Goldy had to have her kitty, PJ, put to sleep last night. PJ had not been doing well for the last couple of weeks, not eating much and taking in very little water. She was listless and her eyes were kind of staring off in the distance. PJ was 18, which is pretty darn old for a cat. Goldy surmised that PJ wasn’t really going to be getting any better, I agreed, and when we took her to the vet, the vet agreed as well. There’s only so much you can do for them, especially at that age when it’s difficult to tell what they’re feeling because it might be harder for them to communicate it.

So we took PJ into the vet, and spent some final moments with her. I don’t know how much comfort I was for Goldy because I was pretty much a mess too. But she was there for me for both Rattle and Hum so I was definitely going (and wanting) to be there for her when PJ’s time came.

Luckily I didn’t have to make any decisions for putting The Twins™ down, they both went on their own time. And for our family dog, Tip, I was away at college for that. So actually witnessing the injections was upsetting but I still knew it was the right thing for Goldy to be doing at this time. The vet said it was a good time now before any onset of suffering really started.

RIP, PJ Goldy.