A horrible week

Last month  our sweet Sly was diagnosed with probable bladder cancer, as he had a mass. He was given shots of steriods and antibiotics and an oral NSAID. We understood it was only a matter of time, and a quality of life issue. He was 16, and we'd had him and his sister Tina for 6 years.

He was better, and then last weekend he wasn't. He was obviously uncomfortable, and having issues with his urine. He was sleeping, when he wasn't pacing. He looked at me, and I knew he'd had enough. He looked unkempt, the way cats do when they aren't grooming themselves. Sunday night I promised my sweet boo that I'd take care of him, and make it better. 

Monday we went to the vet. They gave him a shot of sedation, and I held him while he drifted away, then they gave him the final shot. His last awareness was of me holding him. What more can anyone ask? 

It was an easy decision. I'd made the same decision for my grandmother and my dad. I'm at peace with all the decisions. It's just so damn hard, and we're so damn sad. Tina has been looking for him, and every time I go into a room I automatically look for my boo. 

One friend asked how I could stay with him. I countered, how could I not? It wasn't about me, it was about Sly. I promised him he wouldn't be in pain, or afraid, and I lived up to my promise, which is some comfort. 

Damn, I miss my boo.