My sweet Rusty passed away Christmas Eve. I had to put him down. He was 13 years old and had cancer. He was on meds and in remission, very thin at 7.5 pounds, but maintaining. He was happy, eating, loving...so loving, much more than usual towards the end. I started calling him my puppy cat because he stuck to me like glue the last few months. I knew the time was coming but I didn't expect him to get up from the floor that evening and suddenly completely lose use of his right hind leg. I panicked when I saw him dragging it. I was besides myself. Some dear friends rushed us to the emergency clinic and we were told that he had fluid accumulated throughout his body...his abdomen, around his lungs, around his kidneys. The vet said the loss of his leg was probably nerve damage from the cancer. I wasn't ready. I didn't see it coming so soon. He'd been so "comfortable" until that point, at least as far as I could tell. But Rusty was ready. I wasn't going to let my baby suffer. I just couldn't do that. So we said goodbye. I held him while he got the injection, held his face and told him how much I love him. He looked at me with that same trusting look he always had for me. His eyes stayed open but I saw the change in them when he left. It was barely discernible, something only a mommy could notice. I'm all cried out. But I don't want to mourn his death. We had too many happy times to let it end badly. Christmas Eve was a good night to go. I believe there are extra angels around that night. I'm sure one swooped him up. Have fun where you are my little Sweetie. We will meet again. I'll be looking for you when I get there!
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