Thursday, February 11, 2021

Camping at the foot of the bridge

Sherlock has stopped eating these past four or five days...and is slowly getting smaller and smaller in preparation for the final journey. Like a baby, there's a lot of messy stuff going on, with oozing puss and fluids, bursting final poopies, and aching bones as we lift him out to the garden for his peewees, which he likes to go about five or so times a day, even if there are only drops...i pop him down on the newly sprouting grass, and prop his feet into a standing position, and he wobbles a bit to get his balance, takes a few steps, and then comes to a stop, and after a peewees, stands there wondering if i can catch him before he collapses...Like a mummy, I grow into the new tasks of feeding water with a dropper, or a teacup when he can lift his head a little, of patting round oozing sores with wet wipes and creams, gently murmuring words of encouragement and soothing nothings to show him we love him.

It's weird how time seems to collapse, already dreamlike with the pandemic, it disappears into a dull sense of waiting, and a peaceful satisfaction of having the daily noises going on around, the chirping of the birds, Nobu thumping and whumping, leaping on to the sofa with much gusto, and the clatter of the dishes in the kitchen...not going just yet, mummy, let me get on with being here. And he is so cute, in all the messiness of encroaching death, he's so adorable and sweet, the soul shines through the not so ephemeral body, and he is beautiful. And tough, and used to pain and patience, and toughing it out: I wish it would all go fast, but like birth, it takes its time, slowly, but surely. So we're still camping on the edge of the bridge. 
 

Thursday, September 3, 2020

Joyful


Here I am, making the sofa my castle. Mum was so good as to hoover, change the towels and straighten things out, so I had a perfect blank canvas to begin digging and arranging things just the way I want. I take care to drag up the towels so I can sit on the gobelin fabric, and then drop the backrest so I can climb on top and throne there. Three spots available, so they all have to be redone, the left and right wings of the stately manor, if you have it. Good thing the air conditioner is on, life is good on steroids!

Saturday, August 8, 2020

Morning Snapshots

 It's 5am walkies lately, so hot and muggy, but some good friends are awake for treats along the way...

Saturday, August 1, 2020

Daily Blessings

 The meds are working, a daily dose of antibiotics and steroids, wee Sherlock is drinking like a fish and peeing copiously and continuously, flushing out poisons and getting back to his happy usual self.
 He's wearing a t-shirt hand-me-down that grandma saved for the grandkids, but Sherlock needs it right now, and it fits perfectly, so who could say no. Lovely soft cotton, and lovely soft blankets, air-conditioning when it's hot and the best tidbits for me, he says. The leakage from the ulcerating tumor (aka fungating wounds) is slowly abating,  two or three changes of t-shirt a day suffice. Sherlock teaches us grace in face of death. I know they say Cerberus guards the gates of Hades, and it is always seen as such a scary thing, but Sherlock shows me that passing is full of angel light and goodness, and the underworld is nothing to fear, but that every moment together is precious, radiant with love and joy. So be it.
Photos by Lelantos

Thursday, July 30, 2020

Some Days are just...

Yesterday was one of those days...Sherlock has been the star of the blog for a while, relaxing in all his beauty, but a couple of days ago he seemed a little off color and wasn't eating. I didn't think much of it, it's been such damp miserable weather and walkies are short and limited so you don't really work up an appetite, and I was kind of distracted by the mammoth task of getting my courses online and now finally writing the final exams, answer-sheets and instructions...so what should happen, but Sherlock refuses food and walkies for the second day running, and then fell off the sofa and couldn't walk, shivering and peeing in a panic...and so naturally I got quite worried and decided to take him to the vet on Wednesday morning, although the exams were in the early afternoon to evening.
Just as I'm getting the car organized, the growth on his chest burst open leaking blood and fluids, and he can't walk...so I have to carry him to the car, the wee fat thing, heavy beyond description, having spread pottie pads everywhere. Nobu refused to join us, which in some ways was a good thing, so he stayed home to watch the house.
Turns out Sherlock was running a high fever...my beloved vet helped carry him in and worked to massage out a lot of the gunk, and then they asked me to please wait in the car (COVID procedures) while they took Xrays and whatnot and gave him fluids and a shot of steroids and antibiotics and more whatnot. The poor wee pup is in the final stages of a metastatized cancer, we knew it was coming, but he is so cheerful and jubilant, spreading love and sunshine and happy smiles every day, he just never let you feel it until now. I'm not into all the life-prolonging stuff, right now my priority is to get a load of used soft cotton t-shirts and keep changing them when they get soiled, and helping him enjoy the best tidbits, and massages, and family space. i have a battery of meds to support the process, steroids and antibiotics, painkillers, and fortunately some delicious tins of wet cat food have tempted him to eat today. He's able to pop off and pee in the garden at will, so life is kind of back to normal, only of course his regimen of morning walkies has ground to a halt under the circumstances. Every day is special, some days are just...full of tears and sadness, i guess.