Doo gave us a bad scare on Saturday.
After his dinner he was walking across the floor, froze in midstep, growled quietly and collapsed. His breathing was slow, shallow and labored. I carried him upstairs and made him comfortable on my sewing table, his hang out of late. I feared the worst as his breathing slowed and even stopped once or twice.
Colin and I sat with him for several hours. I made it clear that there would be no rushing off to any emergency clinic - he did not seem to be in pain or distress and, if these were his last moments they would be in quiet comfortable surroundings with people he knew. Sweetie even jumped up on the table to investigate.
As darkness fell, I moved him to my bed where he has been sleeping at my feet all week. In fact, he has been uncharacteristically under feet and hands for a week or more, insistently demanding attention and biting once it's given. Something has been coming.
While I watched he fell into a deep sleep. Jim and I discussed where we would be digging a grave for him. I fully expected that when I woke up, he would be gone. Colin and Jake both got home sometime after midnight and came in to see how he was, waking me.
As I awoke, Voodoo got up, gave a big Halloween cat stretch and looked around as if to say "What the Hell are y'all looking at?" He was a little unsteady at first but took himself downstairs, and wanted out. I went with him, worried that he would take himself off to commune with Nature in his last hours, as cats will. Instead, he did his business in the weeds, marched up the driveway to consult with Karma and Juicy who were doing guard duty, and then set off purposefully around the back of the house for the rest of his patrol. I let him go.
A few hours later (it's 2-ish now) Voodoo came back in and announced himself to Jim who was up doing paperwork and led him back upstairs and where he hopped back up by my feet to spend an uneventful night. When the time actually does come, and it will for all, I hope it goes this smoothly.
