I had told Mr. W last night that my sense of things, the way it would make true sense to me based on the timing and my understanding of Dodo and order, was that Dodo would pass that night. He would not wait until Monday morning’s 9:30a appointment to be put down. He would not want to spend his last days being boarded, away from us and away from a familiar environment, in a cage with veterinary care. This is why he chose Wednesday to stop eating, and Sunday to go truly downhill. Sunday, when everything’s closed and I can’t possibly board him. He also wouldn’t want to hang on until later in the week, when we were gone on vacation, to go when we’d feel helpless and far away from him, and I’d be guilt-stricken at not being by his side, forever wondering if he felt abandoned at that critical time.

Yesterday afternoon after Allie’s nap, I called my parents and told them we were going over there for the weekend visit, instead of having them come here. They were already in their cars about a mile out and they turned around to go home. I left Dodo in peace and quiet, hoping it was what he needed. I’d also long ago removed the baby gate I’d placed to keep Dodo in the restroom/vanity section of our bedroom (at the advice of the vet technician for post-enema “accidents,” but there was none and he’d gone in the litter box as soon as he got home), to allow him free reign. He chose to go back in our walk-in closet across the room, where he’d been most of his time in the past few months. When we got back from my parents’, I checked on him and he had gone to back to the litter box twice and was once again in his favorite spot in the walk-in closet, hanging out as if nothing were wrong. He turned to watch me when I walked in, and I petted him, he purred, lifted his tail in response, and I told him again it was okay for him to do what he needed to do. That I love him. In the evening at his usual medication time, he seemed to be sleeping so I left him alone. College roommie Diana’s advice was that it wasn’t worth waking him for, since if he’s comfortable enough to sleep, he’s probably all right, but that I can medicate him if he wakes up. Soon after, he was awake, so I only gave him the meds to make him comfortable. Anti-nausea med, blood pressure med so he doesn’t feel sick, acid meds so his tummy doesn’t get upset. And I gave him some water by oral syringe as well. Mr. W petted him and I petted him until he put his head down against the dresser, purring. I noticed the tip of his tongue was sticking out a little and his eyes seemed dry; he was probably pretty dehydrated. “Is your tongue out because you’re thirsty?” I asked him.
“No, I think it’s just because he’s that weak,” Mr. W said. I hoped he would have a peaceful easy transition soon. This limbo thing was so awful. He didn’t appear to be in pain, but I wondered if he were uncomfortable, hungry, thirsty. He did turn and change positions a couple times before I went to bed, so he wasn’t so weak he couldn’t adjust himself.

At 6:30 this morning, Mr. W went in the closet to check on him. He came back slightly sniffly-sounding and I asked sleepily, “Is he gone?”
“Yeah,” Mr. W told me.
“Oh, good,” I said, knowing this is exactly when, where, and how Dodo chose to go. He was silent all night, not one sound of struggle, no labored breathing at any point. And then a thought occurred to me. “How do you know?”
“Because he’s cold and stiff.” Mr. W got the towel that had lined Dodo’s carrier. “I’m going to wrap him up in this.” I didn’t watch. I was grateful for the first time ever that my nearsightedness kept me from being able to see much when I wake up in the morning. I had planned to take Dodo to the vet this morning no matter what; Mr. W placed the towel pile with my cat inside into the carrier.
Allie was already up, so Mr. W went and got her, put her in the bed next to me (a new thing we just started doing last weekend for a bit of cuddle time in the morning), and went into massive cleaning mode as Allie and I looked at photos and videos on my cell phone. By the time Allie had finished nursing and was dressed for the day, our room looked as if there were never a cat in it. Cat litter, cat food bowls, cat lounge tree, cat fur, it was all gone. I’m grateful he did all that, because I just didn’t have it in me. Not yet.

Allie looked for Dodo this morning. She went trotting into the walk-in closet as usual, saying, “Dodo?” Not finding him or any trace of him, she leaned down and looked under the dresser, the massage chair, the hanging clothes, calling, “Dodo?” We didn’t tell her anything.

I called the vet as soon as they were open and the girl who was supposed to come over later today to go over Dodo’s meds, as we’d arranged for her to come over twice a day to care for and medicate Dodo while we’re on vacation this week, answered the phone. I told her of Dodo’s passing. She told me about a cremation service that they use if I wanted that option; they would be by later today for pickups. The service, called Peaceful Paws, does individual cremations where they would return the ashes to us in a cedar box for about $150, or they can do a group cremation, and spread the ashes over the sea in San Diego. I had no idea that was an option, and such an affordable one at a little over $50. It makes a difficult transition more beautiful and peaceful, and very affordable, for pet parents.

I never saw Dodo lifeless. Mr. W wouldn’t even let me handle the carrier, even though Dodo was completely wrapped in the towel and not visible through the “windows” and “doors” of it. I asked him again, “Are you sure he’s gone? What if he’s just really really weak?”
Mr. W said firmly, “I’m sure. He’s gone. Do you want details?” There were details? No. Thanks for protecting me from those.

The three of us took Dodo to the vet for the last time. It was weird to be in an exam room with the metal examination table lifted up flush against the wall instead of down so a pet could be placed on it. The girl whom I’d spoken to on the phone took Dodo’s carrier from us to the back room. The female vet, fairly recently back from maternity leave and whom I haven’t seen for a year, but who I really, really like, came in the exam room with Dodo’s chart and gave me a big hug. She said that Dodo’s chart “painted a bleak picture.” He definitely took a drastic dip and lots of values were 4, 5 times higher than normal. His kidneys had failed and he was in renal failure. Even hospitalization may not have saved him at that point. She also believed that he chose his time to go in the way and place that he was most comfortable and felt most safe. We chatted about her new baby (she’s a beautiful glowing mom), partly because she’d taken such a strong interest in Allie a year ago and also because it was a joyous topic and talking about Dodo, she looked near tears and I had cried too much this weekend already. I donated unused renal food and will donate all the remainder of his drugs to the vet’s office to help stock their drug supply and to help out with their patients who may be getting newly diagnosed with kidney disease. It’s expensive to keep your pet healthy as best you can when you’re fighting such an intimidating disease. Plus, I found out Saturday how difficult it is to get anti-nausea meds, and I know for a fact the vet’s office doesn’t have it on hand or they would’ve supplied me with it instead of having me go on the wild goose chase I did for it. Dr. T also confirmed that a 15-year-old purebred Scottish Fold is a rare thing, indeed. “You did very well with him,” she told me.

Dodo’s going to beat us to the San Diego beaches by a couple of days. What a clever little fellow. I’ll be thinking about him a lot when we’re there in the beach house we’d rented for our vacation.

I posted this on the social network, and was so touched by the sheer number of responses and love, prayers, comforting words, cyber hugs.

“Cindy’s Dodo boy passed in the middle of the night last night, quietly, peacefully, with never a struggle or labored breathing. Even in his weakness, he managed to make it to the litter box anytime he needed to go, so for the people who told me to restrict his allowed areas & sacrifice his comfort for the sake of our carpets & pen him into the restroom area when he got kidney disease*, u were wrong. Dodo was a great soul to the end. Thank u for being a consistent loving presence thru all my major joys, heartaches, challenges & progressions the last 13 years. Mommy will see u again. Fly, my Dodo bird, fly.”

* i.e., that nanny Laura we’d tried out for 2 days