I miss Robin already.
Yesterday morning, very early, Kitti, Steeb-the-Roommate, and I went to the vet with Robin. When we took him in he was having trouble walking and was wheezing a lot. The vet suspects the tumor that caused his hyperthyroidism spread to his lungs (and possibly further) so it was clearly the right time. Robin was still mentally with it, but so tired and so uncomfortable that it would’ve been cruel to put it off any longer. To be honest, we probably put it off longer than we should have.
Steeb stayed with Robin during the procedure which was very fitting. Robin was born on Steeb’s lap 16 years ago.
Stupid cat. Stupid, shedding, shouting cat. He was a good boy and lasted 16 years despite all his attempts to off himself — like swallowing sewing needles, or constantly sleeping with his head hanging over the edge of tables so he’d choke.
He was smart in his own way. I’ve never had another cat who would run for the litterbox when he needed to barf. He was great to watch TV with. And he was one of the few cats I’ve ever had that liked having his feet rubbed.
One of the services our vet provides is a pawprint impression. I cried like a girl when I got home today and saw his prints. Those stupid toes.
I will miss you, Robin. I will miss your ears and your toes and the annoying way you loved to shove your nose in my eye when you were happy. I will miss your loud voice that betrayed your secret Siamese background. I will miss nearly stepping on you in the middle of the night because you’re sleeping in the bathroom. I will miss the way you would terrify the dog.
I will not miss picking your fur off everything because I suspect we’ll be doing that for at least another ten years.