Day of the World Tree, 8th of Midsommar, 526 M.E. (Deneb): Today was the first day in seventeen years without Eliot in the house. Weird. 

F'rinstance, when I woke up this morning, I was careful rolling over so as to not crush the cat that usually lies at the foot of my bed. Making my morning coffee, I kept expecting to see him catwalk into the kitchen to beg for a treat, you know, as long as I had the door open to that cabinet where the goodies are stored. Right now, it's approaching his feeding time, and it's strange not hearing him reminding me that it's almost time for dinner.

I gathered up and cleaned all his food dishes and water bowls today, as well as the various cardboard boxes scattered in corners around the house. I haven't put away the litter box yet - for some reason, that feels like the last and final act admitting he's gone for good

Eliot's health had been declining for over a year, with at least one vet suggesting squamous-cell carcinoma. But for the last week, he was barely able to get up at all, struggling to make occasional forays to the food dish and litter box. Other than that, he just spent the entire day curled up on a favorite chair. Thursday night, I saw him barely manage to make a simple one-foot leap from that chair to an end table, and then barely able to walk across that table to his water bowl, as if he was losing motor control of his legs. That's when I knew it was time. 

The vets were great, and had a special room set up for his departure with candles, a soothing white-noise generator, blankets, etc. They couldn't have been kinder, fussing over him with treats and head scratches to get him past his anxiety about being in a strange place. Or kinder to me, assuring me I was doing the right and humane thing. 

They gave the two of us a minute ("take as much time as you need") to say our goodbyes and then took him back to the O.R., or whatever it is back there, and gave him a sedative. They brought him back, asleep and wrapped in a blanket, and then with me present gave him a second injection that stopped his heart. He didn't flinch or react to the euthanasia and the vet, who had a finger on his pulse through the whole final procedure, announced "he's gone" just a few seconds after the injection. He died painlessly, comfortably, and quietly. 

I took his body home with me and placed him in a hole I had dug earlier in the day in the garden, next to where I buried his brother, Izzy. It was so difficult seeing him in the ground and to put the first shovelful of dirt over his body, and I can't say there weren't tears involved. Both cats now have heart-shaped gravestones next to their burial sites, which I can see from my kitchen window.

Impermanence is swift but our attachments can linger. 

Izzy died suddenly, unexpectedly, and apparently painlessly in his sleep, a winter afternoon nap from which he never awoke. Eliot died surrounded by loving people doing everything we could to keep him as comfortable as possible. 

I hope that when my time comes, it will be as painless and comfortable for me.