I had Gatsby put to sleep today.
She went downhill very quickly this week. She was lethargic and withdrawn, had trouble moving around, wouldn't eat. It was clear that she was slipping away, and I didn't want her to suffer. It was pretty peaceful, but still terribly hard.
In the course of all the drama over the past few weeks, I got a glimpse into what her life might have been like before I adopted her. Some x-rays were taken during the trip to the pet emergency clinic, and they showed some old buckshot or BBs in her abdomen. No way to know how they got there, but it can't have been pleasant. I take some comfort in knowing that she was safe and happy and loved with me.
Still miss her, though. I suppose I always will.
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