12:08 a.m. Mountain Standard Time, July 14, 2009, a cute little black boy kitty of about 19 years sighed his last breath and passed away in my arms.  He'd given up eating on the 12th, and his bowels stopped moving.  He'd hidden away and was found lying in his litter box, so we gathered him up to the living room for comfort on a soft bed of towels, hovering over him, warming him as his wizened little body became colder and colder.  

 

Badger was ready for the end, lying sphinx-like letting his head bow down to his tiny front paws, looking up once in a while, unseeing but knowing our touch and hardly hearing our murmurs of comfort.  Our bed being his favorite place seemed the fitting place to let him spend his last hours so we made a hospice procession to our room.  Lying in bed, I snuggled him up close to my chest so he could have warmth and heart sounds.  Cliff completed the circle.  Badger had everything he ever wanted - "all hands on Badger," we'd say - in the last two hours of a well-lived life.  As the pain of old organs shutting down surprised him, we stroked his soft, soft fur and cooed.  As the death smell thickened and the final rattle came roaring, we laid hands on and spoke to him, wishing him a fine journey and thanking him for gracing our lives. 

 

Then he was gone.  I held onto the little old shell that had been our cat-friend for so long...feeling the changes death brings to the muscles until Cliff finally removed him from me and buried him with soil and tears down near the filbert trees. 

 

Goodbye dear Badger.  You live on in our memories, ever the tough velvet cat who could hook a bird from six feet in the air then come meowing to cuddle in bed with us.