Unlike with Ginger, who had to depart rather suddenly, I had a few days to make a decision about Papaya. On Monday, she had trouble standing up. The swelling in her back left leg might have also been bone cancer — but I didn't need to know for sure, because she would not be getting better.
Pops had been staying at my parents' house while I recovered from knee surgery. And it so it went: They continued to take loving care of her, giving her narcotics, feeding her ice cream, and not getting annoyed when she barged into the bathroom. (That never got old for her.) She helped herself to two bagels from my parents' dining room table. While they were home. She was still very much herself.
This is the last photo I took of her, when we arrived at the vet's office. You can see the cowlick on the right side of her neck (where she's leaning on my crutches). I never trimmed that because I thought it made her look unique — and if she ever got lost, it would be an easy way to identify her.
But she never got lost. All she ever wanted was to be near you. "You" could be me, my parents, my friends, the mailman, or anyone with food. Pops, you made everyone feel loved, and we will miss you.
