Came across these pictures tonight

of Cerys (the dog) and her constant companion Darius (the cat), as well as Spock. In September it will be seven years since Cerys died, the last of my furry companions. I've been petless since (except for fish--Darius preceded her, which was just as well, for while he adored her and would have mourned her terribly, she was somewhat long-suffering about a cat that wanted to constantly sit upon and cuddle up with her).  It was the first time without pets in 27 years.  I loved my animals so much. Spock, Cerys, Buns, Darius, even the somewhat evil Basil I had for awhiel. It's just so odd to not have dogs or cats in my house, and yet I am a good aunt to others. But it's not quite time for one of my own, yet. I'm not sure I'll ever get another dog, to be honest--I don't know if I could do it. I love cats, and I love dogs (although I'm allergic to both), but it seems you bond even more with a dog, or at least that was the case with Cerys, although I was very close to Spock, particularly, who was a cat, the first kitten I got as an adult. But when you bond with them and they are your family, it is so hard to let them go when it's time. But at some point I'll probably break down and get a cat. Or two. :) But not now, right?

Darius and Cerys

Spock

I also found this picture

Spock was already 12 by this time. His Star Trek-shaped grey spot on his forehead, from which he got his name (hey, pointed ears?) had faded by then. His right eye was blue, hence the reflection from the flash. He was the sweetest cat I've ever met, and also the dumbest. Sweet and dumb seem to go hand in hand. He was the one animal I did not have to have put down; he died in my arms at the age of 17. I think he was a little cross at wearing a bow, or at least as cross as he ever got.

There was one more cat, but he never came out when I had company, for the most part. It wasn't until maybe the last four years or so he'd come out to be with me; he was a very shy, retiring cat. That was Darius. He came to me in the backyard as a kitten while I was giving my monthly libation, meowing to be let in. She (Hekate) is known for a connexion with dogs, but hey, I decided to take it as a sign and took the little fellow in. Oddly enough, he bonded like glue with Cerys, and to her dismay took to sitting on her often.

In my adult life, I've only had one other pet, Basil, a beagle-basset cross that I found wandering in the Chevy Chase area. I had to eventually find a home for him, because he was absolutely incapable of being housebroken. Cerys was much happier, too. It broke my rule that pets are for life, but there you go. I gave him to a family that could be with him longer hours of the day and walk him more frequently, and did disclose his issues. I hope it worked out. I have to admit, there was a lot of relief on my end. I hope they did not curse my name too much afterwards.

For the first time since I was about 13, I am petless, unless you count a few goldfish. Sometimes I think of getting a kitten, but I'm not ready yet. And I don't know if any dog could be such a good match for me as Cerys was. Plus, Cerys came to me at 8 months, already housebroken and past (most) of the destructive stage. I'm not sure I have the energy for a puppy. :) But maybe a kitten. Someday.

I downloaded some pictures off my camera

and came across this one of Cerys and Darius, inseparable except by death.

I miss my babies, including Spock and Buns.

I think it's time

to put Cerys down. Last night I came in and she was in the bathroom on the floor and couldn't get up. She'd knocked water out of her water dish and urinated and defecated on the floor, and was lying in it shivering. I picked her up and put her on a blanket and cleaned her and everything else up as best as I could (she is very sensitive to touch these days, and she didn't seem to recognise me). I put some more water and some food next to her and decided to leave her there for awhile and see if she could get up on her own. She'd stopped shivering and didn't seem to be in any pain.

A couple of hours later she did stand up, although she yelped and needed help standing. Once she was up, she was a little shaky, but was able to go outside slowly on the leash. A couple of hours later I took her out again. Again, she was shaky but able to go. She didn't seem to recognise her surroundings at all. She'd sniff and just keep her nose down to the ground like she'd forgot what she was doing. She doesn't seem to have anything broken from a fall. I think she may have had a ministroke. She is drinking but hasn't really eaten anything. She also had some discharge when she urinated outside. Tonight she seems sleepy but comfortable, still not recognising anything. She did perk up when I said 'outside' but I couldn't get her up on the leash. So I'm waiting again to see if she'll get up on her own. At least she didn't go on the bedroom floor.

One thing I've learnt from Spock's death (my 17-year-old cat, who died a couple of years ago) is that you can spend hundreds of dollars on trying to find out what's wrong with a beloved companion and treat it, and once they reach a certain age, it's not going to stop the inevitable. Dr Vice and I have concentrated on keeping Cerys as comfortable and healthy as possible. He knows I neither have the money nor the desire to prolong any less-than-ideal quality of life. But if this spell continues, I think it does her no service to keep her alive for my benefit, when the question really is, what is best for her.

We've had sixteen wonderful years together. I remember the day I found her. I was driving to a store and suddenly felt an urge to drive across town to the local pound, just out of the blue. I'd been wanting a dog, a Labrador, either black or choclate. There she was, in one of the cage rooms--an 8-month old Lab cross, and black, like a friend of mine's dog whom I 'trained' on, having never had a dog to care for before. She did something she's only done once--she bowed and made the same noise his dog would make when she wanted in my apartment. I fell in love with her immediately, but one person was on the list ahead of me. That person dropped out. I had to badger my landlord to approve the dog. But finally she was mine, and I called her Cerys, 'beloved' in Welsh. She was truly a gift from my Patroness, Hekate, with whom black dogs are associated.

I have to find out Monday how much it will cost to put her down--my cat last year was $25, but it might be more with her weighing more. On the other hand, putting Darius down was the first time I'd used this vet, so maybe having her as an established patient helps. I don't know. Money's tight right now, but I'm sure I'll find a way to give her some peace.

I will so miss my Care Bear. It's going to be a hard week, I can tell already.

PS As I finished this post, she came out of the bedroom, so I put her on a leash and we went outside. She seemed a little more robust, and even a little more alert, although she hasn't defecated since last night sometime and she's not interested in either her food or mine (I gave her a bit of bread and she tasted it, but didn't eat it.) This is the hardest part of having a pet. My heart keeps saying 'well, maybe she'll get better'. My head is grounded more in reality. It's time.