This Sabbath afternoon, I shared a few more tearful moments with our beloved Jack. We are slowly loosing him
as his little body no longer makes the red blood cells he needs. The vet says it's not a fixable problem. Slowly, as his anemia worsens, he has slowed down, stopped eating, and given up sleeping on the foot of our bed along with most of his other routines. After trying a few other spots, he's selected a space under the bed in our middle bedroom as his own private hospice. He still purrs when we visit him and scratch his cheeks as he quietly sits under the bed, but he is down 3-4 lb. from his usual of 16, and virtually nothing will convince him to move from that spot. Once a week, we take him out on the back patio and enjoy a little time with him in the sun and fresh air. He seems content with this, but only too relieved to get back to his "den". We think that, in his little kitty brain, he needs a quiet, protected place safe from sudden starts or excess stimulation. So far, he doesn't seem to be in pain or distress, but life is visibly ebbing from his beloved form. C.S. Lewis once wrote a book chapter explaining why he thought it reasonable to believe that our pets might go to heaven. We're sticking with that for Jack.We cheer ourselves with a sunset walk down on Pismo Beach, watching airplanes land at the Oceano airport,
playfully snapping sunset pictures,
unaware of the waves rolling in behind us until (just as the shutter clicks) the cold submerges our bare feet!
Now wet, we give in to wading in the cool water while hunting for shells washed up on the beach.