We buried our beautiful boy, Mr Gin - a loved and loving member of our family for 5 years - in the garden on New Year's morning. And we are all so terribly sad.
A month or so ago I wrote a post about him, wondering if maybe he had Cat Covid, since he'd had a terrible cough and was losing weight. But he started to take a serious turn for the worst, and lost 80% of his body weight in the last 4 weeks. He developed breathing problems and heavy nasal congestion and it became apparent he actually had FIV (feline AIDS) which is brutal, fast and very common in Thailand.
3 weeks ago he simply stopped eating properly, and allowed himself only to lick the occasional treat. We cuddled with him non stop and loved on him, knowing he was dying and that there was little anyone could do. We kept him at home where he felt safe, loved and seemed to be in no pain.
The week before Christmas he stopped even licking at the treats & just snuggled with us. And on the 26th, Boxing Day morning, his skeletal, sick self walked off determinedly into the jungle near our house and he did not come back. We were gutted. 💔 And thought the story over.
Ffwd to New Year's morning. I opened the back door to let our other two cats out and saw Miss Cinnamon intently looking into the empty spare back bathroom, which comes off the back porch and serves as a laundry. At first I thought maybe a snake (common here) but when I looked, I got such a shock. It was a barely alive, skeletal Mr Gin, rasping to breathe and barely alive.
When I found him early on New Year's morning he was ice cold, painfully thin, stiff & barely alive. He was wet, filthy and smelled terrible, but it didn't matter. I held him close & sang to him. I wrapped him in my favourite faded red pashmina and crooned to him gently, rocking him. He couldn't see anymore and stared vacantly, but I felt him relax into the warmth and familiarity. He died quietly, 20 mins later, in my arms.
Feeling so sad & upset that careless fireworks must have terrified him to the point of him dragging himself back to the only safe spot he could think of.
We buried him in the garden this New Year morning and laid him to rest on a little bed made with my daughter's fragrant dried flower collection. The worn pashmina from Nepal that has traveled so far with me for two decades became his shroud for what is perhaps the ultimate journey. I will make a little herb garden over & around him. 🌿🖤
He has given - and received - so much love and made this world a better place.
Survived by our rescued black-boy, MD, & his little disabled litter sister, Miss Cinnamon, who is still roaming the house and garden looking for him.
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