My best friend is dying. I don’t know how long I have left with her. Maybe a day or two, maybe a few months. But the reality is, everything dies. Me, you, and my beloved companion, Xena, who has made it nearly to her 15th birthday. I once created a blog for her, but the last time I posted anything was more than four years ago. Of the ten cats named in her blog only five are still alive. I stopped posting when they died or went missing, one after the other. They all loved her almost as much as I have. Here they are in happier times: http://xenadogblog.blogspot.com/

We dodged a bullet a couple of weeks ago. Her hind quarters gave out and, as a large breed, I knew it was only a matter of time. For several days she refused to eat or get up, soiling herself at times, which embarrassed her. So I dosed her with more painkillers than I would normally have done. If she was to leave me I wanted it to be pain free and in her sleep. But true to form, she rallied once again and within two days was playfully chasing her pet cat around the house.

The last couple of days she’s gone downhill again. Not eating, refusing her pain meds no matter how delectably I disguise them, and only rarely taking a drink of water. The thought of taking her to the vet at this point is terrifying because I know what they’re going to say. At 15, and in her deteriorating state, it’s time to let her go.

Years ago we made a pact. I begged her not to leave me, no matter what. As silly as that sounds I believe she hangs on for me. And now it’s time for me to let her go.