For the first time in 16 years, my house is missing the quiet company of a cat.

We first learned about Dexter’s tumor a few months ago after we noticed a bump behind his ear. It grew slowly and steadily, but internally. There weren’t really outward signs of deterioration until the past few weeks.

The tumor had gotten so large that he couldn’t eat, and his tongue would sit hanging out of his mouth. (At last, his dopey expression matched his dopey personality… and I say that with an immense amount of love.)

On Monday, we scheduled the appointment for the end of this week to take him to his final vet visit. In the days that followed, we prepared the kids that Dexter was in his last days. And this morning before school, they said their last goodbyes.

After the kids left, Dexter joined me for my workout. He’s been doing that of his own accord the past couple of weeks, just so he can get a few pets from me between sets. Maybe he sensed the end was near.

When I was done, he hobbled up the stairs behind me and waited for me to be ready to go. He’s always been good about getting in the carrier and riding in the car, and today was no different.

I usually put the crate on the floor in the back seat, but today I let him sit in front next to me. I put the window down and we listened to 90s dance music (on my todo list for my latest Music League round).

We arrived at the animal hospital and sat quietly in the waiting room. I gave him scratches through his carrier, and when I poked my head down to look at him, he purred. He’d do that often—just purr at the sight of us.

The vet called us to the back, got Dexter’s weight, and confirmed what I had suspected. He might’ve been able to make it another week or two, but his health would continue to deteriorate.

So we made the call, the one I had been preparing for. I thought I had reached a level of acceptance, but as the vet asked, “What would you like to do with his remains?” the feelings of grief came flooding in.

That word: remains… it’s all that’s left after a life well lived. It’s not him. It’s just the leftovers. Ouch.

I stayed with Dexter as they put him under. He didn’t fight, and as I pet him, he kept on quietly purring, slower and slower. He rested his head down the blanket, and gently went to sleep. I’m glad his final moments were peaceful ones.

I felt the lightness of the crate as I walked out, and my heart felt heavy.

—

In his life, Dexter couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, because he wasn’t smart enough to find his way in. He didn’t care for food or treats. He never really liked to play. But he also never bit or hissed or scratched, or made anyone feel unwelcome. He’d give you gentle taps to let you know when he wanted to cuddle… which was always.

Dexter wasn’t a bright cat, but he was a good cat. A perfect cat.
Dare I say one of the all-time greats.

current mood: sad

current music: kimberly akimbo – father time