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Losing my best friend

Tuesday, June 04, 2019

My best friend is my cat, Gibson. He's 18 and 1/2 years old and dying. Since he's resting comfortably, sleeping most of the time, we're letting his journey to the Rainbow Bridge progress naturally.

He's always been a "people" cat, friendly, curious, not at all obnoxious. Never scratched the furniture or jumped on the kitchen counters. He loved to take walks with us in our yard, and his favorite thing was drinking water from any little puddle he could find. He's ending, I think, his 10th life. We got him from our shelter when he was about 1; they'd picked him up from the pound to take care of him after he'd been found by Animal Control after being hit by a car. His left femoral head was crushed, so his left hip is held together with screws. He walked a little funny. Many years later someone in the neighborhood, we think, kicked him in the head and broke his jaw. He would have needed surgical repair that would have to have been done at a veterinary medical school 400 miles away. We opted not to go that route as anesthesia at the age of 16 would've been risky and the trip very stressful. He also became hyperthyroid, and was on medicine for that.

He belonged to both of us, but sort of became my cat. I was the primary feeder and groomer, and vet-taker, and how he hated being combed. His long hair was like cotton fuzz, and knotted up easily. After the broken jaw, he didn't clean himself very well, so I had to help. He frequently sought attention when I was at my computer, and would get up on the foot stool to pull the screen of my laptop down so I'd stop and feed him. I have that picture on my phone. It's so cute. I'm about to go check on him again, he's sleeping under my desk.

I'll leave you for now with this quote: "What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes part of us." Helen Keller

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