It wasn't my intention to post any further photos on PBase (but never say never). However I was just looking at the photos of Lucy's 19th birthday (which are here but not on Flickr yet), and noticed the number of comments below them. Those who are also on Flickr are aware of this, but that's a minority. So to close out the story... I'll do one last(?) post...
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There is a last time that you do anything. Most of the time you don't realise it. The last time you visited a cafe before your schedule changed, or a hotel before it unexpectedly closed. The last time you played squash. The last time you used a floppy disk. You never expected it to be the last time, it's just that life moved off in a different direction and left part of your past behind.

On other occasions you do know it will be the last time. The last time you're in a workplace when you quit your job. The last time you're in a house before you move.

Or sometimes, the last photographs that you take of a pet who has been a companion for 14 years, and alive for the better part of 20. 19 years and 7 months to be exact. Yes, I did say 19. Whether Lucy the Jungle Cat (Tabby) knew that within a couple of hours of this shot being taken her time would be at an end, I don't know. Probably not. She is stubborn and cantankerous and determined to live "for ebah", which is all part of what made her such a loved friend. My usual mode of address to her, such as when she's meowing at my door for "breaffass" at 03:30 or demanding to be let out as soon as the back door is shut for the night was "Helllooo, Pain in Mah Butt", always delivered as affectionately as it was half seriously.

In this photo she looks like her usual self; old but sturdy. From the neck up (leaving aside the cataracts on her eyes and the loss of almost all of her teeth over the years), that was probably true.

She isn't. Her body has been falling apart for a long time now, but at a turbo pace just recently. There's diabetes, which she's had for at least 10 years and which, in theory, cats should either recover from or die from within 2. While that had been kept under control with twice daily insulin injections, of late she has been prone to going hypoglycaemic after an injection which is more dangerous than an elevated sugar level. She had thyroid problems, necessitating the application of a cream daily. There was arthritis. There were semi torn ligaments which make her shuffle rather than walk, and which have prevented her from jumping for at least 2 years as well as requiring daily pain medicine and monthly anti-inflammatory injections.

And there was body weight that was edging lower every month.

As soon as I saw her weight at her April injection, my immediate thought was "that's torn it...". I made the next appointment with the vet instead of the nurses, and a week ahead of schedule. She had dropped 6.15% of her body mass in a single month. It made the drop in 4 months almost 12%. No healthy individual does that. Her eating had become very erratic, but not enough to say "that's definitive". For the last week of April she was more or less normal, or as normal as she had been, save for the fact that at times she had difficulty even climbing onto her floor pillow. But then her eating became even more intermittent. She was having difficulty passing stools. We found out toward the end that her bladder control had been going; not in terms of gushing but in terms of dripping onto her bedding.

And her weight continued to drop.

By last Saturday night, the decision had effectively been taken. The thought occurred to me at that moment that out of all the endless tomorrows that once seemed to exist... she had seen her last Saturday afternoon. She was seeing her last Saturday evening. She had one more Sunday, Monday, Tuesday... and Saturday morning. The appointment was at 9:10 this morning.

On Monday I called the vet to update him on what had been happening and how the appointment would no longer be for a simple pain relief injection, but he knows how to read a chart. He knew this was coming. He extended the appointment and made the necessary arrangements.

I do wonder whether it is better to not know when it's going to happen, or to know exactly when it's going to happen and have that morbid countdown timer running.

To the extent that I could get her to eat, I made sure that she had available every treat that she loved. She even had some bacon last night. (But not enough to shift the needle; on her final weigh in she had dropped 9.43% since the April weigh in, or 20% since December.) Her entire extended family made sure that she was given all the attention and love she could be. Even her favourite vet nurse turned up to assist when the time came. When I looked up and saw her walk through the door I said "I had a feeling you'd be here."

I'm writing this several hours after the event. Naturally it hasn't sunk in yet. I heard a clicking noise and looked up expecting to see her walk in. Of course she didn't, and won't again. I hesitated pushing my chair back because sometimes she would sneak up behind it and I wanted to be careful not to hit her... until I looked around and realised that the bed wasn't there. It will take some getting used to, just as it did when the wolf passed a bit over 2 years ago.

I'm grateful for one thing. The Bureau had forecast a dreadful, overcast, raining Saturday. Thankfully they were wrong and it was sunny and warm, allowing her some time outside in the garden alongside her beloved pool before her final journey. Also, I obviously took a lot of photos over the last week, most of them of her asleep in her bed in my office. I'm glad that I had a chance to do one last sparkling, light filled one of her. A shot which, incidentally, was the only time since my first portrait of her in 2011 where I got her to look straight into the camera. Make of that what you will.

Goodbye, Pain in Mah Butt. You were the best cat I've ever known. You deserved every milligram of the love you got, and gave back in measure. You'll always be remembered.