Prudence
06-23-2010, 07:39 PM
Boris, you were the best cat in the universe. I loved you. I still love you. I will always love you. You had so much personality your little body couldn't hold it all. I wanted more time with you, but couldn't watch you suffer any more. I hope you're not angry with me. I wanted to do it at home, but you couldn't breathe and I couldn't listen to you struggle and cough up fluid any more. I just couldn't see you go through it any more. Was that selfish of me? I hope not.
I love you, Boris. I love your crooked tail and your alligator belly and your long, long legs. I love how since you lost your top fangs you'd get your lip caught in an "Elvis" sneer - or, even better, a DOUBLE Elvis, sometimes complete with tongue tip hanging out. I love how you appeared to levitate, not merely jump, as if you should be playing hoops. I love how in the morning as soon as you'd hear us stir - even if it was 3am and we just had to pee - you'd levitate onto the bed with a "Mrow!" and headbutt us until you'd had enough petting. I love how you'd indicate you wanted us to turn on cat tv by opening the window and then you'd stare outside at all the action.
I love how you went from being afraid of the noise the piano made as you leapt onto the keyboard on the way to the top to being okay with the noise to not-so-secretly enjoying the noise and taking your time to walk down the keyboard playing cat piano as you went. I love how you'd tackle a fresh sluggy, licking that catnip toy until it was positively soggy.
I love how you were a noisy eater sometimes, even grunting if it was especially good. I love how you'd hear that tuna can crack and instantly be underfoot with a great hue and cry, not letting me forget that you were there, that you liked tuna, and that if I didn't give you some you might take me down to get at it. I love how you'd covet my Spaghetti-Os and lick the bowl so clean when I was done that I could have replaced it in the cupboard and no one would have been the wiser.
I love that I got almost two more months with you. I love that you were yourself, valiantly trying to hump Sasha, stealing food, making a mess of things, and so sweetly tolerating all your treatments.
I love that the last two nights I got to spend with you under the covers snuggled up with me, the one thing you never otherwise enjoyed that I kind of wish you did.
I hate that you're gone. I hate that I had to take you to the vet instead of doing it at home like I'd planned. I hate having to have done that to you. I hate that I couldn't do more for you. I hate that I didn't go all out for the kidney transplant when I could have. I hate that I'm here, surrounded by memories of you, by your medicine, by things you peed on in your last days that I haven't cleaned up yet.
I hate that I feel some relief. I can travel again! Apply for those jobs in Hawaii! Go to huge swinging DL 55th parties without arranging care! How can I be happy about this? How can I bear to live a life without you in it? You have defined me for over a decade. You have been my Boris! My Man Katt! My baby that I love more than even I have words to express.
And now you are gone. You didn't purr at the end, or look up at me particularly lovingly, or otherwise give me some overt sign that yes, you wanted this, and it was good. No, you were a fighter to the end - still curious about the sights seen on the drive there, still sassing the vet, still showing that Boris spirit. You weren't as broken as I thought you would be when it was time, so I wondered - and still do wonder - if I was being premature, if I was robbing you of precious life.
But then I'd hear you breathe, and the death rattle was undeniable. And you'd cough up wetness onto my arm. How could I let you go on? How could I make you live through another night? We could have treated you, but you would have been in the hospital and you hate that so much. And even with all that, you probably wouldn't get better. I didn't want you to spend your last days in the hospital - it was bad enough to spend your last minutes at the vet.
Boris, I am so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't do more for you. I'm sorry I didn't give you my lap every time you wanted it. I'm sorry I couldn't fix you.
I hope you had a good life. I hope you think I was a good companion. I did the best I could, but you were so wonderful and deserved better.
But no one could have loved you more than I did. I loved you. I love you. I will love you forever. You are my Boris. You are my cat.
Boris Man Katt Zobrist: 11 July 1997 - 23 June 2010
I love you, Boris. I love your crooked tail and your alligator belly and your long, long legs. I love how since you lost your top fangs you'd get your lip caught in an "Elvis" sneer - or, even better, a DOUBLE Elvis, sometimes complete with tongue tip hanging out. I love how you appeared to levitate, not merely jump, as if you should be playing hoops. I love how in the morning as soon as you'd hear us stir - even if it was 3am and we just had to pee - you'd levitate onto the bed with a "Mrow!" and headbutt us until you'd had enough petting. I love how you'd indicate you wanted us to turn on cat tv by opening the window and then you'd stare outside at all the action.
I love how you went from being afraid of the noise the piano made as you leapt onto the keyboard on the way to the top to being okay with the noise to not-so-secretly enjoying the noise and taking your time to walk down the keyboard playing cat piano as you went. I love how you'd tackle a fresh sluggy, licking that catnip toy until it was positively soggy.
I love how you were a noisy eater sometimes, even grunting if it was especially good. I love how you'd hear that tuna can crack and instantly be underfoot with a great hue and cry, not letting me forget that you were there, that you liked tuna, and that if I didn't give you some you might take me down to get at it. I love how you'd covet my Spaghetti-Os and lick the bowl so clean when I was done that I could have replaced it in the cupboard and no one would have been the wiser.
I love that I got almost two more months with you. I love that you were yourself, valiantly trying to hump Sasha, stealing food, making a mess of things, and so sweetly tolerating all your treatments.
I love that the last two nights I got to spend with you under the covers snuggled up with me, the one thing you never otherwise enjoyed that I kind of wish you did.
I hate that you're gone. I hate that I had to take you to the vet instead of doing it at home like I'd planned. I hate having to have done that to you. I hate that I couldn't do more for you. I hate that I didn't go all out for the kidney transplant when I could have. I hate that I'm here, surrounded by memories of you, by your medicine, by things you peed on in your last days that I haven't cleaned up yet.
I hate that I feel some relief. I can travel again! Apply for those jobs in Hawaii! Go to huge swinging DL 55th parties without arranging care! How can I be happy about this? How can I bear to live a life without you in it? You have defined me for over a decade. You have been my Boris! My Man Katt! My baby that I love more than even I have words to express.
And now you are gone. You didn't purr at the end, or look up at me particularly lovingly, or otherwise give me some overt sign that yes, you wanted this, and it was good. No, you were a fighter to the end - still curious about the sights seen on the drive there, still sassing the vet, still showing that Boris spirit. You weren't as broken as I thought you would be when it was time, so I wondered - and still do wonder - if I was being premature, if I was robbing you of precious life.
But then I'd hear you breathe, and the death rattle was undeniable. And you'd cough up wetness onto my arm. How could I let you go on? How could I make you live through another night? We could have treated you, but you would have been in the hospital and you hate that so much. And even with all that, you probably wouldn't get better. I didn't want you to spend your last days in the hospital - it was bad enough to spend your last minutes at the vet.
Boris, I am so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't do more for you. I'm sorry I didn't give you my lap every time you wanted it. I'm sorry I couldn't fix you.
I hope you had a good life. I hope you think I was a good companion. I did the best I could, but you were so wonderful and deserved better.
But no one could have loved you more than I did. I loved you. I love you. I will love you forever. You are my Boris. You are my cat.
Boris Man Katt Zobrist: 11 July 1997 - 23 June 2010