I'm very sad to write that Caesar is no longer with us. He had kidney problems, and during this last week, his kidneys had started to fail. He was put to sleep on Friday, 5th January. He is now at peace and is buried in our garden. He was 12 years old, and his last couple of years with us was very happy. He was sweet and special and we're going to miss him very much.
10 comments:
Oh no, I am sorry to hear about Caesar. You will miss him very much. Despite their sadness I love the portraits you have made of him, feeling unwell, and leaving you. A lovely memorial to Caesar.
Oh Tammy, so sorry to hear about Caesar. Think of all the good times.
Hugs
How sad for you to lose your good friend. Your paintings of Caesar are beautiful - you must have many happy memories of your years together.
My heart goes out to you.
Sorry for your loss,
He was the coolest of cats,
from your drawings of him.
hey there you, again i'm really sorry about the sad news... it must be tough right now, but i'm sure that wherever caesar is now, then he is prancing away happily using psychic arm machines to open the cupboard doors in feline-heaven to get to those cans of tuna... seriously though, he'll be ok now, i'm certain...
hugs
I'm so sorry to hear about Caesar. I'm sure you made him just as happy as he made you, and he had a wonderful long life. May Caesar make you smile with fond memories and continued inspiration.
All the best,
Melissa
awww; very sorry you lost your kitty. I know he was your favorite 'subject'; so kind you are to share him with us all this time
Tammy...I know how dificult it is to lose a pet. Cats are so personable, too. I think it's harder to see their lives end. Chin up...he's probably lining up another kitty to send your way!
I'm so sorry to hear about that. :-( In tribute, here is a goodbye letter I wrote to my cat Bembo after I had to put her to sleep:
Goodbye, my dear sweet Bembo. I don't remember if I've written you goodbye on one of your many near-death vet visits, but even if so I want to write you again. You're pretty incredible as cats go. And you're really my first
longtime pet. We've been together for over 15 years, and according to
various vets, you're probably closer to 20 years old. I hear that's old, forcats.
Your life was pretty rough when we first met. But I like to think you've had many years of relative comfort. You were unbelievably thin back then (almost as thin as you are now) and you had just given birth to kittens. I remember the day Suzette found you and brought you home to be a companion to
Fidget, our other cat. You walked across our driveway in Mesquite with your belly dragging the ground. I wasn't so excited about keeping you, either. But I came around. She found you outside the White Swan Building, where I've
now worked for the last 8 years. I still see cats living there in the
drainpipes and raising their kittens. There is one that must be a distant relative of yours. She looks just like you, except she's so wild you can't get near her. Well, maybe you could.
This morning I'm taking you to see Dr. McKinney for the last time. To put you to sleep. It's such an awful thing to think about, but I know it's time. You can barely walk anymore, and it seems so hard for you to even breathe. But I'm selfish, so this is hard for me to do. I don't want to come home and not have you here. You have loved me through everything, and been
my only companion at times. I can't bear to think of coming home and you not being perched atop the beanbag chair or sleeping soundly on the stereo, where you went so often for warmth. Or not sitting on the ledge of the tub between the shower curtain and the liner when I showered (you grossed me out
when you would jump in the tub afterwards and lick the puddles of water).
And I can't imagine sitting in my favorite chair and you not hopping into my lap to watch TV with me. And that crazy crackling meow you have. You've sounded old as long as I've known you. That sound will haunt me for a long time, I think. Even now I sometimes think I hear you when I'm not even at home.
It hurts me to look at you now. You've shrunk to almost nothing. I
barely notice your weight when I wake up with you on top of me. Although it's been about a week since you've had the strength to jump up on the bed. You've been sleeping under the bed instead, and I know that means you aren't
feeling well.
There were several times in the last year that I thought you wouldn't make it. But as Tanya said last night (she will miss you too, by the way), the last few months have been like a bonus. And they have. You seemed to know it, too. You've followed me like a shadow for quite some time now, and it feels like we've shared a very long goodbye.
Now I prepare to take you for our last car ride together. And it breaks my heart. The memory of Kathy and I putting Muffin to sleep is burned into my mind. I remember the sadness as I felt her heart stop beating. But I also remember the peace. And I want you to stop suffering and have some peace, too. It's awful to see you the way you are now. I hope you know how much I
love you.
I also hope you've forgiven me for all the times I wasn't such a good dad. Accidentally locking you in the closet, letting you get into the air vents, and all the others. I've often said you've had way more than 9 lives. And even the most recent time, a couple of months ago, when you somehow escaped and spent the entire night outside. You hadn't spent a night outside in 15 years, and I was terrified. I thought for sure you had escaped to go off and die somewhere. But no, you showed up the following morning like it was no big deal. You are one incredible cat.
Well, it's time to go, and my heart is aching. I've cried so much this morning I think I'm out of tears. Thank you so much for being my little friend. You've been with me through so many important parts of my life. Andyou never judged me. Maybe someday I'll get another pet, but there willalways be only one Bembo in my heart. Rest in peace, my friend.
Goodbye Caesar, sweet dreams.
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