No, really. I won't be offended. This is a maudlin post full of bad photos and it's definitely an exercise in self-indulgence.
Though those of you who've been around awhile may appreciate this FB post from my brother:
Cat for Scale ceased to exist on this mortal coil April 8. He was 21, he was euthanised and he never had a health problem or a noticeable ache or pain until the last two weeks of his life. In fact, the many scans and prods and sucks and bleeds and samples and tests yielded nothing.
He just couldn't stand up reliably anymore.
He didn't eat more than a couple of tablespoons of food a day.
He had no interest in kitty treats.
He didn't even have any interest in my dinner.
He spent all day in a kitty bed. I'm going to take it as a testament to his love for me that he hauled his poor little body upstairs for a couple of nights - even though he could hardly walk on flat ground - to curl up next to me.
After that, I carried him up to my bed every night and down to his bed every morning.
It broke my heart to see my sweet, dopey old companion laid low by perversions of age and time like that. I know deep, deep down - so far it's just an abstract batch of words - that it was a mercy and a matter of dignity to put him to sleep.
But I can't shake the feeling to this day that I somehow failed him.
He was the least photogenic cat I've ever seen. That didn't stop me from trying, nor is it going to stop me from collecting all my old Cat for Scale blogphotos here.
Look at him:
He looked stoned...
...often looking the wrong way...
...rarely in action...
...but always For Scale.
Now I wish I'd taken more pictures.
Thank you for letting me indulge.