06/02/2025
After much back-and-forth on his pain levels and quality of life, we made the hard decision to say goodbye to Chancellor Bean late January. By then, he had a few golden hours each day, but it was difficult to watch how hard the rest of the hours were for him.
I told him many times to let me know if he was ready to go - and he did. He would grab my sleeve and stare into my eyes with both pain and love. He started hiding places that were unusual for him. When we told him we understood, and that we would make sure it was with his favourite vet, he seemed so, damn, happy. Non-stop cuddles and purrs. When it came time, he cuddled into me for comfort, for his final moments.
A lot has happened in that time: some things I'm glad his time didn't coincide with, and other things that made me wish I could just cuddle the best friend I've ever known, one last time.
I'm unlikely to get another cat, in my lifetime. If I do, it'll be at least a decade from now. Caring for cats is a lot of energy I don't have these days, with disability and burnout. And honestly? His is a tough act to follow. He basically taught himself to be a service cat, and would warn us when my spouse was about to have an asthma attack.
He and I saved each other's lives so many times. He was an amazing person, who found new and consistent ways to communicate with us. He helped me through some dark patches, through to the other side. His story is entwined with mine.
This won't be the last of this page - I have literal hundreds of photos of him, still, and so many alarmingly amazing stories from his life. He taught me much, and I am certain will only continue to do so, as I reflect on our time together.
The Chancellor of my heart.
