Dwight died. He wasn't ancient as cat's lives go, but he exercised his option on all nine. Bryan Day, who is staying in our house, emailed to let us know Dwight was doing poorly. We asked Bryan to take him to the vet. The vet emailed, we called and decided that the best thing was to euthanize my favorite cat. I didn't even know I liked cats until we got Dwight, but I found out. He used to lick my beard and my neck, and bite my ears until I couldn't take it. But he would hold on almost like a small child. A small child with claws and a predator's teeth.
As it turned out, he died on his own, resting exhausted on a blanket under a heat lamp at the vet's office. This was some small relief, but I'd again had the experience of deciding on an ending. Can I please be seven years old again?
Losing a favorite pet from a great distance was strange, and we each handled it in our own way.
While we've established a regular domestic life in India, Dwight's death was a little needed reminder of our lives at home and how parts of those lives go on and even go away while we're gone.
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