I took this picture of Minnie last week. I haven’t gotten one since then. I don’t think to take her picture. Mostly I go to see her during the regular feeding times, although she doesn’t always eat and when she does it’s just a little.
Minnie has shortened her range to the front porch, under the porch, and under the peony that grows on the side of the porch. I sit with her while she eats. I scratch her ears and under her chin. She has no desire to be held, but she never liked being held.
Sometimes she surprises me with a short and scratchy meow.
Jon and I are letting Minnie die the way barn cats do. On her own territory in her own time. She doesn’t show signs of being in pain. It’s mostly that everything about her is slowing down.
I like to think of a good death as the same feeling as being able to sleep when I’m really, really tired. Whether it’s true or not, it’s what I picture for Minnie. It makes me feel better.
And from my experience with outdoor cats, they often go off to die, many times right under the house porch.
The only time I get upset is when I consider that maybe I’m not doing what is best for Minnie. But that comes from a part of me that doesn’t trust my instincts and questions Jon’s.
That is my doubt.
It’s not bad really, it keeps me questioning and keeps me from certainty. This way I can change my mind and do something different if it’s for the best.