Lakota

I went to bed at 10:00 Thursday night.

Lakota was sleeping in my lap. I woke her up gently, petting her, kissing her head, talking to her. I always wake Lakota and Maka up gently. I never want to be their rude alarm clock.

Lakota jumped down and strolled into the kitchen because she knew she was about to get a snack. Maka followed. I gave them fresh cold water (which they love) and snacks. Went to bed.

Everything changed on Friday morning.

I got up at 5:30, went downstairs at 5:45. Lakota was not in her box in the kitchen. Other than my lap, her two favorite winter locations are the box (it sits on a heating vent) and underneath the bed in the spare room (there is a heating vent there).

She is always in the box in the morning and eagerly walks out of it when she sees me. On the rare occasions she is not there I worry a little bit.

I walked into the living room to see if she was on the couch. She was not. But Maka walked into the spare room and came out again 5 seconds later. I thought that was odd; she never does that. My antennae were partially up. But it was 5:45.

I reluctantly gave Maka snacks without Lakota.

 Went back upstairs at 6:00 to get dressed. Came down, grabbed my keys to start my car, which I always do on cold mornings. As I walked towards the French doors Maka walked into the spare room and came out again in 5 seconds. My antennae were all the way up.

I walked in. Lakota was on top of the bed in a very uncomfortable position. I immediately knew something was very wrong. I went to her, kissed her, petted her - she barely raised her head.

Lakota never sleeps on top of that bed. I think she was there to make sure we found her. If she was under the bed it would have been quite a while before we knew something was wrong.

I think Maka deliberately let me know something was wrong.

I looked away to slide the exercise bike over to make room for me to sit with her. She tried to get down but fell off the bed.

That split my heart in two.

I realized she couldn't walk, couldn't stand up. Her front paws worked but not the back. I picked her up, I held her, but she kept struggling. Eventually I laid her on the floor, continuously kissing and petting her and talking to her.

I walked out of the room to get my cell phone to call the vet. I was gone 10 seconds. When I came back in she had clawed her way back onto the bed with just her front paws.

I called the vet at 6:30 and convinced her to come in to the office at 7:30 when the office opened; she wasn't scheduled until 8:30.

At one point when she struggled on the bed again I moved her to the floor. A couple of times she dug her claws into the rug and turned herself around. Such a fighter.

I sat with Lakota from 6:15 to 7:25. At 6:45 I called Carol on my cell phone to wake her up and tell her what was going on - I was not going to leave Lakota alone for 1 more second.

At 7:25 we wrapped Lakota up in a towel and I held her in my arms. Carol drove. I was able to hold her in my arms, kiss her head and talk to her.

She was very calm. She was alert but quiet.

At the vets, when we put her on the table in the towel she literally curled up like she was going to sleep. She purred a little bit.

She was telling us that she was done. She was not in pain as far as the vet could tell, she was not struggling. She was just ready to go.

Every time I put my hand on her she closed her eyes. Lakota was my cat.

The absence is the killer. She is just not here anymore. Her absence fills this house with a crushing weight. She lived here for twenty years. Twenty amazing years.

I keep expecting to see her walk out of the spare room and stroll to the water bowl or food bowl and then into her box. She used to do that all the time. Many times a night.

Every night when she was done wandering she would climb into my lap. She couldn't jump onto the recliner like Maka so she climbed onto the chair to my right, walked across the end table and climbed up onto my chest.

Literally climbed up onto my chest. She would walk up and put her face right in my face. I kissed her. I talked to her. She loved it when I stroked both sides of her face at once.

Then most of the time she would just sit on my chest. Just sit there. If I had a drink I couldn't drink it. If I had food I couldn't eat it. I had to look around her to see the TV.

Just this week, as she sat on my chest, I told Carol that sometimes I was tempted to shove her aside, but I had no idea how many more times this would happen.

Truthfully there were times that I moved her but not many.

Eventually she would curl up on my left thigh, lean against the arm of the recliner, and go to sleep. Maybe my most precious moments with her.

She used to climb up on my chest when I was sleeping in bed and put her paw on my chin. Say "Hey - give me some attention." She used to crawl up on my side and sleep there.

None of these things are ever going to happen again. I want them to with all my heart but it will not come to pass.

I got up to go to the bathroom last night like I do every morning around 3 or 4. I would always leave the door open 6 inches or so in case Lakota was around and needed to get in. If the door was closed she would just sit outside it and meow.

Last night I closed the door. And cried.

This morning I put down one bowl of food. For Maka. And I totally lost it.

Yesterday Carol and I both left for work around 9:30 after taking just a little time to recover from Lakota. I drove around at lunchtime because I was not hungry. I cried a lot. I cried in the parking lot when I left. I cried when I got back.

I am not handling this well.

I am an angry, bitter man. Unhappy most of the time. Whiskey is an artificial solution that I lean on too much.

Lakota was a real solution.

I am also a sensitive, emotional man and Lakota brought that out in me. Every day. EVERY day.

That was medicine for me. It keeps me alive.

I miss her with all my heart. All my soul. All my sensitivity. All my love.

My heart is broken. She was the pet I loved the most. We connected. She loved me too.

I have pictures in my mind from Friday that won't go away. The way I found her. Sitting with her for over an hour. Holding her in the towel as we drove to the vet. She was so calm, so trusting.

Talking to her on the vets table. Kissing her. Noticing that she closed her eyes when I touched her.

She was precious to me and to this family.

Twenty years is a long run for a pet.

We were so lucky to have her.