Our beloved cat Sybil passed away this morning. Everyone believes that their cat is the best cat, but they’re wrong; Sybil was the best cat. Catting has been done to perfection. Quirky, unpredictable, outgoing, and affectionate, she was the epitome of cattitude.
We have so many fond memories of that cat. How she learned to play fetch running up and down the stairs. That time she kept hiding KJ’s clay tools. How the phrases “Sybil get out of the –“ and “Sybil don’t eat the –“ became the most common phrases in our household, earning her the nickname “Sybil Disobedience”. How we always had to use IMDB to remember how old she was, because we bought her the same day we saw the fourth "Die Hard" movie. How much she liked to talk, and how much she enjoyed being spoken to.
The last week has been really rough. We technically lost her a week ago, when her entire personality vanished in the blink of an eye. The vet said there was nothing he could do for her. Ever since then she’s been an automaton, programmed only to walk in a straight line. If she hit a corner, she just kept walking, pushing her nose harder into the wall. If we picked her up and set her in a different direction, she would walk in that direction until she hit another obstacle, like a wind-up toy. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so heartbreaking. This morning we finally called it.
I shed more tears for Sybil than when Dad died. But then, he was 700 miles away when I got the phone call. I was actually stroking Sybil as she slipped away in the vet’s office. And yet despite my grief, and despite being present for her final moments, I still don’t think I’ve processed that she’s gone. I still keep having random thoughts like, “Maybe we can still get a second opinion from another vet” or “Maybe we can get her to eat if we try wet food.” I think it’s going to be a few days before it really hits me.
Rest in peace, sweet Sybil. We were blessed to have you in our lives. You will be missed.
