Today, Thursday, February 24, my sweet, beautiful Misty passed from this life. She died the same way she lived - unassuming, undemanding and full of grace.
Since Misty began living with us in April 2010, she'd had intestinal problems. I conferred with two different vets about her disorder and it was decided that the best way to handle the problem was to treat Misty for Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome (IBS), which I did with success. We stabilized her and she responded well to the treatment. She gained almost 2 pounds, her fur was soft and luxurious, her eyes bright. She was playful and delightful and she seemed content. Sometimes I would find her sleeping in one of the many beds I bought for her, but usually I would find her in a box.
Being an animal communicator, I was having a talk with Misty one day in July about her ailment. As I questioned her, I could "see" a black mass in her stomach area. If this had been a client's cat, I would have told the client to have this checked out with a vet, but as I had consulted two vets and she was under the care of my regular vet, I decided not to listen to my intuition. It's difficult to be objective when communicating with my own animals; so much comes into play, not the least of which is the emotional bond and the need to deny.
But, as I said, the treatment was working and, as long as Misty appeared happy and healthy, I assumed she would be alright. Yesterday, Wednesday, February 23, Misty stopped eating and seemed very low. She drank some water and immediately threw it up. As this is not uncommon with IBS, I spoke to my vet's office a couple of times and we agreed that I should bring Misty in first thing in the morning. I went to bed at midnight and left Misty sleeping in one of her many beds.
When I woke at 6am, Misty was in the same position as when I left her six hours before. I went over to her, petted her sweet head and kissed her. There was no response, not a movement. I picked her up, felt her heart and listened to her breathing. Something was very wrong. I threw on some clothes and took Misty to an emergency hospital. We got there about 6:45 am. At 8:00 am, Misty was gone. It was surmised that Misty had a mass in her stomach or intestines and she was critical.
I was able to spend 30 minutes with Misty, alone, in a quiet, low-lit, comfortable room. She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket and she lay on a couch with her head on my arm. I asked the angels, the spirit guides, the Masters and all benevolent beings to be with Misty as she transitioned. I asked my mother to meet her and guide her Home, the way I had asked my mother some years before to meet and guide my two other beloved cats, Amelia and Mischka. Peace permeated the room. Misty appeared to be calm and comfortable. We said our goodbyes, our "until we meet agains" and I asked the vet to come in to administer the drugs that would ensure that Misty passed without pain.