analytically I know we were really down to no realistic options. Extend her life; let her life to the end with some dignity. Pick one. It wasn't going to be both. But I invited a lady to come over and end her life. Me. I chose that. Obviously I didn't do it to save money. I did it to save her from dying by inches... which, I have to face it now, she had been, for weeks. Months. But no matter how I try to wrestle with it, it still doesn't sit right.
What I remember was how hard it was just to get that first needle into her. There was almost nowhere for it to go, and so it was hard. And I remember she raised her head and protested, gently but clearly. And it was as clear as if she's spoken English. "Ow, come on. Not another damn needle. I've had enough of those in the past month. Give me a break." And it was, really, pretty much the last thing she ever did. She relaxed again, drifted off into a sleep so deep even squeezing her paw didn't stir her, and then came the other needle.
I kind of wish that had been as quick as with Max. But with Bonnie, she lived about another five minutes, though I couldn't see her breathing. With Max, it was over. There wasn't time for me to sit there, second-guessing myself. With Bonnie, there was. All the while, there was this sad, pleading little voice inside my head, urging me, She's still alive... maybe they can still reverse this. Maybe you can still have her tomorrow. There's still time. Say something.
But louder, firmer... Tomorrow? Another day where, for whatever reason, she can't even drink water? And clearly, hasn't been eating, even at night when you can't see her? Who was I kidding? Just myself. Tomorrow is another day of hunger and diminishment, and now the torture of a thirst she can't slake. No, this is the right thing to do, and it has to be now. Tough it out...
I still don't have her ashes back. And it feels like the longer that takes, the harder it's going to be when I do get them. I'm trying to make plans for a new glass case for the now ponderous collection of the loved and lost, human and feline, I'm sharing my home with. They now outnumber the living. But I suppose in general that's always been true.