Two weeks after we heard that Nate didn't have cancer and had a treatable disease... we had to let him go. This has been the hardest, saddest month, week, weekend, and yesterday was the hardest day Mark and I have ever faced, hands down.

Nate had been back for a blood transfusion this month and then last week they put a long IV of medicine into him since the chemo pills didn't seem to be doing much. He still just got weaker and weaker. By the weekend we were moving him from place to place to be near us and, if he got up or seemed alarmed, we took him to the litter box. Even there he might or might not go and then he would lay down because he was too tired to get up and out. Last week after the IV meds he was totally wacko one night and I could tell he was paranoid and anxious. He was trying to get to the highest spots in the garage and the house. It was hard to not be able to reassure him that these feelings were just the meds. That was before he got so weak.

Saturday Mark went to the Citywide and then had a gig that night so Nate and I were home together a lot. I took my last pictures of him in my office window, him and Willie both smelling the fresh air and looking outside and being content little brothers. Saturday night he stayed mostly by a heater on a shelf in the garage. I checked constantly and tried to get him to eat, but he had no appetite at all. Sunday we took him to the emergency clinic. They checked the blood levels and it was down to 9% or something terrible. The sweet young doctor talked to us a long time. There was one more med they could try, but it is unstable and becomes ineffective sometimes. It had only a small chance of working and he would have had to have had another blood transfusion just to get healthy enough to take the meds. Then, if they should work, he'd be taking them or a combination of other drugs for the rest of is life, which might still be short. She talked about euthanasia meaning "good death" and how this could be the last gift we give to him, the gift of eliminated his suffering.

We could have done it then, but we decided we wanted to talk to the regular doctor one more time and also bring him home one more time. We hoped we could do it at home. We came home and cried through the afternoon. Mark had to go play a gig so Nate and I had some more time alone. I held him in my arms like a baby and he never resisted. I told him all the stories of how we got him and how sweet and wonderful he has been through the years... the stories about the feather dusters and Miss L Toe and his disappearance for 5 days. He listened and listened.

Yesterday morning, after a short, fit-full night, but a night with Nathan between our heads for the last time, we woke up to thunder and rain. I was so grateful that Nate was with us and not at the clinic since he is scared of thunder. We called Dr. Locke and she was sweet and compassionate and advised us to put him out of his memory as there was little else that could be done.

Mark called our clinic to see if our regular vet could come to the house, but got so choked up he couldn't talk. I took the phone and talked to sweet Rachel who said it was our vet's day off, but she would call her. Meanwhile, we called some other mobile vets we heard of and couldn't get anyone on the phone or find one that was available. Dr. O called us back and she couldn't come to the house, but she was willing to come to the office, so we said we would meet her there at 1030. So we had a little more time to sob and stroke our sweet kitty while he laid in front of the fire, just too weak to move. Then we bundled him up in a towel and went to the clinic. I drove and got out first to go check to make sure there wasn't a dog in the waiting room since he wasn't in his carrier. Rachel met me outside and hugged me and directed us straight to a room with a blanket on the exam table. She and Dr. O came in and talked to us and let us have some more time and then gave sweet Nate a strong sedative to put him to sleep. They allowed us all the time we needed to sob and say goodbye and only when we gave the go-ahead did they give him an overdose of anesthetic. He didn't feel a thing and didn't resist and his little tail stopped twitching and his heart stopped. They again allowed us some time alone with him. They took him away and we had to leave alone. That was so hard to do.

We came home and sobbed and sobbed and then took pills to knock ourselves out for a while and catch up on our sleep.

The rest of the day was the slowest day in history. We both could not believe how slowly time crawled. We ate a sandwich and watched Mad Men and it was still only 6 pm. Mark loaded his gear and got ready for his gig and it should have been 8 pm but it was only 630. Even after he left... Usually he leaves and I think I'll get something accomplished and before I turn around he is back home. Last night I shampooed the carpets and vacuumed, I cleaned the kitchen, did the laundry, made up the guest room, set up my Day of the Dead altar, cooked a casserole, cleaned up the kitchen again... and still had time to watch TV, cuddle Willie, email, Facebook, etc. It stretched endlessly.

Today we are getting our day off to a sobbing start. Mark just came in my office to talk and we heard noise in the living room. I was thinking "Willie" but I said "Nathan" and that just made me sob. So many sounds and awareness of his presence have always been there. Poor Mark says the only time that comes close to this was when Morris died because he was so totally alone then. I can't imagine going through these feelings alone. At least Mark and I understand when the other breaks down in tears and doesn't try to make it better. That is going to take some time.

So I'm going to dress, pack my lunch, and go to work.