He'd been off-colour for a week or so, spending much of his time sleeping. On his last day he vanished into the garden before returning in the evening to rest in his basket. Clare put the electric heater under his towel there to ease his swollen stomach.
Just after 8.30 pm he stood up, as if he wanted to experience nature one last time. We put him outside the front door and he looked around. Then, with an effort, he walked up the steps and into the hall. There he stood panting, before collapsing onto his side. The unblinking eyes delivered the news, although the odd twitch continued for a while.
He was placed (and buried) on a copy of The Guardian.
It is what he would have wanted.
|Shadow, moments after his passing|