Farewell, Jake. Grieving is a long process.

Yes, it's still December, and no, things haven't changed all that dramatically, so no need to fret over what you may have missed.  That is, things pertaining to the ol' everyday happenings are fairly status quo, but the projects of a sewing nature have taken shape and advanced.  There are photos and words to look at if you're even the teensiest bit interested in the quilts and other handwork.  You know where to look for that eyecandy.

More about Jake -
He had FiV (in human terms: kitty aides), and was given a year or so to live - depending upon how he lived and how the disease progressed over the course of time.  It was truly all dependent upon the ravages and whim of the FiV.  He still had worms even after arriving at our home, so the vet who first saw him was a bit remiss in the examination and treatment of our gentle, sick lad.

The final nail in the coffin, though, was that the FiV had also left him with a lateral physical condition - renal failure.  The second vet (our family vet) diagnosed it, and told me that Jake had whatever time the RF would allow.  All the blood work showed him to be more in jeopardy from his kidney issue than the upper respiratory infections that clung to him like a vicious gypsy curse.  It would truly come to a bit of a toss-up for him in the end, though. 

FiV is a cascading illness.  A death sentence like no other for an animal, and a bitter pill to swallow for the humans who may love them.  Many countless infected FiV animals live and die in anonymity and solitude.  No... not "solitude."  Loneliness.  They die alone and unmourned - and that cuts like a knife to realize after knowing and loving Jake.

Jake was 'found' and rescued literally at death's door.  There was no more that we could do for him except make him comfortable and love him, and so that was what we did.

But Jake shone like a royal star.  Despite his many ailments he was a beautiful and loving cat; a companion and a giving soul.  He hissed once and only once, trying to stand his ground when our 17-year-old girl tried to run off the new 'intruder' in her kingdom.  He took the many vet visits like a champ, and was the most mild-mannered boy.  The techs and doc loved Jake's weigh-in visitations; even when necessary to draw blood, obtain urine, take a temp (or any other procedure), he kept his cool and allowed the many hands to poke and prod and pinch.

In spite of the antibiotics and plentiful food, the love and safety of a home, and the regular medical care, he finally came to the end of his earthly days.  With tremendous sorrow, we drove to the vet last month and put him to rest.  It was as hard a task for Jake's sake as it had been for our girls.  I always feel as though I'm stealing something of their futures in making that decision, and I ask them for forgiveness as we approach the final moments together.

For now, this is farewell, Jake.  Run and find your sisters, Cleo and Flop, and know that someday, years from now, we will all be together.  Thank you for your love and trust and beauty.