“Wixie is Gone”

The vet called, early this afternoon, to say that Wixie, my cat, was perkier this morning.

When I picked up Corinne at work, I told her that it probably means she'll "go soon."

I was right. Just a little while later, the vet called again to say that Wixie was having a bad seizure. It was time to give up. I agreed, let her go, there's no life left for her even if she could somehow live a little longer. Whatever had her in its jaws wasn't being gentle. As if sucking her dry, dropping her weight from eight pounds to just three -- in just of a few weeks -- wasn't enough, she'd gone partially blind in the last few days, with numerous small hernias around the corneas in both eyes.

That's always how it works: the body seems to use all its energy fighting whatever is killing it, but when it gives up, there's a little time -- maybe a few hours -- that its few remaining resources aren't being wasted on a lost cause. The sun shines again, just a little. This is when those new to death's way will often, sadly, take hope. It's almost always a false hope.

Wixie's gone now, coaxed gently to sleep eternal by a doctor who had come to love my sweet friend in just a few days -- caring for her in the doctor's own home -- nearly as much as Corinne and I do.

Goodbye, little girl. It truly is better to have loved, and loved, and loved, and loved, and loved, and lost, than never to have loved you at all. You had a wonderful four years.