Fistuk & Shelly
Very Active Member
https://www.felinediabetes.com/FDMB/threads/4-15-fistuk-amps-185-3-180-going-er.300084/
Dear friends
Yesterday at 6:30pm Fistuk gifted me his last breath.
I’m grateful for every word you’ve shared with us yesterday. I don’t know much about you but I know quite a lot about the love of your life and you about mine. This journey would have not been possible without you and it will not be complete without you. So in respect of Fistuk’s memory and our friendship I want to share with you our last words.
It was clear on Sunday that Fistuk started to depart. When I look at it now I can see clearly the kind of vomiting he had as a sign of dying. But at the moment I couldn’t acknowledge that. And I’m sure many of you here saw what is happening. And we’re ever so grateful for you being with us unconditionally, providing advice, care and encouragement as if every breath counts, no matter the odds.
Fistuk just wanted to be in bed next to me. At times he allowed me to scratch his belly at times he was fighting excruciating pain.
With each vomit he dwindled a little more. With each breath he took I held to his life like ….
In so many ways, Fistuk’s arrival into our life has defined us and shaped us to the core. He taught us so many lessons. And I’m not just saying that as a thing to say. I knew at each time what he asked of me and how his presence asked of me to grow and move beyond my limits and my comfort zone.
Fistuk has a great sense of humour and a powerful spirit. Many of you said that caring for diabetes creates a strong bond. But we had an undeniable soul connection from the moment we met. He chose me, us, and for that I’m grateful beyond words.
He loved to climb on my legs when I prepared his food, to sit in the old enemal pot we had and be turned around and around and around and he wouldn’t get dizzy. He loved basking in the sun until he was so hot, I hardly touch him and it brought out of him an amazing sweet smell that I’ll forever miss.
On Monday morning I woke up from the one hour of sleep I had to the sound of his breath. I knew he was telling me it’s the end. I knew that if anyone could save him it would be Marigin, the clinic that took care of him since he was diagnosed and triumphed gloriously through two ketones episode and a pancreatitis bout. I had to take him and give is a try. I had to.
When I brought the box we use for his travel, even though he was extremely weak and could barely turn from one side to another, he walked straight in and I knew he was telling me he needed help, more than the one I could have provide.
In the car, he turned to me at one point as he did- his head in the other direction, turning towards me from backwards in a slant and giving a soft meow of ‘cuddle me’. I knew he was telling me “it’s our last goodbye”.
The vet who accepted us checked him and said he was in critical condition and wanted to rush him in to start with IV. Afterwards she came back and said they did an ultra sound and his intestines were full of fluid. He had anaemia that would have needed blood infusion just as a start to see if it would even worked. And there was the question whether the mass that was noticed in the head CT scan before surgery was tumour. His kidneys state weee not a suspect for the sever anaemia so if was more likely than not that he had cancer.
I knew what she was telling me and when we realised that if we left him there we will have never see him again we knew we had to take him home and assist him in this last moments, surrounded by the sights, smalls and company he loved and knew.
At home, Robert suggested we take him to the balcony and as I carried him from the bed towards the sun he wanted to leap out of my hands and walk even though he couldn’t stand on his feet. We both held him from below to let his leg tell us where he wanted to go, doing our best to decipher his intentions.
He was settled in his favourite boat, under the beaming sun and we started our goodbyes.
We lit an incense and played Om Namo Narayanaya for him. When he was born I always chanted for him and we danced together.
Slowly he turned more and more inwardly, becoming weaker, losing more consciousness.
When Antke our vet arrived we all knew it was time. I asked him one last time if he wanted assistance in dying and he said yes. He was just there on the threshold, his breath fast and shallow, releasing and trusting.
He was held by the two of us, Prince at our side, looking sad and lost. For the last act, he was cradles in my arms and he gifted me the more precious gift—his last breath.
I held him for a while, wanting my body to remember his body weight on mine, his total surrender to our love.
It started as a cloudy spring day and as we travelled home the sun came out, just to shine a light for our Fistuk. The fields lash green, the flowers decorating the trees, the cherry blossom enveloping earth in pink. It was bursting with new life and still, life was always more beautiful with Fistuk living in it.
I don’t have any regrets. We respected his rhythm of living as well as his rhythm of dying.
Tomorrow we’re taking him to the crematorium for our last goodbye.
I can see my grandmother waiting for him and I know he’ll be spoiled as should be. And if she has butter there I have no doubt she’ll give him a bite every morning.
Fistuk,my heart is in pieces without you.
So if you come here last time to say goodbye. I won’t tag anyone since I’m afraid of directing someone in my hazy state. There are dozens here who journeyed with us in the past nearly two years. I will not visit here probably for a while as it takes tremendous effort right now to bring my pieces together.
Much love from Fistuk me Prince and Robert
Fistuk,my heart is in pieces without you. Even after I’ve assembled, one piece will always be with you.
Namaste
Fisruk Norris-Sharon August 2014 - 16 April 2025
Dear friends
Yesterday at 6:30pm Fistuk gifted me his last breath.
I’m grateful for every word you’ve shared with us yesterday. I don’t know much about you but I know quite a lot about the love of your life and you about mine. This journey would have not been possible without you and it will not be complete without you. So in respect of Fistuk’s memory and our friendship I want to share with you our last words.
It was clear on Sunday that Fistuk started to depart. When I look at it now I can see clearly the kind of vomiting he had as a sign of dying. But at the moment I couldn’t acknowledge that. And I’m sure many of you here saw what is happening. And we’re ever so grateful for you being with us unconditionally, providing advice, care and encouragement as if every breath counts, no matter the odds.
Fistuk just wanted to be in bed next to me. At times he allowed me to scratch his belly at times he was fighting excruciating pain.
With each vomit he dwindled a little more. With each breath he took I held to his life like ….
In so many ways, Fistuk’s arrival into our life has defined us and shaped us to the core. He taught us so many lessons. And I’m not just saying that as a thing to say. I knew at each time what he asked of me and how his presence asked of me to grow and move beyond my limits and my comfort zone.
Fistuk has a great sense of humour and a powerful spirit. Many of you said that caring for diabetes creates a strong bond. But we had an undeniable soul connection from the moment we met. He chose me, us, and for that I’m grateful beyond words.
He loved to climb on my legs when I prepared his food, to sit in the old enemal pot we had and be turned around and around and around and he wouldn’t get dizzy. He loved basking in the sun until he was so hot, I hardly touch him and it brought out of him an amazing sweet smell that I’ll forever miss.
On Monday morning I woke up from the one hour of sleep I had to the sound of his breath. I knew he was telling me it’s the end. I knew that if anyone could save him it would be Marigin, the clinic that took care of him since he was diagnosed and triumphed gloriously through two ketones episode and a pancreatitis bout. I had to take him and give is a try. I had to.
When I brought the box we use for his travel, even though he was extremely weak and could barely turn from one side to another, he walked straight in and I knew he was telling me he needed help, more than the one I could have provide.
In the car, he turned to me at one point as he did- his head in the other direction, turning towards me from backwards in a slant and giving a soft meow of ‘cuddle me’. I knew he was telling me “it’s our last goodbye”.
The vet who accepted us checked him and said he was in critical condition and wanted to rush him in to start with IV. Afterwards she came back and said they did an ultra sound and his intestines were full of fluid. He had anaemia that would have needed blood infusion just as a start to see if it would even worked. And there was the question whether the mass that was noticed in the head CT scan before surgery was tumour. His kidneys state weee not a suspect for the sever anaemia so if was more likely than not that he had cancer.
I knew what she was telling me and when we realised that if we left him there we will have never see him again we knew we had to take him home and assist him in this last moments, surrounded by the sights, smalls and company he loved and knew.
At home, Robert suggested we take him to the balcony and as I carried him from the bed towards the sun he wanted to leap out of my hands and walk even though he couldn’t stand on his feet. We both held him from below to let his leg tell us where he wanted to go, doing our best to decipher his intentions.
He was settled in his favourite boat, under the beaming sun and we started our goodbyes.
We lit an incense and played Om Namo Narayanaya for him. When he was born I always chanted for him and we danced together.
Slowly he turned more and more inwardly, becoming weaker, losing more consciousness.
When Antke our vet arrived we all knew it was time. I asked him one last time if he wanted assistance in dying and he said yes. He was just there on the threshold, his breath fast and shallow, releasing and trusting.
He was held by the two of us, Prince at our side, looking sad and lost. For the last act, he was cradles in my arms and he gifted me the more precious gift—his last breath.
I held him for a while, wanting my body to remember his body weight on mine, his total surrender to our love.
It started as a cloudy spring day and as we travelled home the sun came out, just to shine a light for our Fistuk. The fields lash green, the flowers decorating the trees, the cherry blossom enveloping earth in pink. It was bursting with new life and still, life was always more beautiful with Fistuk living in it.
I don’t have any regrets. We respected his rhythm of living as well as his rhythm of dying.
Tomorrow we’re taking him to the crematorium for our last goodbye.
I can see my grandmother waiting for him and I know he’ll be spoiled as should be. And if she has butter there I have no doubt she’ll give him a bite every morning.
Fistuk,my heart is in pieces without you.
So if you come here last time to say goodbye. I won’t tag anyone since I’m afraid of directing someone in my hazy state. There are dozens here who journeyed with us in the past nearly two years. I will not visit here probably for a while as it takes tremendous effort right now to bring my pieces together.
Much love from Fistuk me Prince and Robert
Fistuk,my heart is in pieces without you. Even after I’ve assembled, one piece will always be with you.
Namaste
Fisruk Norris-Sharon August 2014 - 16 April 2025
but I know him and I’m confident that wherever he is he’s exactly where he wanted to be. Fistuk has that capacity to create his desired reality 
