This morning, Foster Mum called me. Her 17-year-old papillon has passed away in her arms sometime after 4am this morning. He died in the best way possible – a sudden very rapid decline which means he did not suffer in pain for long, plus he took his last breath in her arms.
It seems so sudden: on Sunday, he bounded out with his usual energy and enthusiasm to greet us when we reached the cattery. But Foster Mum has been prepared for months now. He’s a grand old thing with a history of chronic respiratory issues, especially asthma – typical of the papillon apparently. And in the last year his eyes has grown cataracts which, due to his age, were not operated on. His tongue is always lolling because he has lost the left canine long ago (We’ve always known him like this). Like an old soldier, bits of him had been lost or damaged by time, but like any veteran he has soldiered on, always more cat than dog, to the extent that he’s more cat than some cats in the cattery, with his preference for fish and kitty kibbles (which is of course not an advisable diet for a canine), and his empathy and protectiveness over kittens and other needy cats.
Hanging out with Sunshine and Porkribs