My dad and stepmom made the tough decision to euthanize one of their cats yesterday. Darcie was in the final stages of renal failure, meaning his kidneys were no longer functioning properly. Their veterinarian came to their house so he could have his final moments in a familiar place.
My stepmom is a nurse, so she had been giving him subcutaneous fluids for the past year--since his renal failure diagnosis--to keep him in relatively good health. Helping her do that a time or two played a major part in my getting acclimated to giving Jasper his insulin, and for that I'll be forever grateful.
Darcie's nickname was Silly Boy. He was just... so... silly. He would do things that I couldn't help but laugh at, like stick his head into shoes and rub his face all over them and roll around in ecstasy if they were stinky. Or things like in the picture, where he's sitting at the top of the stairs like a pervy old man. And then there were his socks. He had absolutely gorgeous Birman coloring, but the little white "socks" on each foot (typical for Birmans) looked so comical--like he was wearing baby girl socks. Darcie's passion in life was roaming the house, going from room to room, patrolling. He would literally walk from the front of the house to the back, then down one set of stairs to do the basement then up another set of stairs to start all over again at the front of the house. For a long time, he was the alpha kitty. As his health declined, he stopped worrying about it and let the younger male cats feud amongst themselves for the position. Now that he's gone, a new king of the jungle will probably step forward.
My dad and stepmom will still have a house full of cats--they have twelve other ones who share their big house out in the country. But Darcie's absence will leave a big hole that only time will fill.
Goodbye, Silly Boy.