(no subject)

This is probably one of the most heart-wrenching things I've read in a long, long while.

Every morning and every night, I peer into Miss Aleister's cage and ask her how she's doing. Usually, she's tucked into the little wooden house I gave to her and her sister, but she has enough strength to poke her pointed nose throught the window and twitch her whiskers at me.

I pile bits of food at her feet and scritch behind her ears as she eats, holding each bit between still dainty paws. She chatters her teeth at me and closes her eyes in pleasure.

My poor girl. I want it to be soon because I know her body is weary and worn-out, but I don't wish my friend to ever leave. She still shows no sign of pain, no matter how much I manhandle her every day, she simply submits. I hold her close to my heart and feel the incredible warmth that such a small body can generate. And, like in the entry I linked to in the beginning of this post, I ask her: Is it time? And she tells me: no, not today.

I'll listen. For now. I don't wish to cause her distress by packing her into the travel cage, away from her sister and taking her to the places of loud noises and bad smells, only for her to go through several minutes of terrible pain before she can blessedly and finally say goodbye. But the very second she seems to be in any sort of pain, I will have to amend that statement. I don't look forward to that and can only hope that she passes peacefully in her sleep, like her son did.

She get treats before I go to bed tonight. A small comfort, my sweet old lady.