Zeke, my cat, died this weekend. I knew this was coming. He was 19 after all. However, every time I thought he was close to actually going he got better and returned to his snooty self.
He was very lethargic all day Friday. Whenever I would move him he would just stay arranged in that position. He wasn't even annoyed when I petted his belly. Then by Saturday night his breathing was a bit labored and he could not keep his eyes open. We then moved Zeke into the bedroom. Andy and I talked to him and petted him. He moved around in his cat bed a little and then started gasping for air. That was the end. He stopped breathing and his heart was no longer beating.
I know he had a good life. A spoiled one at that. So far the hardest thing has been reminding myself he died. I keep looking for him around the house. Hanging out by the window, not sharing the food with the other cats, hissing at the dogs, etc.
So goodbye to my friend Zeke. Drinker of beer, eater of ice cream. You will never be forgotten.