Well, shit guys. Gypsy checked out last Tuesday morning at 9:56 am. I walked out of the room for a minute, went back in and she'd pooped a little. I said 'Whoa, you pooped, be right back'. I ran to the kitchen, went back in, then realized what happened. Since I'm a friggin poet I said 'Oh, you didn't poop, you died '.
She was in bed, bundled up. She'd been wagging her tail and being an asshole about getting her head scratched literally a minute before she left. She died 49 minutes before I was going to take her to the vet to be put down. She waited so I wouldn't have to watch her die and I didn't have to tell the vet to do it. It's amazing, I gotta say if I'm dying I'm gonna be a selfish shit. She took care of me to the end.
I was so lucky. If you're waiting on a sheath I'll get to it, I'm not that far behind.