In the last ten years, there was one really big question that I never answered.

Would I cry if Chloe died?

Chloe is my cat that I had since sophomore year in high school. I’ve had her for over sixteen years now and she is the sweetest little tortoise-shell cat I’ve seen. She is also, beyond a doubt, “my” cat and has been since the second day we had her.

Now, the reason this question came up was how I handled death. When my grandfather died, it was just an event. I went to the funeral, listened to my grandmother tell me that it would affect me later, but it never did. It was like the times I’ve seen our pet died when I was a child, including one kitten that her own mother killed because we played with her too often, too early. It was just an event.

When my Grandmother Evans died, many years later, I saw it more of a trip to Decatur instead of something to be sorrowful. But, for the first time in my life, I saw my father cry and I have never seen that before or since. I remember sitting in the funeral home, listening to the ceremony but it wasn’t… sad for me.

It just was.

When we had to put Sadie asleep, an hour before I was getting married, I held Fluffy as she sobbed, but it was only slightly sad for me. I just watched her pass away with the same mute silence that I’ve experienced with every brush of death I’ve had my entire life.

Until today.

Dante died this morning, around 06:14 or so. I woke up listening to hear him struggling in the house. At first, I didn’t worry, but he kept on slipping on the floor so I got up. I found him trapped in Fluffy’s office, where he slid under the power cords and pushed a chair around. He couldn’t stand but he kept on trying. It didn’t take much to figure out, he wasn’t going to make it. But, his tail wagged happily for a few times, and I like to think that he was happy we were there when he was so close.

I started to cry then. We got him into the living room, off the pergo flooring and on to the last carpet in the house. Even then, he couldn’t stand. But, he kept on trying. When we did, he started to stagger around, unable to walk straight, stop, or even lean against something. He was also panting.

We started to get ready to take him to the vet, but then I realized he wouldn’t make it that far. I wanted to call to Fluffy, who was getting dressed, but the words wouldn’t come. I held him as he slowly stopped breathing, pressed up against my leg one last time.

I cried.

I could barely talk to tell my boss I wasn’t coming into work. Our friends, Bouncy and her mate (I don’t normally use first names, can’t you tell?) met us at the vet and Fluffy was devastated. In a matter of days, he died. From learning on Saturday he would have weeks, to not even lasting the first week, but he was my little boy. The rest of the day was filled with tears and just… missing him.

I’m not broken, at least that far I can tell. I will cry when Chole dies, just as I will if I survive Fluffy or any other animal in our house. For the first time in my life, I actually grieved for someone. And while the intensity of my emotions scares me, I’m happy I was there when he finally passed on. And, like that last moment when Sadie was still aware, I was there when he needed me the most.

Yesterday, I found out my youngest dog is going to die. Not in years or decades, being that he’s only seven, but probably in weeks. It started off with him being kind of lethargic. His tail didn’t pop up as often and he would stand around, just looking at everyone with hunched shoulders. We got worried, so we made a vet’s appointment right before Exalted.

It started off finding he lost 1/3rd his body weight since May, which is never a good sign. He was 45 pounds now, but 64 at the beginning of the year. They didn’t find anything at first, but then they did x-rays. Fluffy came to the vet, fearing the worse. It was pretty close, after the ultrasound and x-rays and blood work, they told us that he probably has a liver on the verge of failure, a bladder stone, and a large mass forming around his intestines.

Cancer.

My youngest dog has cancer. I could see it in the x-rays, a large white blob that looked like what the doctor said. He even got verification with another vet, who pretty much said the same thing. With his liver being so small and him being anemic because of it, they said that he probably wouldn’t survive surgery to remove it. Things turned from fixing the problem to figuring out how to make the rest of his life more comfortable.

Fluffy is took this very hard. Her night… she spent most of the night crying. It was the kind of hopeless sorrow where you can’t find the energy to do anything, nor can you force yourself not to just sit there, staring at a television or out into the night. In my case, I had gaming, so I had a little escape but there were a few times when I started to break down.

I don’t cry often. Actually, except for a scene from Beauty and the Beast (Disney’s of course), I almost never do. But, last night, my voice broke a bit when I was trying to explain it. But, it was the sheets of tears and sobbing that Fluffy suffered.

This morning, things were a bit different. I was fine until Fluffy suggested that we go on a walk. We haven’t been good about that, so it was the first walk in a month. Dante (his name) kept looking up at the leashes, which is normal indication for going on a walk. He loves his walks, up to this point, it was usually an exuberant prancing through the snow, taking a dump every couple meters until he finally finished up his week-long holding it in. Today, it took us three minutes just to get to the field. He was walking so slow. But, he didn’t want to come back in.

“It’s like he wants to move forward, but he can’t.”

Just a simple statement from Fluffy, but I finally lost it. My little man was trying so hard to keep living the life like he used to make two rounds around the field, but he couldn’t. He staggered as he walked, he moved slower than our eldest dog, but he was trying so hard. He didn’t want to be sick. I could see it in his eyes, begging not to have to go home.

I started to cry.

I have never cried for anyone dying in my life. Not when Sadie died in Fluffy’s arms, hours before we got married. After weeks of saline injections and watching her kidneys fail. Not for my grandfather. Not for the cats that died when I was a kid. But, the look in Dante’s eyes, trying so hard to keep on walking was too much for me.

We tried, but he kept walking slower and slower, taking longer and longer breaks. I wanted so badly to help him keep on going, to finish the lap around the field.

But he couldn’t.

We had to turn back, we barely made it fifty meters. That walk back… it felt like I had to finally accept what is happening to him. It wasn’t like my mother, who spends years telling everyone that her dogs are dying. In the last decade, I’ve heard her constantly telling people about how one of her dogs was on their last legs. Then, they just quietly disappear on the weekend, not giving anyone a chance to say goodbye.

This was something more… visceral. I don’t want to say he’s on his last legs, but he is. The vet says he won’t recover from this. He is dying and all he knows is that he wants to be better.

But, he can’t even make that walk.

And I can’t stop crying.

The art show is finally over. Two months of not having a TV room and hours of Fluffy spending on her stuff ending with a mad-cap 24 hours of setup, prep. All followed by four hours of show. She managed to get 40+ drawings and pictures, 2 quilts, 5 videos (I couldn’t get 1 to work and 1 was missing), and a whole ton of free food. I saw we had 22 people in the guest book, but I don’t count as the 23 since I really wasn’t a guest.

Today, we are doing the family thing, Fluffy’s parents (and her father for the first time) came into town for the show. Her mother and step-father already left, but her father is here all day. Pretty means I won’t be writing or much, but it will be nice to see him.