It’s late Thursday night. We just gave the badasses, Saydee and Felix, a bowl of ice cream each. They have no idea why, nor do they care. I wish I could say the same. All I can really say at this point is, “Well, fuck.”

At times today I’ve felt numb, worn raw to the bone with the weight of being the human. We choose the pets we keep, and at times like this, we have to choose when they will die.

That decision isn’t one we wanted, especially not so soon, after just 3 1/2 years with her. No one does. We wanted the play times, the slobbers all over the wall times, the shredded food boxes and bags that were left too close to the edge of the counter when we were gone times. We wanted the snuggles, yelling about someone eating the cat food (and cat poop), and watching the beetle rolls to scratch a back, and the farts. Yes, we even wanted the farts. They’re terrible. Truly disgusting at times. We’d gladly take them, every hour on the hour, if it meant Saydee’d be able to stay with us longer.

But I’m learning that’s not the way it works. Well, fuck.

Over the past two weeks, she’s gotten worse. We knew it was bad in April when we went back to the oncologist. He’s been awesome, but more than us, he knew what was coming. We had made the decision last November to not do the surgery. She had a large tumor on her left lung, between the two lobes and at the front, near the chest wall. There was no way to guarantee surgery would even allow them to remove the tumor considering the placement. In fact, it seemed unlikely. And the post-surgery quality of life would be draining on the old girl, to say the least. They said she’d have to be crated for a couple months afterward. It’s not that she doesn’t crate well; she just plain doesn’t crate. She’s broken out of every one we’ve tried to keep her in. They all lost. Little shit.

So, we felt the only option really was take every day as a bonus day. It’s the only way we could look at it really. At first it wasn’t easy as we had no idea how long she had. Each day was a worry of some new complication. Hell, I worried the tumor would drop her any minute. But then she kept chugging on.

And on.

And on.

For 219 days.

How? She had no clue she was sick. Still doesn’t.

Well, fuck.

To this minute as I write on Thursday night at 10:19 p.m. ET, she’s laying 3 feet from me on the other couch, wrapped around a pillow, tongue hanging out about an inch, semi-snoring, semi-struggling to breathe. That’s the bitch part. She still wiggles and wags her little nub, and makes her half-bean, bend-and-scamper when she knows she’s getting food. Her little leprechaun kicks are simply the best moment of my day.  She still gives slobbery wet kisses and will sit straight-backed and squared butt on the ground at the drop of the word “treat.”

Yet, she doesn’t know that stupid disease is eating her up from the inside out. Her spirit isn’t just unbridled, it’s unbroken. And I have to fight back the tears every time I think of how much she loves living, loves loving. Her heart’s bigger than her juicy tongue and that’s saying something.

We knew the time would come one day, and about two weeks ago she started to labor more getting around. In the past 48 hours her breathing has gone from a disturbing sound to downright terrifying. At the doctor’s today, she couldn’t settle down and it felt like she only took five breathes during the hour-long visit. She deserves to be running around the house, chasing the cats and scrounging for food, not fighting to fill her lungs with air. That’s why we had to schedule the final followup appointment before we left.

I don’t know if knowing when it is coming makes it better. We had to tell them we were coming back with her and knew that we’d be leaving without her, giving up a part of our hearts there in some room miles away from her Felix and Glenda and F’ing. I hope it’s the right choice for her and not just for us. Deep down, I know she’ll be better off tomorrow. She won’t be struggling. She’s not a struggler, she’s a fighter and that’s how I’ll always remember her. A badass who said “Kiss my ass, cancer” since Day 1. But that doesn’t change the fact that we had to plan it. We had to be the humans.

Well, fuck.

So, for now, we will just remember her fondly and look forward to the day we can be reunited. And we’ll thank you. To anyone who is reading this, we can’t say enough how much we all appreciate you. Every “Like”, every comment on the Saydee pictures each day for the past seven months has meant the world to all of us. And while she’s always been shy for the camera, she really has loved hearing that everyone has been pulling for her. She’d plant her patented slobbery kiss on each of you if she could to show her thanks.

More than anything, I can’t wait for another big slobber-ball kiss and chance to pet my Baby Bean again someday.

Give ’em hell and stink it up up there, sweet baby girl.

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