Friday morning she was fine. She woke me for breakfast, stampeded down the stairs with Mako, jumped onto the kitchen table to be fed. She ate a few nibbles of her breakfast. I was relieved. False alarm, thank God. I went to work worried, but mostly reassured. I was taking a half day vacation day because I needed to use it up before my new cycle started, so it was convenient that I'd be able to check on her just in case. Looking back at my journal entry from that day, I think I knew deep down that she was not okay, but I tried to convince myself anyway.
I got home around 12:30 and Morgaine was not in any of her spots. She was not on the sofa or the loveseat or the kitchen table or the bed. She was sprawled out on my office floor, panting. My impulse was to just take a nap and hope everything had resolved itself when I woke up. But instead I called Kylie to come over. As I've stated again and again, I don't know what I'd do without her. She took one look at Morgaine and insisted that she needed to go to the vet. I was resistant. Surely it was just a cold. No need to go jumping to conclusions. Everything was fine.
We sat on the floor of my office across the room from Morgaine, so as not to stress her out any further. As we debated whether or not she needed to go to the vet, she got up and walked over to me. She rubbed against the length of me, curling her little tail around my arm, and laid down next to me for a few minutes before making her way into the bedroom. In retrospect, this tiny moment of affection means more to me than I can possibly express in words. But at the time, I thought her getting up meant she was fine, and I insisted we go downstairs and let her rest while we ate lunch. We'd check on her when we were finished. I turned the air conditioner on and spread out her favorite blanket for her.
|Her last place.|
We got there early, of course, and Morgaine went from bad to worse while we waited. She was crying and panting and coughing and gasping. She flipped around, trying to get into a better position to breathe. She peed herself and Kylie went to get a vet tech. The tech took one look at Morgaine and rushed her away, ushering us into an exam room to wait. I knew then that she was never coming home, though I tried really hard to believe otherwise.
|Waiting at the vet - stress splotches.|
|She'll never great me at the door again.|
|She'll never meow at me through the window again.|
|She'll never wait here to be fed again.|
|She'll never sit here while we eat dinner again.|
|Her dish will never be here again.|
|She'll never wait at the top of the steps for me again.|
|She'll never sleep on the bed again.|
|Heart-shaped mozzarella bite from the day she died.|
|My tiniest baby.|