This morning I got up and found Thurber the cat lying at the bottom of the stairs not breathing. He had passed quietly in the night. He was 18 years old, which is pretty extraordinary for a cat.
He was in the late stages of renal failure and had been sick for quite some time. This past week we knew it was getting bad because he was peeing all over everything and hiding from us beneath the bed. In fact, we had already decided to call the Humane Society and have him put to sleep, something I was NOT looking forward to.
Last night, he poked his head out and ate just a little bit. Then, as Jim was going to bed last night about 3am Jim laid down right next to him on the floor and said goodbye. I found him this morning in the exact same spot. So, it almost felt like he knew and decided to pass here at home.
So, we're sitting here wailing and crying. He was a great cat. He really was. He had his little routines and patterns.
For instance, every night he would crawl up on the bed and lie with Jim, purring loudly enough to rattle the walls. Then he'd crawl over to me and do the same. He'd lie there about 5 minutes, which seemed to be enough, and he'd go trotting off to do what cats do in the night.
He was the kind of cat who never struck at anyone. He could play well with babies as well as adults and loved attention.
To us, he was a little person. One that we loved dearly.
I'm gonna miss seeing that scene most of all, I think.