This morning we had to say goodbye to our Piccolo. And now he’s gone, too, so soon after Puzzola…

I’m still in shock. So is Stefano. We still can’t believe this happened…I mean, yesterday morning he was still walking around, bumping into things, BUT walking…and today he’s gone.

He stopped eating day before yesterday and, well, it  just went downhill from there.

After trying everything I could think of, I finally took him to the vet yesterday afternoon, and she said we had two choices–try to do something OR put him to sleep right there and then.

I opted for the former, because I still had some hope that he could recover. He underwent some treatments (nothing too harsh, except for the force-feeding, which was as gentle as possible), and then I took him home.

Last night I slept with Piccolo on my chest and stomach. He was still a big cat, even though he’d lost some weight lately: 13 pounds (6 kilos). I wanted him to feel my warmth, since his body temperature was low, as I found out yesterday. He didn’t move but fell asleep immediately.

I woke up around 1:30 AM because he was getting a bit agitated and moving around on me.

I was afraid he might fall off the bed, so I took him into the bathroom where we’d put his fuzzy bed yesterday afternoon. I covered him and, after making sure he was okay, went back to bed. This morning he was in the same position I’d put him. He didn’t move or wake up.

We both said, “it’s time to let him go.”

To make a long story short, we called the vet hospital (they already knew, actually, since I’d called them last night when he was scrambling around, trying to walk but not being able to, very agitated…We almost took him in last night, but our vets weren’t on duty, and I didn’t want a stranger to do it…). 

After checking him out, the vet told us we’d made the right decision.

It’s likely that he’d had another stroke yesterday at some point…

He would never have recovered.

And so he’s gone…our sweet, loving boy, the one who brought balls to us while we were in bed, our retriever cat who stopped retrieving as he got older but would bring us balls anyway, for us to throw down the stairs. Then, when we’d refuse to get up and go get the balls ourselves and bring them to him, he’d look at us so reproachfully…

My boy, who slept on me (as you can see in the last photo…he was gazing into my eyes…). Whenever I was ill, he was always on the bed, nursing me back to health.

He also Skyped with my parents. Of all our cats, he was the only one to do that. He really looked at them and followed their movements. Such a smart kitty.

My big purrbox, who’d stopped purring in August. Oh how I missed his purr…I’d give anything to hear it again. Before August, all I needed to do was look at him, and he’d start purring.

My heart is broken. Stefano’s heart is broken.

We are simply devastated.

Two beloved cats in two months.

It’s too much.

It’s simply too much.

P.S. If you hover your mouse over these photos, it will give you some info and dates.