I’ve read that change can be uncomfortable. Maybe that’s what is going on, because whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good.
I’m feeling an emptiness, like something is missing. My energy is down. The dog is suffering from it, because I don’t feel up to going for a walk even.
I think this has been going on since the Cranston fire evacuation (July 25), or at least around that time. There was real anxiety in my mind and body, as I was away and only learned of the fire online. Coming home from my trip, but not being able to go home yet, was unsettling.
Then my cat Bogart got sick. He stopped eating, moped around, cried a lot, lost weight and slept most of the time. At 15 years old, he went down fast. I felt bad, and yet he seemed to be telling me that it was getting to be his time to go.
Now, I didn’t always like this cat. He clawed furniture, crept out the front door, threw up his food on the rug, and could be a nuisance. But when he wanted to, he curled up in my lap and sometimes even purred himself to sleep. That was relaxing for both of us.
The night before he died, Bogart came into my bathroom as I was getting ready for bed. I tried to chase him out, as he likes to dump out the waste basket, but he ignored me and scooted under the soaking tub.
When I looked for him in the morning, he was no longer in the bathroom, having crawled to the hallway. I took him in my lap and held him for about an hour. He moved his body so that I held his head in my hand.
I left to run an errand, and when I returned, he had breathed his last.