Alistair passed away suddenly tonight.

He had been hanging out with me like usual this afternoon, when something happened out of nowhere around 6pm. He started howling loudly and desperately, and then collapsed. We rushed him to the vet in a panic, but whatever was wrong was not fixable, and we had to quickly put him to sleep, as his lungs were filling with fluid. I don't think he was really with it as we were saying our goodbyes, but he was in our arms from the moment it started until the very end, except for maybe 5 minutes where they did a radiograph on him (which, unfortunately, didn't show anything.)

I am forever grateful this happened while I was home, with Rog done from a job early and literally walking through the door as it started, AND that my vet was still open and let us bring him in instantly. I'm also grateful that his favorite vet happened to be on tonight, because she did the kindest thing of all by side-stepping any panic-options and telling me it was over. We did all we could, it was time. I'm also grateful he loved the vet, so he didn't die in a scary place. He had people who loved him around him.

She thinks he threw a clot, and possibly to his brain, with the way he was crashing. He was struggling so hard to breathe in the 5-minute carride to the vet that he actually bit through Roger's forearm with all four canines and we had to get that checked at urgent care afterwards. Alistair never hurt a soul, and I feel he was already out of it by then. I hope he was, and yet I also hope he knew he wasn't alone.

He had passed out six weeks ago and we discovered he had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, but was supposed to be okay on meds. However, he kept passing out and two weeks ago he had a mysterious episode and nearly died. It was then we realized he was in worse shape than we originally thought, but we couldn't risk leaving him alone in a cardiac unit an hour away near Philly for a weekend of testing and intensive care when the cardiomyopathy was already looking like a death sentence. He passed out during anything that made him too wriggly (holding him still to clean an accident off his back legs and tail, or holding him down for a scan), so I made the decision to keep him home and nurse him myself, and then he made a miraculous recovery.

The last two weeks he was better than he'd been in months. He ate with gusto, he had more energy, I brushed him often and babied him even more than usual. I'm so grateful we had a chance to even take him on a short walk on that warm summer day we had last weekend. He was alert and playful and looked like nothing had ever happened. I was cautiously hopeful to have at least some more time with him. More time than this, anyway.

He was only 12. He was a truly amazing friend. Absolutely loving and so affectionate, bold and curious. And absolutely beautiful. I wish I could write more, but I'm exhausted and my head is spinning. The house is too quiet. There is an empty spot next to me I cannot fill.