Turns out that she has cancer of the spleen, a very aggressive kind. There’s not a damned thing that can be done now other than provide Nubble with comfort measures. She’s got weeks to live, at best, and my mom is going to have to decide when to have her put down, which is fucking devastating, little different from a Sophie’s choice when you’ve had a companion as loyal as this sweetheart for nine years.
My mom is going to pick her up tonight, and wants to spend a day alone with her tomorrow. That I get. Thursday morning, I’ll head over to my parents’ and bawl my eyes out, just like I’m doing now.