I swear, that cat must be on about life #26.
Every time we think he’s about to cross the Bridge, he rallies and starts acting like a cat again. He spent two days hiding in the back bedroom and coming out only occasionally to lick at the food in his bowl and drink prodigious amounts of water (which he then proceeded to pee out on the bed back there…c’est la vie, we’re going to get rid of that bed and replace it with either a hide-a-bed sofa or one of those storable air beds, anyway, but damn). Poor kitty. We were starting to think it was time to take him on that last ride to the vet.
Well, we started him on that vitamin regimen I mentioned in a previous post, and bought some Iams canned food (salmon and chicken, in a pâté form), and for the last day or two he has been really going to town on it. He chewed my butt twice this morning after the lady wife left, wanting me to put more in his bowl. The second time I think it was just to see if I’d do it, because he then toyed with it and went back to bed. Sometimes I think his brain doesn’t actually catch up to his tummy.
So it’s been kind of up and down emotionally here at Curmudgeon Flats for the past few weeks. The problem with the upswings is that we know he’s only got a few weeks left, if that. And the downswings are just abysmal.
I hate this. When we put our German Shepherd Chow Roxanne down, I cried like a little kid. I fought for days the decision to do it, then I grappled for a week with the horrible feeling that I did it too early. I hate that God puts us in this position of having to make The Decision, but when they are truly suffering, what else can you do? I wish you all well, my friend.