Bauer (Bow Bow as he was affectionately called) was a gentle, snuggling little boy who slept on my legs for the better part of the last twelve years, rendering me immobile most nights.
Bauer came into my life almost twelve years ago ... joining my other cat, Skye, who hissed at him for two weeks straight. Suddenly one day they warmed to each other and were inseparable - often spooning the days away - until the end.
Part of the difficulty of the decision to say goodbye to Bow Bow was how Skye would feel. It is important to note that she is taking it like a champ (by sleeping on my legs and well, rendering me immobile).
Yes, he drove me crazy at times ... he liked to play in the fireplace and spread soot and ash throughout the house and many a time, I had to drag him to the sink to wash the soot from his glorious white fur.
Speaking of that fur, Bauer may hold the world record for shedding and as such thought it important to prove his skill by laying on the couch immediately after I would vacuum his hair away.
If you opened a door and Bauer was nearby he would almost always scoot past you to get a taste of the outdoors. He would stride through the doorway and immediately fall to the ground where he would proceed to lay on his back looking up at the sky. He didn't seem to need to go far, but he just wanted that little escape.
Of course at the end of his life, Bauer was too heavy to make it up the stairs to bed most nights. He just wanted to be left alone. The diabetes caused him to drink inordinate amounts of water and then pee them all over the floor. But, I could never yell at him. He was just so darn cute. And, I knew he was sick.
Bauer came into my life at a time when the other "man" (and I use that term loosely) in my life was anything but reliable, caring or sweet. I know he was a cat, but Bauer filled a void with unconditional love. He had a purr that could lull you to sleep and make you wish for that kind of happiness.
On Thursday when we arrived at the Veterinarian's office I hesitated outside the door, I opened it, closed it, wiped my tears, and finally went in. I was red-eyed and sobbing before the doctor even entered the room. Bauer laid on the table -- tense and a little agitated. I couldn't help but think that he knew what I was about to do to him and that feeling was unbearable.
As the sedation began to take hold, he lay there weakened but he wouldn't stop looking at me. I put my hands on his face and my head to his and I said goodbye as he slipped away, quietly, peacefully.
And now, as I sit here typing, with tears streaming down my face, my other "man" (ok, dog) Darby sits at my feet, with his head on my knee offering me the comfort that only a pet can. Unconditional love, even in the worst of times.
Rest in peace Bauer.
