Today he was sound asleep in his cat bed when I walked into the kitchen. He didn't even hear me approach, but woke with a start when I touched him. He stayed in his cat bed and watched contentedly while I slopped the other two hogs. I put his morning pill in a small ball of liverwurst again, which he showed interest in, and swallowed with an audible gulp. Even while he watched me prepare his own dish, though, he never got out of bed.
Instead of placing the bowel in its usual place by the door, I set it next to the cat bed. That confused him. He knew the food wasn't supposed to go there. He got up, stretched his legs, and wandered over to where the food was supposed to be. Like a diligent Servant, I moved the bowel to its proper place.
He picked out the bits of liverwurst from between the kibbles. He chewed at a few pieces of last night's pot roast I'd added as extra enticement, but left most of it behind. He never touched a kibble, save the two I offered him from my hand.
He seems happy enough. He wandered over, sat in a beam of sunshine, then settled back into his cat bed with its view of the outside world. He's still Clueless, but a new, laid-back and tired Clueless. He still wrestles for a minute or two with the Kitten, though he'd much rather just sit around and groom her. He seeks me out more often now, sitting by my side in the living room or coming to bed to sleep on my legs. There is no sign he's in pain. He has just become very slow, very sleepy, very imperturbable.
I haven't given up on him yet, but I realized this morning ... really realized ... that there's an excellent possibility that I will have to. It's a long good-bye, this dying by degrees. I'm glad for it, because it's a chance to say farewells. I can see to it he has a chance to revisit old favorites, to sleep in the sun and get the best treats and be groomed for an hour with the soft, useless brush he likes me to use.
I was there myself, not all that long ago. Waiting for a liver that had no guarantee of arriving, it was also a death by degrees. I'm glad of that too. I got a chance to get my affairs in order, do a few things that I wanted to do, revisit some things I'd always enjoyed. I didn't find it difficult, and I wasn't particularly afraid of death. I have a better sense of what those around me felt, though.
Dying is easy. The hardest part is watching something you love die. The hardest part is getting ready to let go. I'm good at dying. Apparently I'm shit lousy at letting go.