He had gone missing last Wednesday for over 10 hours. We had almost written him off when he suddenly reappeared inside the kitty door. But the celebration was short. His eyes were dilated, his head was swollen and his fur was soiled with a rank, sticky mud. We have no idea what happened during the time he was missing— but it was no doubt traumatic.
After a visit to the late night emergency vet followed by an overnight stay at his regular vet, we were somewhat hopeful. His regular vet discovered that, in addition to the trauma he had just suffered, his cancer was back after a 3-year remission.
But Dr. Carley thought he would recover from the trauma, and maybe we could stave off the cancer for a few more months. But it was just too much for Nate.
Saturday started out well for him, but as the day wore on, he began fading.
Sunday morning his breathing became very labored and he stopped trying to move at all. We sat with him while he gasped one desperate, final breath. Today he rests among the zebra grass in our back yard. We buried him with his blue bowl and a sprig of thyme, an herb he loved to sit on for hours at a time.
Nate was born under a lawn mower in our garage 16 years ago. He was the runt of the litter and had to be “plugged on” to his mother’s teet until he got strong enough to fight for himself. Nate was the sweetest, gentlest cat I’ve ever know. Rex and I were the first people he ever saw. And as it turned out, also the last.