This past week has been very tough. Very tough, indeed.
Along with the usual detritus of life: sick members of the family, doctor’s appointments, THINGS to FIND for SCHOOL; the Williams household shrank by one when Renton passed away on April 2nd.
By Easter weekend, Steven and I knew Renton was not going to get any better. Since the diagnosis of pneumonia a few weeks prior, he had suffered setback after setback. First, his kidneys began to fail him. After a few days of subcutaneous fluid injections (it’s amazing what Renton would let you do to him), his kidneys came back online but his heart began to go. Once Renton began to seem uncomfortable, we knew it was time. He did not need to suffer anymore.
Six weeks ago, the possibility of Renton’s passing was not even on my radar. The only other cat I have had lived to be 18 — Renton was only 10, and a Siamese to boot. This wasn’t how I expected the month of April to go.
It was in early April ten years ago when I got him. A tiny ball of nothing, a little crying, mewing kitten that I had to wean that first weekend. He was so small, he still waddled when he walked.
He grew so quick, and soon I had a fast, jumpy kitten to keep me busy while I was all alone up there in Fort Payne. Renton was older than this blog by a few months, older than my marriage by almost a year. My first baby.
We added another kitty to the household soon after Steven and I got married, and Renton proved surprisingly tolerable. In some ways, Renton was more tolerant to changes than Hermione is. Perhaps this is why Hermione is the boss.
Renton proved receptive to change again when human kids were added to the family. First came his buddy Lydia, who he was beginning to love almost as much as me. He treated Sam with a bit more caution, as he is known to throw toys.
Ten years ago, Renton was my baby. Now, I have a four year old girl who’s old enough to understand what happened but not mature enough to understand why. There have been a few nights of cold looks, general melancholy, and tears.
This Wednesday, we’ll pick up Renton’s (and the Otter’s) ashes, though I am not sure yet where their final destination will be. Knowing Renton, he would probably like to be on the couch or our bed for the rest of eternity, but there’s some things you just can’t accommodate.
You’re right here with me, you little devil. My baby.
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