Saturday, April 21, things started to change. Goose’s body reverted from battling disease to the start of a death process. The part of me, all of me, that loved his very being tried to convince myself that he was just tired, not hungry and unwilling to move off of the couch. But I knew better. And I knew that there really wasn’t any coming back from a cancerous mass on the brain stem of a 19 lb. cat that slept on my neck nightly and lived his days for Purina’s Pro-Plan.
We had the talk. Me kneeling in front of him, laying on the couch.
“I’m not going to let you suffer,” I told him. “I’m going to help you.” I didn’t go so far as to explain what the process was. I made no mention of the end, or the dying process, or the mess we were in, just that as his friend, I was going to help him in the only way I knew that I could. Continue reading Goose Tunney, 2003-2012