This morning we finally lost our 17 year old cat, Ziggy. She put up a good fight as the vet had given her 6 months to live about 3 years ago. She'd been hyperthyroid and epileptic and had hated all the pills so much that she'd become really miserable, so nearly 2 years ago we decided to take her off them of our own accord. The vet kept asking after her anytime we went in there with the dogs and couldn't believe she was still fighting on.
She had a really good couple of years off the pills, perked up again, went out nicking from the neighbours, caught both the fish in the pond and was just a few weeks ago one of the neighbours from 4 houses down returned her collar as she'd managed to leave it on a rosebush in their garden.
She was still going out and about until about 48 hours ago but her breathing became really laboured and this morning the vet confirmed that she was having respiratory failure - her poor little heart was beating so fast the vet couldn't even count it.
So we let her go this morning, it was very quick and she didn't put up any resistance at all, and I stayed with her to the end. She just slipped away the moment they injected her and that was that.
In her prime we used to call her Big Mama Zig as she used to terrorise everyone, including our other cat Taj who she used to go and thwack around the head for no apparent reason and leave him sitting there reeling
.
She could be a proper little madam - showed her disdain of new arrivals in the house by weeing on their beds. She wee'd on Taj's velvet cushion for several days before we realised what was happening, and did the same to Bella's bed on a regular basis when she was a pup.
So, to my little ZigZag Bellysag, run free, and give 'em all hell...
