It has been clear for a while that my petite golden cat Bracha is not well.
Today I had an appointment for her with the kitty psychic---oops, sorry! the Animal Communicator. She has given me accurate takes on the cats in the past. She told me Bracha needed IV saline solution---for comfort; not for cure. Fortunately, my message to the vet who knows Bracha reached him while he was not far from this neighborhood. He came and corroborated her perception: my sweet cat is on her way out of this world. She can be kept much more comfortable if I am willing to give her subcutaneous saline for hydration. So this afternoon he taught me how to do that.
Pray for me: I haven't tried it yet, and I want very badly not to hurt her. She has felt better since Pete the Vet's visit, and has been resting and sleeping on the little salmon sofa, where I now sit to type this.
I visited early evening with a friend who now lives far from here, who is in town for a short time.
After a walk together around Viele Lake, we went up to my beloved's grave.
It is such a peaceful and beautiful site---and dear, and sweet and funny, with all the things visitors have left at the foot of the gravestone. Of course, all the traditional small stones; then the rest: the tumbled and polished stones, engraved and carved stones, crystals and clay tablets, small bags of kvittlach---the notes people have left that I do not open or read no matter how curious---the tiny figures, the pipes and herbs, the key, the yo-yo, the beautiful three-dimensional origami Star of David...
It has become a place of pilgrimage, and a monument to love and quirkiness.
Among my prayers there tonight was one for the easy passing of our sweet cat, and her ecstatic entry, in her own good time, to the World of Truth.
Then I came home and cried.