Go gently, sweet boy

I drove to Clarksville this morning, just me and Ike. Iky, who would usually scream the whole way, made one sad cry and then was silent. The night had been miserable, with E and I taking turns lying next to Ike on the floor, watching him breathe heavily and groan and cry.

I carried Ike into the dimly lit consultation room and sat on the sofa holding him. Then he struggled off to sit on the cool floor; I sat with him, stroking his shiny black head. Because he was so anemic and there might be trouble getting a vein, the vet gave him a sedative, but Ike still didn't relax, he just seemed bothered by the taste in his mouth from the medicine. The vet shaved his leg and found the vein easily. Quickly, peacefully, silently, Ike finally relaxed in my arms. His head softened onto the crook of my elbow as she said "He's gone."

My dear little cat, my friend for the last 16 years, where would I have been without you through all those lonely days, when every human had disappointed me, hurt me? I can feel your warm furry body, hear your rhythmic purring, smell your freshly groomed scent. For a long time it was just you and me and Pammy. We lost her together, and I hope you are somewhere together again. I have loved you and cherished you more than I can ever describe, and I will miss you forever. You were one of a kind.

In Memory of Ike

Eisenhower Brinsley

January 1992-April 9, 2008