R. I. P. Hastings

On Wednesday night we did our usual thing of having Hastings running around on our bed, playing.

She had a bit of a routine - she ran up and down between where Matt and I were, then she would headbutt the blanket by my side until I lifted it up, and she would run down beside my leg. She'd then lick my legs and toes, sneeze on me, lean up against me whilst she had scratches and washes, and then she'd pop back out and run up Matt's t-shirt. Having clawed, licked and sneezed on him a bit, she'd make a circuit of her beddy domain.

Some of her favourite things were: attempting to eat things off the dressing table, knotting herself into Matt's hair, trying to eat my vitamins off the other dressing table and, most of all, grooming my face.

Anyway, we had the opportunity to play with her and wuzz her and tell her we loved her.

Thursday, I had a job interview in the morning, and didn't have time to play with her until lunchtime. When I did, I saw that some of her lump had turned black, and that she was bleeding badly from the ear. We called the vet and got an appointment as soon as possible. Matt couldn't get the time off work, so I took her by myself.

Long story short, her infection had turned cancerous and was now not only pushing matter up through her ear canal, but had also spread down the other side of her body.
There was nothing left that we could do, as it would have got very nasty and very painful really soon. The vet put her to sleep.

Today she was buried beneath a new rose bush in Mouse's front garden.

I am still wavering between blankness and utter misery. Even knowing that she had a terminal condition, it was incredibly hard to do.
I comfort myself with the fact that she was still happy, and not in pain.