For Buster - the grey and white tom -
In my heart I knew something was wrong when I parked the car last night and you were sitting on the back porch. You were too scared of me to do that. I thought for sure you would get up and run off when I shut the car door, or when I approached you, but no - you stayed put. I wasn't sure what to do. I took the groceries inside and put some food down for the girls. You were still just sitting there. I offered you some food and water and you turned your big round head and sniffed, but wouldn't eat or drink. Just when I got up the guts to try and put you in the crate, you surprised me and got up to go under the porch, ever so slowly and feebly. For such a big guy, you looked so weak. I was a little relieved to see that you could walk, but I worried about why you were going under there and if you would come back out. Now I could see that you were wet from your feet to your belly. I suspect this was from a long walk through the snow to reach my back door. You were always running from me and now you had gone to great lengths to reach me. How ironic and sad.
I decided there wasn't much I could do. But an hour or so later, you reappeared on the porch. By now, my husband was home and he set up a light and some cardboard for you, to give you some warmth and shelter. After we got you all set up, you stood up. I thought we had upset you, but to my surprise, you just wanted some water. This seemed like a good sign. The little bit of warmth helped. But in my gut I knew you were still in very bad shape. But that bit of progress made me want to do more. If you didn't make it through the night, I wanted your last night to be warm and safe. If you did make it, I wanted to take you to the doctor in the morning. It's selfish in a way, but I didn't want to go to bed and not know where you were. So, we got you in the crate and into the mud room. Your compliance with all of this attention was amazing, but heartbreaking at the same time. Now you were dry and you curled up on the soft blanket. When I checked on you one last time, your breathing seemed deeper but you looked comfortable, considering.
Five hours later, I woke up, startled - thinking about you. As I headed downstairs, I noticed that Leopold wasn't guarding the door to the mud room anymore. I was afraid I knew why, and when I went in to check on you, my fears were confirmed. I'm sorry I didn't stay up with you. I wish I had. I'm sorry I couldn't get you more help last night. I really didn't think any amount of help would save you, but I wanted to give you a chance. I don't know what took you from us, but I hope that your passing was peaceful. We only knew you for a short time, but you left a big impression on us. Rest in peace, Buster. Keep an eye on those little ones we lost in September. They need you, tough guy.
-sorry for the length. Thanks for reading.
In my heart I knew something was wrong when I parked the car last night and you were sitting on the back porch. You were too scared of me to do that. I thought for sure you would get up and run off when I shut the car door, or when I approached you, but no - you stayed put. I wasn't sure what to do. I took the groceries inside and put some food down for the girls. You were still just sitting there. I offered you some food and water and you turned your big round head and sniffed, but wouldn't eat or drink. Just when I got up the guts to try and put you in the crate, you surprised me and got up to go under the porch, ever so slowly and feebly. For such a big guy, you looked so weak. I was a little relieved to see that you could walk, but I worried about why you were going under there and if you would come back out. Now I could see that you were wet from your feet to your belly. I suspect this was from a long walk through the snow to reach my back door. You were always running from me and now you had gone to great lengths to reach me. How ironic and sad.
I decided there wasn't much I could do. But an hour or so later, you reappeared on the porch. By now, my husband was home and he set up a light and some cardboard for you, to give you some warmth and shelter. After we got you all set up, you stood up. I thought we had upset you, but to my surprise, you just wanted some water. This seemed like a good sign. The little bit of warmth helped. But in my gut I knew you were still in very bad shape. But that bit of progress made me want to do more. If you didn't make it through the night, I wanted your last night to be warm and safe. If you did make it, I wanted to take you to the doctor in the morning. It's selfish in a way, but I didn't want to go to bed and not know where you were. So, we got you in the crate and into the mud room. Your compliance with all of this attention was amazing, but heartbreaking at the same time. Now you were dry and you curled up on the soft blanket. When I checked on you one last time, your breathing seemed deeper but you looked comfortable, considering.
Five hours later, I woke up, startled - thinking about you. As I headed downstairs, I noticed that Leopold wasn't guarding the door to the mud room anymore. I was afraid I knew why, and when I went in to check on you, my fears were confirmed. I'm sorry I didn't stay up with you. I wish I had. I'm sorry I couldn't get you more help last night. I really didn't think any amount of help would save you, but I wanted to give you a chance. I don't know what took you from us, but I hope that your passing was peaceful. We only knew you for a short time, but you left a big impression on us. Rest in peace, Buster. Keep an eye on those little ones we lost in September. They need you, tough guy.
-sorry for the length. Thanks for reading.