Willow 1989(?)-2008

We adopted Willow quite late in her life. She never really adapted to her new family, but she was getting old and crotchety and had seen better days. She was always a bit strange, but we pulled out all the stops when she went missing . Her and the other female cat never really got on (perhaps you can stop spraying now, Buffy!) Until recently, when she wasn't staring at the wall, she would come bouncing into our room to help me with my breakfast (weekends only, obv.), if she hadn't already spent the night on the pillow. Of late she did less and less.
Then, at the weekend, she fell off her favourite table several times, and last night she spent on the table with her chin on the radiator, barely moving or responding (not even hissing or growling). This morning M took her downstairs (she was flopped oddly at the top) and all she could do was walk round in circles, in a lost sort of way. She didnt eat and crapped randomly on the floor.
So I volunteered to stay at home and take her to the vet when it opened at 9am. Which I did (it's only round the corner). Diagnosis: stroke. She appeared to be blind in one eye. Alternatives: do nothing (unacceptable); steroids (too late and unlikely to work); or have her put down. I made the decision, and half an hour later it was done.
In the meantime, while waiting for the time to leave for the station, I thought I would dig her a grave in the garden (when she wasn't even dead). That done, I had time to go back to the vet. I carried her home in her travel box, the body wrapped in a bin bag. Into the hole, sliding out of the bag, and there she was, all curled up and soft and furry as if she were asleep (no reflex twitching that the vet had warned about (and that is the stuff of nightmares: being buried alive)). Now she lies next to Mouse who died years ago.
I dont think it would have been so bad if she had died naturally, but I had to make her die. It isn't nice, and I have cried lots, and M and I sobbed again at lunchtime. Poor old soul.